m0kka1

[m0kka1]

hehehehehee

[m0kka1]

[m0kka1]

Pleaseee.... More.. Alma content.......🥺🥺🥺 I want to see my babygirl Alma

Here you go! 👻🐔🐔🐔❤️

[m0kka1]

Drawing this man it’s so adictive💔

[m0kka1]

#1 jellyfish enjoyer fr

[m0kka1]

Being in class is just boring.

[m0kka1]

YALL some mushroom oasis sketches.

I love mychael sm, he’s so cute😭💖

I just was bored so i made a zip zip zip mychael💔

Thank u for doing this beautiful game, i luv u cheea😭

[m0kka1]

✑ 𝓈𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓏𝑒 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒷 𝓂𝑒𝓃 

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You, reluctantly cracking your eyes open to the soft hush of morning light—and oh, what’s this? The bed feels suspiciously warm, suspiciously full, and suspiciously… crowded. That’s right. You’ve somehow ended up entangled in a heap of limbs and sheets.

Waking up beside The TKATB Men + Special Guests ! ! An experience. A blessing. A mild threat to your sanity. And depending on who’s next to you, it’s either blissful, chaotic, or something bordering on criminally hot.

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

What happens when you wake up in their space, tangled in sheets that weren’t this messy when you first fell asleep?

Well, dearest readers… let’s just say: things get interesting.

There’s only one way to find out.

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

You woke up in a nest of luxury—wrapped in dark blue and black silk sheets so soft, it felt like you were swaddled in a secret. Crowe’s room was a humble kind of rich: tidy, calm, and impossibly comforting, like it had been curated not just for sleep, but for rest.

Real, soul-deep rest. It even smelled like him—clean, warm, with just a touch of something expensive and masculine. You had been cocooned in it for hours, and honestly?

You would’ve stayed there forever if you didn’t have plans.

You stirred first, careful not to wake him. Somehow, what was supposed to be a simple sleepover had turned into more than that—it started with you missing him, due to a few missed visits, and Crowe insisting, “Just stay.” Which turned into two nights. Then four. Then it was like his place learned your name and asked if you’d like to live there.

Not that he minded. In fact, he looked like a man who’d decided the rest of the world could wait.

Because Crowe was… honestly a problem. 

A beautiful, infuriating, gentleman-shaped problem.

He slept curled toward your side, one hand tucked beneath his cheek, the other draped loosely over the space you’d just vacated. His dark brown skin seemed to glow faintly under the filtered morning light, lashes thick against his cheeks. 

His hair used to be in that single braid—his signature—was undone, lay across his chest, the end brushing his collarbone, a few loose strands half-heartedly tucked behind one ear. You couldn’t help but stare for a moment. How could someone be so devastatingly handsome and pretty at the same time? 

His face was sculpted but gentle, his lips relaxed in sleep, his brows smooth. Peaceful. You could’ve sworn even the sheets clung to him like they were in love.

It was unfair, really. Life was unfair.

So you got up—very, very slowly—and slipped into one of his black button-ups, drowning a little in the size and warmth of it. It had an absurd number of white buttons, which was both a stylistic choice and mildly excessive, but somehow made you feel wrapped in something that belonged.

Something safe. Something his.

And since you couldn’t cook to save your life, and the last thing you wanted was to ruin his cathedral of a kitchen or wake him up with the horror-movie soundtrack of your culinary attempts, you ordered breakfast instead. You even found a bed tray like this was some kind of love drama where you knew your role—and played it well. 

You made everything look nice. Thought about plating. Napkin placement. Symmetry. He always did everything for you, without question, even when you asked him not to. Even when you begged him not to.

So this? This was just you trying to do a fraction in return.

When you returned to the bedroom, food in hand, the room still wrapped in that cool blue quiet, Crowe hadn’t moved much. One eye peeked open, that deep, ocean-blue irises glinting in the half-light.

Sleepy. Heavy-lidded. Disoriented.

Then he smiled. The slow kind. The lazy, heart-melting kind that made you want to crawl right back into bed and never leave again.

“…You look better in that shirt than I do,” he murmured, voice thick and low and absolutely criminal in the morning.

You smiled softly as Crowe blinked himself further into consciousness, watching you set the breakfast tray beside him like you were delivering divine offerings. The moment his eyes landed on the arrangement—folded napkin, fresh fruit, flaky pastries, and his favorite overpriced tea you absolutely Googled just to get it right—he looked… stunned.

“You did this?” he asked, voice still sandpaper and velvet, deep and wrecked from sleep.

You nodded, a little smug. “Well… technically, a very nice delivery guy did most of the heavy lifting, but I curated the whole thing.”

Crowe blinked. Slowly. “You curated me breakfast?”

“I did. Because you always do everything for me, and I figured it’s my turn, even if it’s the bare minimum.” You winked, setting down his tea.

His expression melted—confused awe shifting into that dangerously affectionate look that made your knees go soft. He stared like you just offered him your soul in a silk box. “It’s not the bare minimum. I-I can’t believe you actually—you woke up before me to do this?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, “Wow, you know I’m capable of effort, you know.”

“And crimes of fashion,” he added, eyes trailing down to his own shirt swallowing your frame. “That shirt has… twenty-three buttons.”

“Don’t remind me,” you groaned, tugging at the collar. “I almost died getting it on. Who needs that many buttons, Crowe? Are you afraid of the wind?”

He laughed—low, rich, entirely too hot for someone who hadn’t brushed their teeth yet. “It’s called style. And drama. You should try it.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready anyway? I mean, the student council must be foaming at the mouth without you.”

That was your first mistake.

His smile dropped the second the words left your mouth—like you just told him he had to do taxes and smile about it. He let out the most soul-weary groan imaginable, dragging a hand down his face with enough dramatics to win an award.

“Ugh. Don’t say that cursed phrase to me this early.”

“What, student council?” you teased.

He hissed like it physically injured him, eyes narrowing in theatrical betrayal. Before you could smirk again, he struck—swiftly curling his fingers around your wrist and tugging you back toward the bed like you weighed nothing. 

You let out a breathless little yelp as your balance tipped, and the next thing you knew, you were back in his arms, warm and tangled in those black silk sheets, wrapped up like you were the prize he refused to share with the world. His arms slid around your waist possessively, his head dropping against your torso like a man done. His long brown hair tickled your side as he let out a sigh so content it melted straight into your ribs.

“Jericho,” you warned, tone flat, one brow raising as you carded your fingers through the dark strands falling over his cheek.

“Mmm?” he hummed against your skin, lips grazing the fabric of his shirt you were still drowning in.

You tensed slightly. “Don’t start.”

He didn’t answer—not in words. Just started peppering lazy, sleep-warm kisses across the curve of your waist. You froze, heart stumbling as his lips followed the line of your body with a tenderness that felt almost unfair.

"Jericho," you repeated, firmer this time.

He tilted his head up, eyes smoldering now under thick lashes, amusement dancing in the corners. “You say my name so sweet,” he murmured, fingers skimming the hem of the shirt—his shirt—as if debating whether to behave. 

“…I wonder if you could say it louder later on…”

Spoiler: he chose violence.

He shifted above you in one slow, fluid motion, pressing you back against the mattress with deliberate weight. His hand slid to the first button just above your chest, popping it open with almost sinful patience.

You inhaled sharply.

“Jericho,” you said again, a final warning.

But he was already lowering his head, lips brushing the newly revealed skin. His voice was low, wicked, and soaked in heat as he murmured, “The student council can wait.” Another button undone. Another slow kiss just beneath your collarbone.

“I want to take my time eating my breakfast.”

You gawked. “Oh my god.”

He laughed, soft and smug against your skin, as if this was normal behavior. 

Oh no. Oh hell no.

You were lowkey terrified.

But your heart was sprinting, your brain was short-circuiting, and your willpower had officially filed a resignation letter. This was your life now—trapped under a six-foot dark-skin demigod with bedhead, deep blue eyes, and absolutely zero intention of letting you function like a normal person ever again.

Honestly? You could live with that.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

The first thing you registered—beyond the dull ache in your limbs and the soft cling of dried paint on your skin—was the weight. A heavy, inescapable warmth curled around your waist like a stubborn human blanket. You cracked one eye open.

Sol. Of course.

You were in Sol’s studio apartment, which, to be fair, had the vibe of someone halfway between genius and sleep-deprived chaos gremlin. Art supplies everywhere—half-open tubes of paint, crumpled sketch paper, an untouched energy drink from God knows when, and several brushes floating in what was definitely not a cup meant for rinsing. 

The morning light filtered in through the blinds in thin, golden slices, cutting across the cluttered room like strips of stage lighting over a still life in chaos. This wasn’t a bedroom—it was a living canvas. 

And you? Forever his muse.

The dim amber lighting gave everything a cinematic, hazy warmth, as if the clutter was intentional. A curated mess. Still, not dirty, just… lived in. Passionate. Unhinged, but with taste.

And there, tangled in those thin, paint-streaked bedsheets like a man possessed by sleep, was Sol.

You were stuck.

Flat on your back, his head firmly planted against your stomach like it was his personal pillow. His arms looped around your waist like he feared gravity would snatch you away. He was out cold—breathing deep, his face nuzzled into your borrowed band tee—thankfully given post-session, because the entire front of you probably resembled a living art exhibit right now. One long leg had somehow hooked over yours, locking you in like this was a hostage situation of the softest kind.

You shifted a little—your body mildly regretting everything that had happened last night in the name of artistic inspiration—but the moment you twitched, Sol groaned and held on tighter.

This man was over six feet of ink-stained dream logic and stubbornness, and you? You were his chosen teddy bear. There was no escape.

Your eyes drifted down to him. His black mullet hair, dyed with those signature green streaks, had long since escaped the half-up, half-down look he'd started the night with. Now it framed his face in soft, messy thirds—two thick locks had fallen loose on either side, lazily shoved behind one pierced ear. The rest spilled across your stomach and the sheets like he was a man who fell out of an art magazine.

And speaking of the piercings… you couldn’t help but notice them now. Like, really notice.

The way the dim light hit the black hoops of his spider bites, even if the double lip rings were removed for sleep. His ears were an aesthetic chaos of their own: a stud in the left lobe, two upper lobe piercings, and two helix rings tucked neatly in the cartilage. 

The right ear? Similar story. 

There was even one long bar that ran through his lower helix—sleek and dark, like a blade. You couldn’t figure out how he slept like this and didn’t impale himself in his sleep, but apparently he had the power of art student immunity and vibe protection on his side.

Your fingers twitched with the urge to brush a strand of hair from his face, to gently trace the sharp edges of his jaw, to cup his cheek and maybe see if his eyes—those gorgeous, rare central heterochromia eyes with fiery orange centers and crimson red outer rings—would flutter open and look at you like you were still his muse.

But he just sighed in his sleep, nuzzling closer.

“Clingy bastard,” you whispered to the ceiling, half-laughing, half-swooning. Honestly, you needed a two-hour shower, a gallon of body scrub, and possibly a week-long nap… but the way Sol was wrapped around you like his life depended on it?

Yeah. You could lie here a little longer. Maybe forever. BUTTTTTT--

Was it bad that your fingers were already halfway through his hair before your brain caught up with your actions? Probably. But he was asleep. Dead to the world, soft and warm against your stomach, and so wrapped around you that even trying to shift felt like you were disrespecting fate. You’d try to justify it later. Right now? 

You just… couldn’t help yourself.

Sol’s ears had always intrigued you. Covered in piercings and framed by messy black and green hair like a walking daydream from a punk magazine. So you reached up—tentative at first, gentle. Fingertips brushing the edge of his left ear, tracing the cool metal of one of the upper lobe studs.

He didn’t stir.

You went further. Thumb gliding over the smooth hoop of his helix ring, letting your fingers ghost along the trail of metal like a collector counting treasure. His skin was warm. He had so many piercings up close—you could count at least four on this ear alone, and your curiosity was starting to spiral. You brushed the tips again, just a little firmer this time.

And that’s when it happened.

A low, breathy moan escaped him. Barely audible, more sigh than sound. His body twitched slightly, the arm around your waist flexing tighter.

You froze.

His eyes opened. Slowly. Glazed with sleep and only halfway focused. “…The hell are you doing?” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep, warm enough to punch the breath out of your lungs.

You blinked. “Bored.”

Sol stared, dumbfounded, eyes narrowed, looking at like ‘what the fuck does that mean.’ So, of course, you have to answer better. 

“Okay, I was admiring your ears,” you added innocently. “You never told me how many piercings you actually have. You’ve got, what, like four just on the right one?”

His gaze narrowed, but the blush creeping over his cheeks betrayed him. “Ten on my ears, added together. … Four on the right, like you said, and six on the left side.”

“And the two lip ones,” you nodded, counting on your fingers. “So that’s, like, twelve total?”

Sol’s face darkened. 

That silence? Suspicious. Guilty, even. You squinted at him. “…Wait. Are there more?”

Sol exhaled hard, turning his head into your stomach like he was trying to disappear. “Please, no more, let me go back to sleep,” he groaned, dragging your name out like a curse.

You lifted an eyebrow. “What other ones, Sol?”

“Nope,” he muttered, pressing his face against you like a cat burying itself in a blanket. “You don’t actually care. You’re just trying to see them for the novelty. You’re not really interested.”

You gasped theatrically. “Is that your way of guilt-tripping me out of bed?”

“Maybe,” he mumbled.

You pouted, sitting up halfway in protest—only for him to yank you right back down. His arms rewrapped around your waist with sudden, lazy strength, pinning you again like gravity had picked a side.

“Fine,” he grumbled, cheeks pink now as he stared at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him. “I’ll show you. Just stop looking at me like you’re about to launch a full investigation.”

You smirked, victorious. “So you were hiding something.”

“I didn’t hide it,” he muttered. “You just never asked about the one in my—”

He stopped.

Your eyes widened. “Oh my god,” you breathed. “There’s one I can’t see?”

Sol groaned. “I swear to god, if you tell anyone…”

“You’re doomed,” you said, voice full of glee, already imagining the ways to tease him about this for eternity. “Completely doomed.”

He sighed again, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” Sol sat up slowly, muscles stretching under skin as he peeled off his oversized shirt. You blinked—once, twice—as your eyes caught the flash of silver gleaming against the dusky brown of his skin.

Wait.

Your gaze dropped, and there they were. Piercings. On his chest. Twin silver bars glinting across each nipple like some chaotic blend of punk rock and divine provocation.

You gawked, shamelessly. “You—wait. You have nipple piercings?”

He blinked at you, confused. “Yeah?”

Your face twisted in disbelief. “I thought that was just a thing for the girls in the itty-bitty committee.”

Sol choked on a laugh, a hand flying to his face to cover the smirk he was absolutely failing to hide. His cheeks turned a bright, endearing red. “You’ve been staring for like… five minutes. Say something before I die of embarrassment.”

“I’m just processing,” you said, eyes still glued to his chest. “I mean, they’re kinda hot?”

He huffed, shifting slightly. “You ever gonna stop looking or…?”

“…Do they hurt if I touch them?” you asked, curiosity dragging you deeper.

He leaned back on his hands, chest exposed, a slow smirk curving his lips despite the flush still warming his ears. “They’re healed. Had them for a while now. Wanna try?”

Oh. That tone? Dangerous.

You bit your lip, but couldn’t resist the grin tugging at your mouth. Crawling into his lap, you straddled his thighs, feeling the way his fingers instinctively gripped your waist, grounding you. Your gaze lowered again, zeroing in. The silver bars were stark against his skin, cool and clean and… really unfairly attractive, honestly.

With delicate fingers, you traced one, rubbing gently over the piercing, watching how he tensed under your touch. Sol inhaled sharply, a breathy moan slipping past his lips. His hands tightened at your sides, grounding you both. “Shit,” he muttered, eyes fluttering, “Keep going…”

You blinked up at him. “Don’t you have an art project to finish?”

He cracked one eye open, lazily. “Screw the project. I’ve got plenty of time. I’d rather have my muse work on me.”

Your lips twitched. “So this was the plan all along, huh?”

Sol chuckled, voice deep and low. “I mean… you’re the one still in my lap, babe.”

Touché.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

You woke up slowly. Not the jolting kind of wake-up—more like drifting back to consciousness through layers of warmth and softness that feel too perfect to be real.

The first thing you notice is the sheets.

Heavy. Warm. Impossibly smooth. They cling to your skin like they’re trying to convince you not to move, like they were designed to trap people in comfort. There’s a certain weight to them, the kind that tells you money was involved. High-thread-count Egyptian cotton, probably imported and washed in glacier water by monks.

These sheets don’t just cover you—they embrace you. Soft in a dangerous way. Like, if you stay here long enough, you’ll forget how to function without them.

And the mattress?

Dear god, the mattress.

It doesn’t creak. It doesn’t shift. It doesn’t even breathe wrong. It’s firm in a way that doesn’t feel punishing—just supportive. Like it looked into your soul, saw your back problems and emotional baggage, and whispered, I got you. It’s the kind of bed you could melt into and reemerge reborn. A mattress so precisely engineered it feels like the Swiss invented it just for people who cry when their posture’s corrected.

You sink in deeper without meaning to, half-wrapped in a blanket so plush it might qualify as a sentient being. Your skin slides against the sheets like you’re being tucked in by silk-clad angels on a PR contract. And you’re not even touching the other person in bed. That’s how big this thing is. California King? Please. This is Empire Emperor Eldritch-level.

You’re not home, obviously.

You’re in Geo’s bed. Which is very much shocking for several reasons. Mainly, Geo doesn’t just let people into his personal space. And yet here you are. Sleeping where he sleeps. Wrapped in a level of comfort so extreme it might count as psychological warfare.

The air smells like him—clean, sharp, expensive. Subtle cologne that clings to the fabric, mixed with the faintest metallic tang you can’t quite place. It’s sterile, precise, with undertones of don’t touch anything unless you’ve washed your hands twice.

The room is dark. The blackout curtains do their job a little too well, sealing out even the most determined ray of sunlight. You can’t hear the city. No cars. No footsteps. No ambient life. Just… peace. Wealthy, suffocating peace. And beside you, the slow, even rhythm of breath.

Of course. Geo. The broody and moody prince.

You shift your head on the pillow—God, the pillow. It cradles your skull like it was made for royalty recovering from emotional damage. Just firm enough not to smother, just soft enough to ruin every pillow you’ll ever sleep on after this.

Your eyes adjust to the dark.

He’s there. Still asleep.

Geo—cold, composed, borderline terrifying—looks, for once, completely still. His dark violet hair is tousled from sleep, a few strands curled messily over his brow. The elegant sharpness of his face softened by exhaustion, his mouth barely parted. It’s the most unguarded you’ve ever seen him. Quiet. Warm. Human.

You blink slowly.

You probably shouldn’t be awake right now. But you are.

And somehow, it doesn’t feel like a mistake.

Again, which is insane, really—because Geo is not the type of person you imagine waking up beside. He’s too rigid. Too calculated. The kind of guy who schedules sleep like it’s a corporate meeting and probably sets alarms just to meditate before sunrise. His life runs on structure. 

You’ve seen the calendar on his wall—color-coded, hour-blocked, terrifying. Morning routine? Practically ceremonial. Open the window exactly eight inches. Inhale the morning air like a monk. Ten minutes of yoga, fifteen of meditation, one precisely brewed cup of green tea that probably cost more than your monthly groceries.

And if it’s the weekend? He works out. Not because he has to, but because “idle time dulls the edge.” Direct quote. So yes, waking up here—in his bed, next to him—should be unsettling. And yet…

It’s not. It’s because throughout this whole week was a war zone.

And not what you’re thinking—dirty minded, yeah I know you… 

Hours of archery training. Real training. 

The kind that made his muscles shake and his temper flare. Every missed shot seemed to dig into him deeper than the last, like failure was a personal insult. You stayed, of course. Even when he told you to go home. You pushed when he got sloppy. Took his sharp-tongued jabs like armor and threw back dry corrections without flinching.

He hates help.

But he lets you help.

By the time you made it back to his place, Geo was moving like a man fresh out of war. Silent. Jaw clenched. Walking like each step personally offended him. You tried to throw yourself face-first into his marshmallow-soft, cashmere-draped bed like any emotionally and physically drained sidekick would—but no. Of course not.

He stopped you with a look. Not a word. Just one of those glares. The kind that could curdle milk and crack glass. Then—whap—a towel and one of his old t-shirts smacked you dead in the face with all the tenderness of a slap. “No one dirty gets near my bed,” he said, voice flat and absolute, colder than his stainless steel water bottle collection. “Not even you.”

You didn’t argue.

Valid. Because, let’s be honest—who in their right mind does sleep in someone’s bed with outside clothes on? Especially hisbed? Geo, with his monogrammed linen, his clinically-aligned throw pillows, his probably imported mattress that cost more than your rent. 

You knew better.

So you did the walk of slight shame to the guest bathroom and promptly began one of the most unnecessarily complicated shower experiences of your life.

His shower… that demon. It had buttons. Screens. A dial. A sensor that blinked at you like it was judging your socioeconomic status. You stood there, towel-wrapped and spiritually defeated, too scared to ask Geo for help. That would’ve been social suicide. 

He would never let you live it down.

You figured it out eventually, after what felt like a mild psychotic break. And once the water hit—oh. It was like being baptized in a billionaire’s tears. The soap lathered like whipped silk, the conditioner smelled like wealth and emotional detachment. You took your sweet, luxurious time. Because when was the next time you’d get to use his stuff? 

Answer: probably never.

Let’s just say—it was a long night.

And now?

Now it’s morning. The room is still dim, blackout curtains in full effect, the air slightly chilled and scented faintly of cedarwood, bergamot, and expensive quiet.

And there he is. Geo. 

Lying face-down like the universe finally shut him off. One arm flung under the pillow, the other barely peeking from the sheets like he’s trying to ghost himself from reality. The covers are tangled around his waist, his t-shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of toned back and sharp hipbone.

You have to physically stop yourself from committing a felony-level stare.

Because Geo? Geo looks wrecked. Not in the tragic way. No, no—this is the elite, cinematic kind of wrecked. His long hair, normally bluish purple and perfectly tamed in that ridiculous precision bowl cut with the low ponytail? Ruined. The tie’s gone. Abandoned. His dark violet strands are everywhere. Messy, soft, cascading across his cheek like he slept through a typhoon and somehow made it fashion.

His bangs are a whole saga. One strand is stuck to his lip. Another is fanned across his lashes. It's giving tragic anime rival post-defeat—and you're into it.

You really shouldn’t be staring.

But you are. Because his face? That face that usually looks like it's judging your existence from ten miles away? It’s… soft. Not just relaxed—vulnerable. The perpetual scowl has melted into something quieter. His lips, full and usually pressed into a thin, annoyed line, are parted just slightly. His brows are smooth. The flush on his cheeks—either from sleep, heat, or residual pride damage—is maddeningly pretty.

He looks human.

Tired. Real. Like someone who ran himself into the ground, then collapsed mid-step. The kind of person who fights even sleep itself—and lost.

You keep staring.

Because there’s something painfully beautiful about seeing him, of all people, undone like this. Like all the hard edges melted. Like the armor cracked just enough to remind you he’s made of the same soft, breakable stuff as everyone else.

Even if he’d never admit it. And honestly? You’re down catastrophic.

You can’t help it. You glance at the bedside clock.

He slept in. By at least an hour.

That alone is enough to make you check the temperature of the room and quietly consider if the world’s ending outside. Maybe today, the sun won’t rise on schedule. Maybe Geo—the unshakable, unsmiling, prideful archer—finally needed a break.

You shift slightly, careful not to disturb the sheets too much. He doesn’t stir. Just breathes. Slow. Deep. At peace, for once.

And you realize you kind of like him like this.

Not perfect. Not performing. Just… existing.

You barely shift when you feel the mattress dip—subtle, like a sigh. Geo stirs beside you, groaning low in his throat like sleep had dragged him through a war zone and then left him for dead.

He sits up slowly, like he’s made of bruises and bad decisions, one arm bracing himself as the sheets slide off his shoulder. His hair is a disaster—long dark violet strands sticking out in every direction, the once-neat ponytail now a halfhearted knot somewhere near the back of his neck. A few pieces fall over his eyes, catching on his lashes. You don’t even try to pretend you’re not staring.

Then—those eyes. That aquamarine stare, foggy with sleep but still stupidly sharp, cut toward you.

“…You’re still here,” he rasps, voice hoarse and broken with sleep. Deep. Rough. Way too attractive for someone who probably hasn’t even brushed his teeth yet.

Your brain short-circuits for a full second.

“I—uh. Yeah.” You mumbled before adding, “Please don’t kick me out.”

He blinks. Just once. A slow, heavy-lidded thing. Then exhales through his nose like he’s too tired to summon sarcasm. His hand drags back through his hair, fingers catching in the mess. “My hair’s a damn mess, isn’t it?”

You nod, lips twitching. “Yeah… A disaster.”

Geo groans, low and ruined, dragging the word out like it personally offended him. “Ahh… fuck.”

It’s not even vulgar—it’s hot, coated in that wrecked, gravelly morning voice that sounds like it was marinated in sleep and frustration. Before you can process it, he flops back down like gravity filed a restraining order on his spine, surrendering entirely to the mattress.

And then—God help you—he shifts closer. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate. His forehead finds your chest with a quiet thud, like that was exactly where he’d been aiming all along. There’s no asking for permission. No hesitation. Just the weight of him pressing in, settling against you with that casual kind of intimacy that knocks the air straight out of your lungs.

One arm snakes around your waist—possessive, lazy, final. Like, yes. 

You are now Geo’s human pillow. Deal with it.

And wow. Okay. You’re dying. Imploding, really. Internally combusting in real-time. Because this is Geo—Mr. I-have-a-schedule-for-my-soul. Mr. Sharp-eyes-and-judgmental-silence. And he is clinging to you. Like you're the one thing in this entire cold, brutal, flawlessly coordinated world that makes it tolerable to wake up.

He smells like expensive sleep and subtle cologne, like silk sheets and quiet privilege. His long hair is a mess, strands falling in loose, chaotic waves across your stomach and neck, tickling where it shouldn’t and making it impossible to think straight. 

You can feel his breath—warm and slow—where his cheek rests against you, and then he murmurs, half-asleep and muffled against your shirt:

“Don’t make me get up yet…”

You go still. Not because you’re nervous, but because your heart is doing Olympic-level gymnastics. Geo, broody and impossible Geo, who lectures you on discipline and acts allergic to emotions, is holding onto you like you’re the last safe thing on earth. Like if he lets go, the world might crack open beneath him.

“…oh, right, your dad’s still out there,” you murmur, gently carding your fingers through the mess of his hair.

“Exactly,” he mumbles. “Give it fifteen. He’ll go on his stupid morning walk soon.”

You don’t ask why he doesn’t want to face him just yet. You just stay there. Let him breathe. Let him press closer.

“After that, we can make breakfast,” you offer.

He grunts. That’s a yes. 

“Well, maybe… fix your hair first?”

Another grunt. Less enthusiastic. And somehow, you understand. He’s exhausted. Not just in body—but in that deeper way. The kind of tired that no amount of rest can fix. So you stay.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe too hard. You just let him cling. You smile into his scalp. And if your hand drifts into his tangled hair and you press your cheek to the top of his head?

Well. You’ll both pretend it didn’t happen.

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

Hyugo’s place was exactly what you’d expect from someone who was more myth than man—barely lived in, suspiciously neat, and filled with strangely curated clutter. 

The kind of space that screamed I don’t live here; I just crash here when I need to not die of sleep deprivation.

Still, you found yourself spending more time here than at your own place lately. Something about your apartment felt… off. Or maybe you were just bored of your own four walls. Whatever the reason, you’d wandered into Hyugo’s world, and now you were curled up in his suspiciously stiff bed, waiting for the elusive, night-haunting man to finally show up.

The bed was all sharp corners and no give—military-grade firmness. You were starting to suspect he chose it on purpose, like some kind of self-imposed punishment to never get too cozy. It didn’t exactly scream “a sweet guy lives here,” but then again, Hyugo was full of contradictions. 

One minute, he was offering you cake with sparkly berry drizzle like a Disney prince in combat boots, and the next he was vanishing into the shadows without so much as a text back.

His apartment, though? Absolutely fanboy-coded. 

Posters lined the walls—classic noir detective flicks, sci-fi anthems, and a few vintage anime movie prints. His console collection was stacked neatly beside the TV, surrounded by limited-edition controller sets and at least three different Detective Conan DVDs. 

And the kitchen? Not a single spice in sight, but enough sweets to give Willy Wonka a sugar rush: fruit tarts, cream-filled pastries, and what looked suspiciously like a shrine to strawberries.

You’d sprawled across the bed with a sigh, dressed in one of his oversized hoodies, You stayed up longer than you meant to, thumbing through the endless scroll of social media nonsense—videos, memes, fan theories, rabbit holes that led nowhere.

The screen glowed in the darkness of Hyugo’s bedroom like a little portal to a world that, somehow, still felt more distant than the man you were actually sharing space with. 

Or not sharing, technically.

The sheets were cold beside you. Unsurprising. It wasn’t like Hyugo was known for being reliably present. He’d always been more phantom than person, flickering in and out of your days like some enigmatic glitch in reality. A shadow in a hoodie with too many secrets and a goddamn stash of berry parfaits in his fridge.

Eventually, the fatigue set in—eyes stinging, thumb cramping, brain buzzing from too much brightness. With a defeated sigh, you tucked your phone beneath the pillow and flopped onto your side.

The bed still smelled like him—sharp citrus and clean cotton—but that was all you got. No arm to curl against. No soft snore, no sleepy mumble of your name. Just you and the stiff mattress in a room that felt a little too empty. 

So, you slept.

When morning came, it was rude.

The blinds—half-closed as always—let in just enough sun to paint golden bars across the room, slicing the air with warmth and unwelcome awareness. You groaned and shifted, pulling the blanket up, eyes still crusty from sleep and your hair a mess of pillow friction. You stretched, spine cracking satisfyingly, and rolled over—

Still no Hyugo.

A familiar little twist of disappointment lodged itself in your chest. Not surprising. Not unexpected. But it stung anyway. You had this dumb, fleeting hope—maybe, just maybe, he would’ve shown up in the dead of night, kicked off his shoes, and crawled into bed like some cheesy, fanfiction-level plot convenience. You even left a space open for him, like a fool. But no. Reality had other plans.

You sighed and sat up, hair sticking up at odd angles. You reached for your phone. And yet… something felt off. Off enough that when you swung your legs off the bed and looked around—

There he was.

On the damn floor.

Face down, one arm thrown dramatically to the side like he had spontaneously collapsed mid–Family Guy cutaway gag. His teal hair was a disaster, strands sticking out in every direction like the aftermath of a high-speed chase. 

His bangs were matted to his cheek, and that ridiculous long rat-tail he refused to cut had curled awkwardly near his collar. The coat was halfway down his arms, one boot still clinging stubbornly to his foot, the other nowhere in sight. A lazy trail of crumbs framed his body like some ridiculous pastry chalk outline.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“…Are you serious?”

No answer, of course. Just light snoring and the occasional mumble. You sighed—long, low, and entirely defeated.

How did you not hear him come in? And why the hell is he sleeping on the floor like some tragically aesthetic raccoon?

You slid off the bed with the grace of a cat who had not, in fact, gotten a full eight hours. Padding over in your sleepwear, you crouched beside the body of your once-and-future cryptid, brushing a few strands of teal hair away from his cheek.

“Hyugo,” you muttered, poking his shoulder. No response.

You poked again, this time his cheek. He groaned, rolled onto his back with a sound like a dying alien, and blinked up at you, crimson eyes bleary and unfocused.

“…Bed’s too firm,” he slurred, voice hoarse with sleep.

You gave him a look. “You sleep on rooftops. You once fell asleep in a shopping cart.”

He yawned, the corners of his lips twitching. “And?”

Oh, he’s sassy too now? 

You swallowed the lump that rose uninvited. “You’re a menace.”

Before you could get up, his hand reached out—half-conscious but terrifyingly strong—and yanked you down. Not into a hug, no. Into a full-blown, koala-grip straddle. You found yourself awkwardly seated on his stomach, balancing as his arms locked tight around your waist.

“Mmph. Warm now,” he muttered against your shirt.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m tired,” he whispered. “You’re here. Floor’s fine.”

You just sighed, brushing your fingers gently through his hair, teasing that thick center bang back from his brow. The way his features softened in sleep made him look younger, more open, like the walls he so carefully maintained had been knocked down by pure exhaustion.

“…I didn’t think you were still here,” came that familiar soft voice.

You didn’t even open your eyes, only tilted your head toward the sound. “You didn’t think I’d vanish before breakfast, did you?”

A lazy chuckle vibrated against your chest. He’d shifted to lie beside you now, fully dressed—still somehow dignified in his disheveled chaos. One arm rested behind his head. The other hovered, hesitating like it wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if it was allowed.

Typical Hyugo. Always almost.

But then he frowned, brows pinching like something troubled him. “Actually…” he muttered, “I did try to sleep in the bed with you.”

You blinked. “What?”

He looked sheepish. “You were kind of… dead center. I tried to move you over.”

“And?”

His ears turned pink. “You—uh. You woke up. Glared at me like I insulted your ancestors. Then told me to ‘get the fuck away’ and shoved a pillow in my face.”

You stared. “I… don’t remember that.”

“I know,” he muttered. “You were half-asleep. It was kind of impressive.”

Silence hung between you.

And then you sighed—deep, guilty. “Okay, okay. I didn’t mean it. I was just tired. And… maybe a little annoyed.”

He tilted his head. “Annoyed?”

You hesitated, then looked away. “I… guess I felt lonely. I stayed here thinking I’d have your attention, but you weren’t here. It just felt... off.”

Hyugo didn’t say anything right away, and for a breathless second, you thought maybe he’d dozed off again—curled around you like a worn hoodie someone refused to throw away. But then, as if a switch had flipped inside him, his arms tightened, drawing you in without hesitation, without permission, just need.

He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, and suddenly there were kisses. Rapid, butterfly-soft, peppered along your jawline, cheek, temple. The kind of affection that tried to say what words failed to.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice muffled against your skin, lips barely pulling away long enough to form the words. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

You tensed slightly, caught off guard by how earnest it sounded.

“It’s fine—” you began, brushing your fingers through the loose strands of his shaggy teal hair.

“Nope. No, it’s not,” he cut you off, gently but firmly. “I’m making it up to you.”

Another kiss. This one slower. Near the corner of your mouth. His voice softened further, but it still held that edge of stubbornness he always wielded when it came to you.

“I’m not leaving. Not unless you need me to.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

The silence between you didn’t feel cold anymore—it was warm now, intimate. Like the world had slowed down just to give the two of you a moment.

“I don’t,” you said quietly, the words escaping before you could second-guess them. “Not this time.”

He smiled at that. That rare, almost bashful smile he only ever gave when he wasn’t sure he deserved the closeness, but was grateful for it anyway. He pulled you even tighter, curling into you like a cat that had finally found a sunbeam.

For a moment, you forgot about the crumbs, the stiff floor, the missing boot, and the strange liminal haze of early morning. You could’ve stayed like that forever. Or at least until his stomach inevitably growled loud enough to ruin the mood.

You tilted your head back and peeked at him through half-lidded eyes. His hair was disheveled from wind and sleep, strands catching the low, golden sunlight that leaked through the blinds. 

There was a smudge of city grit near his jawline—evidence of wherever he’d been that night—and a thin white bandage wrapped around his knuckles. A faint, purpling bruise bloomed under one cheekbone like the start of a storm cloud.

“You look like hell,” you muttered, voice filled with dry affection.

He cracked a smirk, still not lifting his head. “You always say the sweetest things.”

“I’m serious. When do you even sleep?”

He finally glanced up, red eyes finding yours. For a split second, something flickered in them. Not amusement. Not sarcasm. Something… hollow and fragile. Then it was gone.

“When you’re here,” he said, barely audible.

And you stilled.

Those words—“When you’re here”—weren’t dressed up in charm or wit. There was no playful gleam in his eye, no sly curl of his lips. Just truth. Quiet, raw, and heavy in a way that settled beneath your skin like something aching. Something long-held and quietly desperate.

Your breath caught for a moment. Your eyes dropped to his cheek again—the faint bruise blooming beneath delicate skin, soft and plum-dark. A smear of exhaustion clung to his features like a second skin, making his usually youthful face look just a touch older, worn from whatever invisible war he fought before coming home.

“…What happened last night?” you asked, voice hushed, as though saying it too loud might break the moment.

He shifted slightly beneath you, the shrug subtle but unmistakably dismissive. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

You didn’t believe him. Not really. That wasn’t an answer—it was a deflection. You could’ve pressed him. Demanded to know who laid hands on him, why he looked like someone had dragged him through a back alley, why there was blood dried into the folds of his sleeve. But the truth lingered in the stillness between your bodies—he needed the silence more than he needed the interrogation.

So instead, you offered warmth.

You reached down, fingers brushing against the rough gauze wrapped around his knuckles, then laced your hand gently with his. His hand was cold, slightly stiff, but it curled around yours instinctively, like it was second nature. Like holding onto you was the one thing he didn’t have to think twice about.

“You know,” you murmured, your voice slow and dry, “for someone who says the bed’s too firm… you’ve really committed to the floor like it’s a luxury spa.”

A lazy chuckle ghosted past your neck, warm breath brushing your skin. “Only ‘cause you’re in it.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see it.

 “You’re such a little shit.”

“I missed you too,” he said simply, almost too quietly.

Then his arms tightened again, drawing you in with the kind of strength that didn’t bruise but didn’t allow escape either. He buried his face back into your shoulder like it was the only place in the world where his guard didn’t need to exist.

You let him.

Not because he asked. Not because you felt obligated. But because, in that strange moment—curled up on a carpet sprinkled with pastry crumbs, light spilling in from the slats of cheap blinds, the city beyond his windows still half-asleep—there was nowhere else you’d rather be. His heartbeat was slow under your palm, a steady thrum of life and tension and something unspoken.

And maybe you weren’t the kind to play house or cling to romantic daydreams. Maybe cuddling on the floor wasn’t your usual script.

But with Hyugo?

With Hyugo, it fit—this messy, half-awake intimacy laced with sugar dust and unsaid things. He sighed, body relaxing a little under your weight. “Stay like this… a bit longer.” 

Your lips twitched into something soft. “Only if you promise not to pass out with food in your hand next time.”

“No promises,” he mumbled, voice already heavy with sleep.

Such a little shit frfr.

✑ 𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓁

Dear lord.

You honestly deserved an award—or at least a gold medal—for managing to pin this walking, talking ball of golden retriever energy down into an actual bed.

Deryl was never still. Ever.

If he wasn’t sprinting across a football field or lifting absurd weights, he was pacing around his room like it was a cage and he was some kind of restless lion hopped up on sugar and testosterone.

The fact that he invited you over to ‘hang out and chill’ was a miracle in itself. Apparently, the football coach had finally granted him a rare moment of freedom, and instead of partying or sleeping—like a sane person), he wanted to spend it with you. That should’ve been flattering—and it kind of was—but good god, it was also exhausting.

From the second you stepped foot in his place, it was like walking into the eye of a hurricane. He barely gave you time to sit down before he was tugging you by the hand to show you everything. His room. His signed football. The dumb little trophy from third grade he pretended wasn’t a big deal but kept on display anyway. 

He talked nonstop, words tumbling over themselves in that typical Deryl fashion—grinning, excited, animated like he’d swallowed the sun.

You tried to keep up, really. You even humored him when he insisted on doing impromptu push-ups while holding a full conversation with you.

But eventually, you crashed. Not like, passed out—but emotionally, spiritually, mentally—done. The guy was just... too much. So you did the only reasonable thing left: you wrestled him onto the bed.

It took effort. A lot of effort. 

The man was built like a truck and fought like a child being dragged away from a bouncy castle. But eventually—after a brief scuffle that probably looked a little too playful for your liking—you managed to get him horizontal, arms flailing, laughter bubbling from his chest.

“Damn,” he panted, hair tousled, eyes bright with the kind of joy that made your chest feel tight. “You really wanted me down, huh?”

“Yes,” you said, breathless. “You’re not allowed to move for at least ten minutes. That’s a law now.”

He grinned like you’d just given him the greatest challenge in existence. “Ten minutes? I don’t know if I can survive that.”

“You will survive, Deryl. Consider it a recovery period.”

“Recovery from what?”

“From being you.”

He laughed, head falling back against the pillow, arms spread like he was about to make a snow angel in the mattress. “Fair.”

Finally—finally—he lay still. The room quieted for the first time all evening, and you took a seat beside him, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. He was still buzzing with energy—you could feel it under his skin—but he was making an effort for you. Trying to be still. Present.

His gaze flicked over to yours, warm and stupidly sincere. “Hey,” he said, voice a little softer, “I really am glad you came over.”

You raised a brow. “Even though I basically tackled you into submission?”

He chuckled. “Especially because of that. No one else gets me to chill out like you do.”

You couldn’t help but smile, despite yourself. “That’s because I’m the only one brave enough to try.”

“You’re not wrong.”

It should’ve been a peaceful moment.

Deryl’s hand had found yours with that ridiculously casual charm he always carried—like it was the most natural thing in the world. Fingers laced, warm skin, a lazy thumb sweeping circles across your knuckles. His grin softened into something quieter, something almost domestic, like this was the kind of thing he could do every night without a second thought.

For a split second, he actually looked still.

But you knew better.

Just as your brain dared to entertain the delusion—maybe he’s calming down, maybe this golden retriever finally burned through all his zoomies for the day—he sat up. Sat up. Like a bolt of lightning just recharged him.

“So I was thinking,” he began, voice way too energetic for someone who should be deep into REM sleep, “we play just one game—Monsters & Mayhem—you’ll love it, there’s strategy, and traps, and dice, and I get to be a werewolf warlock again—”

You blinked, dead-eyed. “…I thought you were going to rest.”

“I am! This is rest! Board games are relaxing!” He was already halfway off the bed, dragging out the board from under his desk like a kid unwrapping a present on Christmas morning.

You just sat there. Exhausted. Physically, mentally, spiritually done. Your spine was folding in on itself like a haunted Victorian child in need of soup. But Deryl—Deryl was on his knees, organizing little plastic figurines and muttering strategy rules to himself, bouncing slightly where he sat. Fully locked in. Eyes sparkling.

You tried.

You tried to be patient.

“Deryl, I really—”

“I’m telling you, the game only takes an hour, maybe two! Depends on how intense the boss phase is, but I’m already setting it up so—”

“Deryl—”

“Okay, pick a character card! You strike me as someone who’d be an elf rogue, right? No wait—you’d hate that—hold on—”

You snapped.

You didn’t mean to. But it came out, loud and unfiltered, fueled by sleep deprivation and the haunting echo of dice rattling in a box:

“DERYL, I WANNA GO TO BED.”

The silence that followed was biblical.

He froze mid-setup, a die hovering in his hand like it was afraid to fall. His mouth hung open a little. His eyes—wide, hazel-green, full of innocence and genuine confusion, blinked once. Twice.

“…Oh.” His voice was very small.

You collapsed back onto the bed dramatically, limbs splayed like a martyr. “I love you, but if you roll one more die, I will launch myself out the nearest window and haunt your locker.”

Deryl was quiet. Thoughtful. Then slowly—very slowly—he put the die down and padded over to the bed, sitting at the edge like a kicked puppy.

“…What if I said I had a candy that helps with sleep?”

Your eyes cracked open slowly, your vision still hazy with sleep, and immediately narrowed in suspicion. “…Candy?”

Deryl sat cross-legged at the edge of the bed, proudly holding up the small, half-crinkled wrapper of the capsule you’d handed him the night before. His face practically glowed with naive delight, cheeks slightly puffed, tousled blond hair flopping in every direction.

“Yeah! That thing you gave me last night? The candy? It made me so sleepy. That stuff’s magical.”

You just stared.

“…Oh my God,” you whispered, horrified and impressed in equal measure. “You actually ate it.”

He blinked at you, eyes wide and honest. “Why wouldn’t I? You said it was strawberry-flavored and ‘good for my energy levels.’”

Right. Energy levels. That was one way to frame melatonin.

To be fair—you had warned him.

Not in words, of course. But through your thoroughly drained expression, your drooping posture, and your complete and utter refusal to play Monsters & Mayhem at midnight. He didn’t pick up on any of it. Of course not. So, really, you had no choice but to lovingly sedate the human golden retriever using candy-wrapped sleep hormones.

And yeah. That’s how the night ended.

Surprisingly effective.

When you woke up the next morning—well, more like afternoon—you felt oddly refreshed. Limbs loose. Mind clear. The blanket tangled but intact. Except for one issue:

You couldn’t breathe.

There were roughly 210 pounds of human sunshine sprawled across your body like a furnace set to maximum heat, wrapped in limbs and pure, unbothered audacity.

Deryl was completely draped over you, face smushed lazily into the crook of your neck. His breath tickled your collarbone, slow and steady, mouth half-open as he snored soft and low—like a purring engine buried in muscle. His skin was warm against yours, dark and smooth beneath the golden morning light filtering through the blinds, a faint sheen of sleep still clinging to him like dew.

His hair—dark brown, thick, and coiled in lazy curls—was flattened on one side, tousled and unruly from tossing around. The sides of his head were neatly shaved, which only made the bedhead up top more dramatic. You could feel the faint scrape of his stubble against your shoulder, rough and unintentional, but somehow comforting. 

One of his broad arms was slung heavy over your waist, the other flopped uselessly off the side of the bed. His legs were tangled messily with yours, practically pinning you down, and despite being entirely unconscious, he radiated heat and smug peace like someone who had absolutely no intention of moving.

You squirmed, trying to shift your hips. No luck. Just more snoring.

“Deryl,” you groaned. “Get off.” Nothing.

He muttered something unintelligible into your skin—probably gibberish—and clung tighter, like you were the mattress itself. “Mmm… five more minutes…”

“It’s one in the afternoon, you overgrown golden retriever,” you hissed, jabbing his side with what little leverage you had. “You are literally suffocating me.”

He let out a deep, groggy moan—like a dying beast—and cracked one bleary eye open. His bright green gaze peeked out from beneath thick, dark lashes, slightly unfocused and glazed with sleep. His full lips parted as he spoke, voice hoarse and low. “You’re so dramatic…”

Still, with the grace of a defeated walrus, he finally rolled off you and onto his back, groaning all the way. His arm flopped across his own stomach, curls falling over his forehead, mouth still half-open in a dopey, content expression.

You sucked in a grateful breath, like someone who had just escaped being flattened by a mattress-sized sandbag.

“Oh, thank God,” you gasped. “You were crushing me.”

Deryl, eyes still closed, grinned into the pillow with zero shame. “You’re soft. Like a human pillow. I regret nothing.”

“You should,” you muttered, glaring at him.

But he just chuckled faintly and burrowed deeper into the sheets—his dark skin glowing softly against the white bedding, stubble catching the light, muscles relaxed and at ease.

Even half-asleep and disheveled, he looked frustratingly good. Like he’d just stepped out of a dream—one that snored, hogged the bed, and refused to let you breathe properly.

You hated how fond you were of him in moments like this.

Even if he had nearly killed you with affection.

Silence stretched between you for a beat, peaceful and golden in the post-nap lull. Then, without even opening his eyes, Deryl asked, “So… what do you wanna do today?”

You blinked, still recovering. “I was gonna rest. Maybe nap again. Eat something.”

He yawned. “Might do my usual workout. Make a smoothie. Maybe chill.”

You made a noncommittal noise. “Sounds like a plan.”

“…Wanna work out with me?”

Your head snapped toward him. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” he asked, suddenly more awake. “It doesn’t have to be hardcore—we could do yoga! Like couple’s yoga. Or plank challenges. Or—”

“No.”

“But—”

“I said no.”

He rolled onto his back and pulled the full might of his pouty face: big, round eyes, slightly jutted bottom lip, messy hair and all. The kind of face that should be outlawed. “Pleeease?”

You stared at him, expression flat. Then sighed. Loud. Long. Suffering.

“…Fine. Yoga. That’s it.”

“Yessss!” he cheered, throwing both arms in the air and almost rolling off the bed in the process.

So much for a chill day.

You should’ve known better than to trust the chaos incarnate.

✑ 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝓉

Sleeping over at Brittney’s place was less of a choice and more of a declaration of war you quietly lost.

You could’ve done literally anything else with your night. Catch up on studying (God knew you needed to). Work on that essay you'd been avoiding like the plague. Rewatch that one show where the characters actually made sense. Hell, even organizing your sock drawer sounded like a more productive use of time. But no. 

Because Brittney—Queen of Ultimatums, Dictator of Plans, and Menace in Lip Gloss—had decided otherwise.

The chaos started during a regular hangout with your group. Everyone was winding down, casual conversations bubbling like background noise. Then, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, Brittney looked straight at you and dropped the bomb with that infamous smirk.

“You and me are having a sleepover tonight. Just us.”

You blinked. “Uh, what—”

“I already decided,” she said, tone breezy, as if she hadn’t just hijacked your evening like a scene-stealer in a teen drama.

You scrambled to backpedal, coming up with the most reasonable excuse: “I have to study. I’ve got an exam next week and I haven’t done—”

“Boo,” she interrupted, eyes gleaming as she slowly drew an invisible line through the air. “Cross out you.”

You stared at her.

She stared back. Intense. Unblinking. The kind of stare that made your soul step outside your body and reconsider all your life choices.

You broke first. With a sigh worthy of an Oscar, you rolled your eyes and muttered, “What time?”

She smiled like she’d just won a bet with the devil. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

And then—because Brittney was never content with just winning—she had the nerve to give you a slow once-over, eyes flicking down your body with shameless interest.

“Wear something cute, 'kay?”

You stood there, mildly stunned, internally screaming.

Jesus. My God.

As promised—on the dot, like she had alarms wired into her bones—Brittney showed up outside your place at exactly eight. Her car pulled up sleek and smooth, the bass of her playlist thumping low in the background like it had its own attitude. You stepped outside in your basic sleepover getup: a quarter-sleeve top, pajama pants, and a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Nothing fancy. 

You were keeping it simple—mostly to spite her, just a little.

She leaned out the driver’s side window with her usual razor-sharp grin. “Cutie,” she greeted, like it was a title she’d already knighted you with.

You slid into the passenger seat, grumbling something incoherent under your breath while tossing your bag into the back. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she was beaming, sunglasses pushed up into her honey-blonde waves even though the sun had already dipped under the horizon. Because of course she was extra like that.

The drive to her place was filled with casual banter, her curated playlist of Y2K bops, and her dramatic commentary on every passing car. You didn’t even realize how quickly time flew until you were standing at her front door, bag in hand, and she was already dragging you inside like you lived there.

Her house was quiet—eerily so. She casually mentioned her parents were out of town for the weekend, which basically translated to: zero supervision, unlimited chaos.

The evening kicked off lowkey. A couple of microwaved snacks, the two of you stretched out on her plush living room floor surrounded by an army of throw pillows and a comforter stolen from her bed. She’d already queued up a nostalgic lineup of early 2000s rom-coms—everything from Legally Blonde to Jennifer’s Body. 

Brittney had no shame in living her Paris Hilton-era fantasy.

At some point, she got bored of just watching movies and decided you were her canvas for the night.

You tried to protest. Really, you did. But Brittney was already pulling out her makeup case before you could say “pass.” She sat cross-legged in front of you, legs brushing yours, with an evil little glint in her eyes.

“Hold still,” she ordered, already dabbing concealer under your eyes. “If you mess this up, I swear I’ll glue rhinestones to your eyelids.”

You suffered through it with only mild complaints. Her concentration was oddly soothing, and her hands were surprisingly gentle as she applied everything with an expert’s precision. She finished with a proud little flourish and turned your face toward her mirror.

“Damn,” she said, smug. “I outdid myself.”

You had to admit… it didn’t look half bad. Which only made it worse.

But she wasn’t done.

“Feet up,” she said next, holding a bottle of baby pink polish like it was a threat. “I’m doing your nails, too.”

“You’re unhinged.”

“And you’re lucky.”

You rolled your eyes but complied, and soon you were both giggling over the ridiculousness of it all—your toes painted, your face fully beat, and the faint glow of movie light flickering across the room. Time slipped by without you realizing it.

Somewhere between the third film and the final coat of nail polish drying, the mood shifted—calmer, quieter. More intimate. You were both lounging against the couch now, her head tilted against your shoulder, mascara-streaked lashes fluttering closed every few seconds.

For someone who'd forced you into this, she looked damn peaceful.

And you… Weirdly, didn’t mind it.

Not that you’d ever admit that aloud.

When you finally cracked your eyes open, it was like waking up inside a fever dream. Britney’s room was...a lot. 

Hot pink reigned supreme—walls, pillows, LED lights that softly bathed the room in a rosy glow. Zebra print was splashed across throw blankets, chair cushions, and even her fuzzy rug like some kind of kitschy jungle rebellion. The floor was scattered with open fashion magazines, mostly featuring Japanese gyaru style queens and Harajuku icons in glossy poses. 

A mirror near the vanity was half-covered in sticky notes and lip prints. Her massive makeup collection gleamed in its tiered organizer, every drawer labeled with sparkly gel pen.

It was clean—technically. Just... chaotically organized. 

Like a tornado had passed through Sephora and left her to sort through the glittering debris with her own system. And somehow, she always knew where everything was. You wouldn’t dare move a single thing or she'd hex you.

She hadn’t even taken off her makeup.

Her deep blue eyes remained closed beneath feathery, false lashes—miraculously still intact despite the pillow abuse. A tiny beauty mark rested elegantly beneath her right eye. Her eyelids were dusted with a pink and blue gradient—bubblegum shimmer at the center, icy blue smoked at the edges. Her lips, glossed in a creamy pink, had faded slightly but still looked kissably obnoxious.

Her blonde hair was down. Even in sleep, her look screamed curated chaos. Her nails—manicured to perfection—alternated between cotton candy pink and electric blue, complete with rhinestones that glinted under the fairy lights.

You blinked, dazed, your limbs a little numb from the weight of her.

“…Brit.” You called.

She didn’t stir. Just let out a soft, contented sigh and curled closer, pressing her nose into the crook of your neck. You debated whether to move, but decided it wasn’t worth the energy. You were trapped in pastel hell, and honestly? It was kind of warm.

Eventually, you reached for your phone on the nightstand and blinked at the time. Late morning—more like early afternoon. Neither of you seemed in any rush to move, and there wasn’t much planned anyway. 

You could hit the mall, maybe dig through some thrift shops for vintage gems or accessories. Or you could both just stay in, doomscroll Pinterest for outfit inspo while half-watching some messy influencer apology videos. 

There was always some juicy drama in the fashion world, or on campus, or in her DMs. A yawn escaped you, and Britney groaned softly, eyes fluttering but not quite waking.

“Brittney.” You called again.

Britney stirred with the subtle grace of a cat sunbathing in a window—stretching slowly, fingers curling against your side before one of her legs slid further over yours, anchoring you in place like she sensed you were considering escape. 

Her blonde hair, once tied up in that obnoxiously perfect ponytail, had come loose sometime during the night and now spilled around her shoulders in a soft, tousled cascade of gold and candy-colored streaks. It framed her face like some ethereal dream girl version of chaos incarnate.

You watched her lashes flutter as she squinted one eye open, bleary but sharp enough to notice the phone in your hand. She groaned dramatically, voice a sleepy rasp laced with velvet and attitude.

“Ugh… no phones in bed,” she mumbled, fingers finding your wrist and tugging it gently back down. “I’m not done being warm yet.”

“You’re literally clinging to me like a space heater,” you muttered, though you didn’t pull away. “And it’s past noon.”

Her lips curled into a sleepy, mischievous smile. “Then consider it brunch-in-bed cuddles. With a side of me.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the tiny grin tugging at your lips. “You are so full of yourself.”

“And yet, you still let me do your nails and fall asleep in my arms.” She cracked both eyes open now, her voice lower, playful. “Which, might I say, is very girlfriend behavior.”

You snorted, turning your head slightly. “Don’t push it.”

She pouted, inching closer—her breath warm against your jaw. “But you’re so cozy,” she said, practically whining. “And cute. I mean, look at you—bedhead and everything. You could at least let me kiss your forehead or something before you go tearing me away from my beauty sleep.”

“You weren’t asleep.”

“Details,” she said, brushing her nose against yours, her manicured fingers now tracing lazy little hearts against your side. The glint of rhinestones on her nails sparkled under the soft fairy lights strung across the ceiling, catching your eye every few seconds like a spell.

You opened your mouth to protest, but she beat you to it, pressing a kiss to your temple with all the gentleness of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

She pulled back just enough to whisper, “Don’t you wanna stay in bed with me a little longer? Or…” she drew the word out, trailing her fingertips down your arm, “I could do that contouring trick I saw on TikTok. The one that makes your cheekbones look criminal.”

“Brit,” you said flatly, though your voice came out softer than intended.

She blinked up at you, putting on the most pitifully sweet expression she could muster. “Pleeease? I promise to let you study after. Maybe. Kind of. Probably not. But at least you’ll look hot while procrastinating.”

You buried your face into the pillow with a groan, defeated. “Fine. But if you pull out glitter again, I swear—”

“I make no promises,” she sang, already grabbing for her makeup bag like it was Christmas morning.

And honestly… you let her.

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒:

I honestly had way too much fun writing this. 

That said—just a heads-up—what you’ve read so far MIGHT (Because I would know I'm simply unpredictable when dealing with myself so much) be the last time I do parts on Brittney and Deryl.

There’s still so much bouncing around in my head, and it gets sofrustrating because my dumbass keeps forgetting stuff unless I force myself to sit down and write it all out.

But anyway, chaos and memory lapses aside, I really enjoyed crafting this chapter—especially the parts with Geo, Crowe, and Brittney.

Ugh. I’m such a simp for those three now, it’s ridiculous.

[m0kka1]

Who should I draw next >:D

[m0kka1]

Make you feel good?ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙──────────────────────────

Mr. Crawling X Fem reader

Smut cuz I want this man. Oral(reader receiving), fingering, praising, messy sex bro it's just super goofy, Mr. Crawling has a cold body so everything about him is cold, unprotected sex, PiV, I like to think he's super loud in bed, he has a long black tounge here, And I believe that's all for now :)

I played the game and omg I'm literally so obsessed over him like omg omg I love him sm

You were stressed. Tensed up.

And Mr Crawling saw this. But you'd always give him a smile whenever he asked if you were okay, if you had any pains. You were in bed, the curtains pulled as Mr. Crawling was on the floor behind them.

You had told him you just wanted some privacy for a bit. He was confused but he smiled at you. You smiled back at him and pulled the curtains. At first it was quiet. Maybe you just needed to rest a bit in private. He would have left if you asked him but that's okay. He heard some small shuffling and weird sounds. You were making sounds. You usually make these sounds when you have these ‘ scary dreams’, as you call them.

“Just wake me up when you hear me screaming or making sounds.” You told him once. You weren't exactly screaming but you were making weird sounds. He goes up to the bed as he peaks through the curtains and he sees you. You weren't wearing any clothes. Aren't you cold? You usually say you get cold when you don't have clothes on. The sheet wasn't even on you.

You were making weird sounds, your hand down between your legs as the other hand was cupping your breast. He keeps watching you. He's curious as to what you are doing. You were Whimpering, biting your lip, eyes, clothes as your head was thrown back. Your hand was rubbing small circles, your feet were curled, you were sweating as well. “Ah- Oh my-” You were so lost in your own pleasure you didn't even feel the bed Move a bit. You thought it was just you. You were so close. So so close. And then you hear Mr Crawling. you open your eyes and scream as you grab the sheets. “W-What are you doing here?! I-” he grabs on to the sheets and pulls them. He giggles as he looks down at your body. His hands go to your stomach, making you jump.

He's so cold!

Goosebumps all over your body. You look at him and let him continue. His hands move slowly up to your chest and you moan. His cold hands feel so nice on your warm body. “You Feel…good?” He asks and you nod. “Yes.” You say. He giggles and brushes his thumb over your nipple. You moaned and felt his other hand rub up and down on your thigh. You open your legs a bit more and try to move your hips to his hand. You wanted him to touch where you wanted him to. You whine as you grab his hand and move the tip of his fingers to your clit. You moved them in small circles. Fuck, he's so cold but it feels good.

He watches you as you move his hand to your wet slicks. He smiles and looks at your face. You looked like you were feeling good. No pain. Good. Pleasure. He starts to move his fingers by himself and you move your hand to cup your breast. “Good?” He asks again and you simply reply With a moan. He will simply take that as a yes. And as he watched your body move under him, he felt weird too. A good weird. He grins and moved hus fingers down to where was even more wet. You gasp at his cold touch and look at him. “Mr. Crawling- wait- um.” He stopped and tilts His head to the side. “Me make you feel good?” He asks and you nod. “Just, one.” You say as you hold a finger up. You grab his hand and show him. “One.” You say.

“One.” He repeats with you, just in his own language. He looks down and allows your hand to show him. You moved his long finger inside of you, causing you to gasp. Jesus, his fingers are so long. And honestly, his cold touch makes it feel even better. “Out.” You say as you move his hand out. “In.” And push it back in. You keep repeating as you whimper.

He moved his hand by himself, understanding now. He looks at you and sees your face. You had this expression on you that was just pure bliss. An expression he has never seen from you. He wants to see it more. He looks down at your wet cunt, covering His finger with your own cream. He starts to move faster, making you moan louder. “Ah- Yes, so good, good!” You moan as you hold on to his shoulder. He tilts his head and grins. He wonders… how would you taste? Sweet? sour? disgusting? No, you would never taste like that. You'd probably taste amazing. Just the thought of that made him lick his lips. He goes between your legs and lifts them up, putting them on his shoulder. “Wait! What are you doing?” You ask surprised and see his face closer to your dripping cunt. What would you smell like? He obviously knows you smell nice, but he needs to smell you better, closer. He needs you close to him. He needs to be inside you.

Sniff. Sniff. Sniff.

“Are you smelling me?” You ask, a bit creeped out. He looks at you and nods. “Good.” He says as he continues to smell. Oh, you smell amazing. You smell so good. You see him open his mouth and feel something cold and wet go between your folds that caused you to jump. He stopped as stood there. He grins and He grabs your hips. He hurriedly brings them closer To his face. You yelped and moaned as you felt his tongue lick your clit. “Y-Yeah, t-there. You're doing go- ah oh, you're doing good.” You moan as you move your hips. Mr. Crawling whimpers as he keeps licking your. Your praises had him feeling weird, weak, not a bad way. A good way. A good type of feeling that he wants to hear and feel more. His long tongue swirls around your small bud. He looks down at your aching hole and pushes his tongue, causing you to yelp once Again.

He seriously likes surprising you a lot.

You run your hands through his hair. Hearing him whimper just meant he liked your hands on his hair, so you kept going through his long black hair. You move your hips up and down, trying to reach your High, you need to. Fuck, all these random jump scares and random events. It just made you so stressed up. How long has it been since you've ever even felt this good?

Your ex couldn't even go down on you and Mr. Crawling is here, eating you up as if you were his first meal in years. You felt so loved and wanted with him. Because with him, he made you feel wanted. He Makes you feel good. He makes you feel so loved. You hold his hand and lock fingers with him as you throw your head back. You're close, so fucking close. You moan and gently tug at his hair, your thighs Starting to close. But he keeps them apart with only one of his arms. “I'm close! I'm so close!” You whine as you rub yourself into his nose, coming on his tounge. He's panting like a dog, droll and your juices dripping down from his chin onto the bed sheets. He pulled away and looked at you, who was panting.

“You, use me.” He says. You looked at him puzzled as he got on the bed and moved his head down. You looked down and saw a very obvious huge tent under his black gown. Oh god. “Please.” He says as he lifts up the gown to reveal his long cock, it twitches as precum drips out from The angry mushroom tip.

ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙──

Honestly you don't even know who is loud right now. You or him. He's moaning and Whimpering so loud, it just turns you on way more. You were on top of him, your legs open as you squat down on his cock, your hand on his chest to support yourself. He was moaning as his hands moved to your hips to try and help you more. His own hips moving up from time to time to feel you and be deeper inside of you.

you look down to see how your pussy would sink into his cock. God, he felt so good, he was making you feel good. You have to let him know, you already know how much he adores to be praised by you. “Good- ah! So good! You- good!” You moan as you feel his wet cock go in and out of you. And suddenly you feel something cold and goopy. You looked at him and said, “you came?”

But all he does is hold your hips and move his own on to yours. His moans became louder. It was messy. So goopy. You could hear the squish sounds that came every time you sank in, your skins slapping with the wet sounds. Honestly, it turned you on way more. You moved one of his hands to your breast that wanted attention just as much as your hips wanted them. He holds them and plays with your nipples, his long tongue swirling around them as he whimpers and moans. Your nipples got even harder as you felt his cold tongue.

You couldn't think anymore, your eyes rolling back as the tip of his cock hit your g-spot. Your legs give up in even trying. But he didn't give up, he grabbed your ass as he held and moved his hips upwards, faster and much harder. You scream as your eyes roll back even more. The bottom of his cock was covered with your cream. “T-There! Like that!” You yelled and he continued, not changing his pace. You hold tightly to his shirt as he holds the flesh Of your ass tightly, Whimpering and groaning as his cock keeps going in and out of your pussy.

Without even saying anything, you cum On his cock, soon feeling his cold cum shooting inside of you again. You whimper and whine at every touch, panting as you try to catch your breath.

Mr. Crawling lets you lay down on the bed and looks at you. “You, you feel good.” He says. “I want more.” He says as he spreads your legs open to reveal his own cum and your juices spilling out of you.

“More.” He says.

You smiled And nodded. “More.”

Mr. Gap heard and saw it all lol.

Hey @caotictimmy , I expect those feet in 3 to 5 business days.

[m0kka1]

haii ><,, i read your pampering fic w mr crawling and i js. UGH. IM SO IN LOVEEEE 😭😭 do u do nsfw drabbles/fics 🤔 i read in ur rules you DO allow nsfw so,, could i request something nsfw abt a first time with him ><??

First Time.

context: First time with your pookie wookie bookie puppy bear.

Homicipher. mr crawling x reader. | Anypov…(?). NSFW | tw: ectoplasm c*m

Nsfw isn’t my strong suit but I have fun challenging myself, I do hope you enjoy this!

first time? ..confusing. And complicated. And clumsy. But oh.. does it feel so good.

It’s definitely a lot of build up over a couple months, like first soft pecks, then making out, slow and clumsy touches.

You have to guide his hands yourself until he gets the hang of it, but I think he’s a pretty quick learner. He’s def good with his hands (I actually think he says that in the game at some point) and his tongue.. (😜)

I’d say your on your bed making out, straddling his lap, your tongues in a heated battle with each other while his hand roams your body and his other hand is gently cupping your face. You’re starting to subtly grind against him, and he makes a chirping noise.

You can feel his erection against your thigh, and when you pull back to look at him, he’s smiling widely at you. He grabs you by the shoulders and switches your positions, pushing you down against the mattress while he hovers over you. He’s whining and chirping, rutting against your leg and wrapping his big arms around you, burying his face in to your chest. He’s so whiny and desperate for you, clawing at your clothes to try and get them off.

I saw someone say he’d be on the smaller side, but yall see how fucking tall that man is?? I def think he’s atleast 6 or 7 inches ..skinny, veiny, with a slight curve.

He’s chirping and making all sorts of noises when he finally sinks in to your wet heat, rutting so sloppily and clumsily. You jolt from how cold it is compared to your hot gummy walls, making you shiver. He has no idea really what he’s doing, but it just feels so good he can’t stop, can’t help himself. How you clench around him, how good it feels, its driving him insane. Burying his face in to your neck and wrapping his arms around you so tightly.

You can tell he’s getting close because he’s getting more vocal and his thrusts are getting even more sloppier (somehow), and you’re clawing at his back, whimpering and mewling. Your walls clench around him, milking his purple-tipped cock, cumming with a sharp cry. His hips stutter as you ride out your high, and he slips out of you, shooting his load on your tummy, rubbing his grey ectoplasm cum all over your soft skin, giggling maniacally.

After you clean yourselves up, you snuggle up to him, pulling the covers up around you both as he pats your head and you drift off to sleep on his arms.

11/11/2024. 9:38 am. @i90o3

[m0kka1]

✑ 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

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

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

Yeah, we’ve all been there.

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

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

Hope you enjoy reading!

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

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

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

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

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

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

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

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

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

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

✑ Vanilla (Soft Dom…) 

For Crowe preferences!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✑ Praise (giving + receiving)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✑ Experimentalist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✑ Dacryphillia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

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

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

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

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

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

✑ Switch (A Pervert…)

Now, about Sol’s... preferences. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✑ Praise (Receiving)

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

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

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

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

✑ Masochist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

✑ Somnophillia 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, he was losing it.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To Sol, this meant everything. 

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

So sacred.

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

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

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

[m0kka1]

𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

minors don’t interact!!!!! 18+ only mature content under tab

synopsis : sol was obsessed with you the moment he laid eyes on you. you were his soulmate. he’d make sure no one else would touch you. he is the only one who can satisfy you. don’t you know that?

warnings : yandere, masturbation, obsessive behavior, stalking, somnophilia, cnc, dubcon, predatory behavior, smut, long word count, drugging, grinding, penetration, very rough sex, whiny submissive Sol at one point, and dominant Sol at another point.

author’s note : if you just want to read smut skip to sections with the 🍋 icon

long word count (11.7k+ words) i mean this might as well be split into different chapters but i don’t want to do that, also i decided to change him referring to you as pumpkin to something else sorry. gave him a tongue piercing because it sounded fun >:3 also i hate tumblr formatting so read on ao3 if you want . (gloomy_kitty)

also not 100% lore accurate

thanksss to my friend who proofread this for me!!

Sol was obsessed with you and had been since you first arrived at the school. The moment his scarlet eyes landed on you something strange was awakened within him. It felt like love at first sight—no it was love at first sight. Did you remember your first encounter? No, it was so long ago you probably hadn’t. He did though, he remembered how he felt so vividly. His heart pounded in his chest, butterflies fluttered in his stomach, and his breath hitched making it difficult to breath the moment he had seen you. That cute library assistant that worked on campus. He remembered how he had walked up to you at the counter, asking for a book for class. How you went out of your way to help him find it, not complaining a single time.

“You absolutely need this book for your class right?” You asked him, sighing in defeat after nearly an hour of searching the library.

“Yes, but if you can’t find it don’t w-“ Sol began, a bit irritated that this was required for his passing grade. But he’d just ordered it online and prayed it arrived on time before finals.

“No. I know we have it. Don’t worry I’ll find it. Just give me another day. Here write down your info and I’ll give you a call once I do.” You said determinedly, sliding a sticky note and pen towards him. “O..okay.” He mumbled and wrote down his information. He fully expected you to not ever find the book or just forget to call him to let him know of your findings. But the very next morning he received a call from an unknown number. “Hello?” He answered.

“Hi this ______ from the school’s library. I found the book you were looking for. It’s reserved at the front desk. If I’m not here just let whoever is at the counter know your name.” You said, he could tell that you were quite happy.

Sol’s eyes widened in shock, you really found it. He responded back with a simple thanks and during a free period he went to the library. There he saw you shelving away books, a content expression on your face. Awkwardly he walked up to you clearing his throat, when he realized you had an earbud in. You jumped in surprise, dropping the book you were holding. Then, at the same time you and Sol reached down to grab the book. Your hand on top of his for a brief second before you pulled away. It felt like a bolt of electricity shot through him. “Whoops! Oh hey you’re the guy from yesterday!” You laughed quietly as he handed you back the book. With that you checked him out reminding him that late fees would occur if he didn’t bring it back on time. You explained how you stayed over an hour after your shift to find what he was needing, then it turned out it was in the completely wrong genre! A historical book tucked away with comics, how egregious!

When Sol asked why you did that you shrugged, simply saying, “I don't want anyone to fail their first semester because I was too lazy to find a book for them. It’s my job after all.” You flashed him a smile. As you handed it over your fingers brushed over him for another brief moment. That same electric feeling coursed through his body. It was that moment something had awakened inside Sol. He was obsessed now.

That memory played in his head for over a year, he had found out your first name. One day when sitting in the library “studying” he overheard you telling a blonde girl about how excited you were for your art class in the fall then you explained what period it would be. Since there was only one introduction to art class that fall semester for the period before lunch, he was going to enroll in art class regardless so might as well make sure he was in yours. Everything had been planned out. Sol didn’t leave any detail forgotten.

He got to class early, sitting in the back of the classroom. He placed his backpack on the chair next to him and anyone he tried to sit next to he glared at, causing them to scurry away. Now he just needed to wait for you to arrive, you’d have to take the only available seat open next to him in a full class.

Like he planned There were no more seats left in class, you had arrived a bit late, only barely beating the bell. He watched as your eyes darted around the classroom looking for somewhere to sit, then a relief look washed over your cute face when you spotted the open seat next to him. Quickly you made your way over pulling out the chair, “Is this taken?” You asked him, already beginning to slip off your backpack.

“N..no.” Sol replied avoiding your gaze, he was focused on his sketchbook, his pencil tapping against the book as he tried to control his breathing. “Oh thank god.” You sighed in relief, finally taking your seat. Rummaging through your backpack you pulled out all the essentials you’d need for art class. It worked. His plan went perfectly!

Sol found it difficult to concentrate on the professor’s words as he discussed basic art fundamentals, he just kept glancing over at you. Your perfume smelled so intoxicating, it drove him wild. The way you studiously jotted down notes was so adorable. Then class ended much to the man’s horror, he hadn’t written down a single thing but most importantly you gathered your things to leave without saying a word to him. He lingered in the classroom a bit, slowly shoving his sketchbook back into his backpack.

A couple days passed before he could see you again, and the whole time he found it difficult to think about anything else other than you. Sol was a bit angry at himself for not even speaking to you, that was his chance to reintroduce himself. He would talk to you next time, he promised himself.

The next class came and you were once again in the same predicament as last time. Arrived to class right before the bell went off and the only seat opened was next to the same guy as before. Not that you minded, he seemed nice enough. “Hey.” You greeted him quietly as you sat down before taking a seat. “Hi.” He returned your greeting quietly. He once again didn’t speak to you and that cycle went on for some time, before finally he had an excuse for the two of you to speak. He wasn’t sure why he kept shying away from you. Shit, he could barely even concentrate in class.

Then the next class came. “Everyone, please pair up with the person beside you, I want you and your partner to discuss today’s chapter.” The professor mumbled as he took a seat back down at his desk, immediately kicking his feet onto the desk and tapping away on his phone.

Turning around with a sigh you looked at your partner with a smile, “Hi. Thanks for always saving me a seat. I’m ______.” You introduced yourself, then gave the dark haired man an encouraging nod to speak. I know what your name is. He thought. Sol rubbed the back of his neck, nervously avoiding your eyes, his gaze fixated to the side. “Yeah it’s no problem. I’m..Sol.” He introduced himself back, hoping that maybe you remembered him.

“Nice to meet you, Sol.” You chimed in reply, holding your hand out. He looked at your hand, then back at you before he shook your hand back. “Yeah, same.” He said, a small smile making its way to his pierced lips. The moment your hands touched, he felt his heart do a leap, and without meaning to he held onto your hand for a bit longer than usual. Though upon realizing that, he quickly pulled his hand away. Either you didn’t mind or just didn’t notice it, as you immediately turned your attention back to the textbook. So you didn’t remember him, that was okay it’s not like he ever went out of his way to speak to you at the library.

“So, this chapter…” you began as you pushed the textbook to the center of the table so you both could share. Sol didn’t speak too much, he was more interested in what you had to say, he nodded attentively and hummed in acknowledgment when he agreed with something you said. The professor didn’t seem too interested in teaching class, so the reminder was spent just conversing. You giggled as Sol said something as you playfully slapped his arm, “What, no way? You did not!” You quietly exclaimed as Sol told you a story. He nodded, “Yeah I really did. It’s embarrassing but it’s the truth.” He laughed softly. Every single fucking thing was so adorable about you; your name, laugh, appearance, personality, every single thing was so adorable. Then just as Sol was about to open his mouth to speak again, the bell rang.

Jumping up in your seat, you pushed the chair back, quickly gathering your belongings. “I gotta go, Sol. But you’ll save me a seat again right? I really enjoyed talking to you.” You asked, looking at him with the cutest expression. “Yeah of course.” He reassured you. “Thanks, you’re the best!” You said and with that, you rushed out of the classroom.

As Sol finished gathering his own belongings, he noticed something sitting on your chair. Your jacket was left behind. He grabbed it and quickly walked out of the classroom to see if he could catch up to you, but of course you were nowhere to be seen. ‘I’ll hold onto it. Give it to her next class.’ He thought to himself.

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“Woah, that's a cute jacket! You seeing a cute girl?” Hyugo asked his friend. The pair sat at their usual spot on the rooftop eating their lunches. Sol rolled his eyes, “No. The girl who sits next to me in art left it, I’m going to give it to her next class. I just didn’t want it to get lost.” He explained as he continued to eat. He could bring it to you at the library where you worked part time but no, he just wanted to hold onto a bit longer. It was a cute jacket, he couldn’t lie - it was black with striped sleeves and an adorable black cat patch was ironed onto the front. It suited you perfectly.

“Aren’t you so sweet?” Hyugo teased, causing his friend’s face to heat up. Sol grumbled under his breath as he just ignored the comment and continued to eat, only causing the other to laugh. As the bell rang, signaling that their final class of the day would begin and marking the end of their lunch break, the pair stood up. Sol gathered the bento boxes, placing them in his backpack.

“Are you doing anything after class?” Hyugo asked before they parted ways. Sol wasn’t, but he needed to spend some time alone, there was an issue he needed to take care of. “Yeah.” He simply responded. “Aw okay, I’ll just go to the arcade by myself then.” He shrugged before walking off.

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It was dark already when Sol arrived back to his small studio apartment, the short winter days meant it would always be night when he got home. The dark haired man sat his bag on a chair, taking out the bentos to wash. He remembered your jacket was still in his hands, so carefully he placed it on the top of the couch. And so he did his usual evening routine; cleaning dishes, cooking dinner and lunch. The television was playing a show he really had no interest in watching, but it was good background noise.

But he just couldn’t stop thinking about you, eyes flicking to the jacket on the sofa as he prepared his and Hyugo’s lunches. Sol felt the crotch of his pants tighten uncomfortably against him, he swallowed the lump that formed in his throat as his heart rate accelerated. But he remained focused just hurrying to finish dinner as soon as possible so he could shower and lay in bed. Tomorrow was early classes after all.

Finally after some time Sol had showered and flopped onto his bed, an exhausted sigh escaping his lips. He closed his eyes as he tried to focus on anything other than you. But his boxers were so incredibly tight, his erection wouldn’t go away no matter what he tried to do. It felt wrong to touch himself to you, so resisting the urge Sol finally fell asleep. Tonight at least he was able to resist the urge.

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The next day of classes came and nothing extraordinary happened. Sol couldn’t spot you anywhere, he supposed he would have to wait until tomorrow to see you and return the jacket. His evening routine was more or less the same, but as he laid in bed tonight, the urges were getting harder and harder to resist.

Sol tried to squeeze his eyes shut, trying to think of anything else other than the raging erection in his pants right now. His gaze kept flickering to your jacket, he was reminded of how amazing you smelled. He just wanted to smell the perfume again, there was no harm in that…right? Quickly getting out of bed, he snatched your jacket from the couch, immediately pressing it to his nose. Oh god, you smelled so fucking good. He was intoxicated by the scent, his eyes rolling back as he took in your smell, and without even realizing what was happening, his hands trailed down his torso until they slipped under the waistband of his boxers. His long slender fingers immediately wrapped themselves around his erection.

Sol began to pump his cock, a whimper leaving him as his thumb grazed over his tip. Precum was already pooling at the slit, his face still buried in your cute jacket. He could only imagine what it would feel like to have his face buried in your hair, neck…your pussy. He fantasized how amazing you would taste as his face was between your thighs, he’d make you feel so good. He had wanted you for so long now.

“_____…._______….” Sol whimpered your name, scarlet eyes fluttering shut as his pace quickened. At this point he was panting heavily, a complete mess and if your mere scent was doing this to him, he couldn’t imagine how he’d act during the actual act. His cock twitched in his hand and legs trembled; he collapsed onto his knees. He was now thrusting himself eagerly into the palm of his hands, precum lubricating his cock. Sol’s moans echoed throughout the apartment and he felt the warm sensation building up in his core, then with one final thrust he came loudly. “Oh fuck ______!” He cried out, his cum making an absolute mess of his boxers.

Riding out his orgasm he finally came to a stop and dropped the jacket onto the floor. His chest moving up and down as he tried to catch his breath, the whole of his body was a hue of red and warm to the touch. Dark hair sticking to his face from the beads of sweat that had formed. He made sure to toss your jacket onto the couch before he removed his hand from his boxers. A wave of embarrassment and guilt washed over him when he saw sticky cum coating his hand. I shouldn’t have done that. It felt so good though. He thought with a sigh as he stood to his feet. I should go wash up.

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Class was the next day, and that meant Sol could finally see you, he could return your jacket. He waited until after class, when you both were in the hallway. A part of him debated on not giving it back, he wanted it forever, to always have you with him, but he decided against it and it was worth it. The look on your face when he had handed you your jacket back was worth it. “Oh my gosh, Sol. I was so worried I had lost my favorite jacket forever. Thank you so much!” You exclaimed as you hugged him briefly, before you slipped it back on. “Yeah..of course. I tried looking for you yesterday to return it but I couldn’t find you anywhere.” He explained. A tinge of red evident on his pale features as he was reminded of what he did the night before with it. He violated your poor jacket, but of course he would never tell you that.

You shook your head, waving your hand dismissively, “Sorry about that! I was in such a rush to leave. My other job needed me to cover a shift.” You explained. You had another job besides the library?

But he didn’t mind; he was just glad he could keep your jacket safe from anyone else. Fumbling in the pocket of your pants you pulled out your cell phone, “We should exchange numbers! Just in case one of us needs to get into contact with each other.” You suggested, swiping your finger across to unlock the device. He watched as you typed away on the screen before handing it to him.

Sol’s heart was beating so quickly now, you were really asking for his number? He looked a bit uncomfortable, like he was rejecting your offer, because you began to pull away your phone looking at the floor embarrassedly. “S-sorry. I shouldn’t ha-“ you began but he cut you off, gently snatching the phone from your hand. And within seconds he typed in his number, he already noticed you made a contact name for him. Sol ☀️

But something else caught his attention as he felt the phone vibrate in his hand.

Crowe 🐦‍⬛ : You’re still coming over tonight, right?

Something inside of the dark haired man awakened when he saw that text. He froze in place, his blush that tinted his features now went away. Who the hell is Crowe? He thought bitterly. Your boyfriend or a coworker? He only snapped out of his thoughts when you retrieved your phone back, your thumbs danced across the screen then he felt his pocket vibrate.

“Did you get it?” You asked curiously, tilting your head so cutely to the side. “L-let me check.” Sol quickly said and pulled out his phone. His boring black phone background was illuminated with your text.

Unknown: hii! it’s ______ :D

Without a moment of hesitation he saved your contact. ______ 🌙

His contact was saved with a sun by his name so it only made sense that you were the moon. With that, you two said your goodbyes and Sol watched as you walked down the hall, he stood in his spot with a small smile on his lips.

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It was the weekend which meant Sol would do his weekly cleaning of his apartment. Loud music echoed throughout the apartment as he cleaned, humming softly to himself. Something caught his eye as he was vacuuming under the couch, a small piece of rectangular plastic glittered as it caught the light from the ceiling fan. Crouching, he picked it up and his eyes widened instantly when he realized what it was. Your ID had fallen out from the pocket of your jacket, he assumed. And all of your information was on it.

“______ ______..” Sol whispered your full name. He didn't know what it was before. Your address was there too, and it looked recent, judging from the picture and expiration date. The card shook ever so slightly in his fingers as he was practically salivating that he would now be able to find so many more things about you.

Halting his cleaning for the day, he shut off the music and instantly opened up his laptop to begin searching your name online. Hours had passed, day turned into night. Sol’s scarlet red irises were glazed over, his lips dry and mouth a bit parched. He hadn’t left his laptop screen in hours, too engrossed with finding out every single detail about you. Your social media wasn’t private, how foolish of you. And he scrolled through the dozens of pictures you had posted, finding out everyone you associated it with. The page refreshed and a new picture was posted. You are with a group of people at what looked like a bar, with the caption: Love my friends!! Tonight was so fun, let’s do it again!! :D

Sol remembered the text from this “Crowe” earlier and he began to examine the picture, trying to find out who this Crowe was. His eyes narrowed when he saw the man next to you in the picture. A long haired brunette with tan skin, he swore he had seen that face before. This Crowe was behind your frame, hands resting on either of your shoulders. To anyone else they would have assumed that you and the man were friends, nothing in the pose indicated anything romantic, but to Sol it was too much. He didn’t want to see another man behind you touching you like that. Standing up he slammed his laptop shut and decided he needed to go to bed before he got too consumed by his jealousy and anger.

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As days turned into weeks, then eventually into months, Sol and you grew closer. You were regularly texting and hanging out. He had found out that your lunches consisted of junk food, and that was even if you brought lunch to campus. So he decided to start prepping your lunches, and even dinners as soon as he found out you ate cup noodles nearly every night. God, you were cute albeit a bit useless, he didn’t mind cooking for you, it only made him feel wanted - and the look on your face every time you ate his meals just made him filled with so much joy.

You were so kind and introduced him to your friend group, Crowe was kind enough and he kept his hands off of you in Sol’s presence. But he knew that man looked familiar, and Crowe looked at him with suspicious eyes and a fake smile. Sol only remained cordial with your friends though, if they made you happy he’d pretend to be friendly with them. But the man never returned your ID, it was his now. You complained about having to buy a new one, but he made sure to slip some extra cash into your backpack one day when you weren’t looking. The text he received that night was so adorable. “Omg Sol I found some cash at the bottom of my backpack. I’m eating good tonight! >:3”

It was so worth it. But Sol had a dirty secret that he couldn’t tell a living soul. He was slipping sleeping medication into the dinners he made you, he made a copy of your apartment key, and he was letting himself into your home every night. It was all in an attempt to make sure you were safe!

“My neighborhood is so unsafe. I really need to find somewhere else to live. There’s been so many recent break ins and assaults, and I live at ground level.” He remembered you complaining.

“You can stay at my place, _______. It’s a decent neighborhood. Lots of old people, so it’s quiet.” He offered.

“Sol! No, I can't do that. You already do enough for me. I got new locks on everything and alarms.” You retorted with a pout. He knew you wouldn’t change your mind, you weren’t that type of girl. You were independent, but that was okay. Sol would still keep an eye on you. Knowing you kept a spare key hidden away, he found it and while you were at work he had a copy made, then placed the key back without you being none the wiser.

Tonight wasn’t any different, Sol waited until you were asleep and he slipped into your quiet, dark apartment. He could navigate your home in the dark. That's how familiar he was with the layout, but the dim street lights also did aid him. Your bedroom door was slightly ajar and he quickly made his way in.

The streetlights illuminated your room, he saw your sleeping form on the bed, one hand hanging off the side of the bed and your blankets messily thrown on top of your body. In fact, the blankets barely covered any of your body. You wore an oversized t-shirt and the cutest panties - the shirt was raised and exposed your bare torso. “Were you waiting for me dear?” He whispered as he knelt down at your bedside. Folding his hands on the edge of the bed, he rested his chin on top, his gaze was so loving - but there was something so dark about the way he looked at you. Raising a hand up, Sol’s slender fingers brushed aside the hair on your face. “So cute…” he breathed out.

You shifted, your eyes squeezing shut as a quiet groan left your lips. When you moved through, your shirt lifted just a bit more, revealing your breast partially. Sol felt his face grow warm and he tried to avert his gaze, but it was like you were practically begging for him, looking so cute and innocent. He choked back a moan as he felt his dick get hard, his fingers wrapped around the wrist of your limp hand and he placed his cheek into your warm palm. His eyes fluttered shut as he let out a content sigh, “You're asking me to do something, huh dear?” He mumbled. That had to be it or why else were you wearing such an outfit is that why you left your bedroom door opened? You were inviting him in, right?

Sol leaned down to press a kiss to your exposed neck, he nibbled softly at the skin. A quiet whimper escaping you as your brows furrowed. So cute. He thought, still nipping at the skin, leaving a faint red mark. His hand trailed down your neck until his fingers reached your breast, he gently massaged it for a brief moment. Another quiet whimper came from you. He let your hand that was cupping his cheek fall onto the bed for a moment, as his fingers fumbled with the belt of his pants and with a swift motion his dick was out. Already hard from anticipation, he positioned himself in your hands, he laced both your and his fingers together. He let out a moan feeling your fingers wrapped around his dick.

His whole body shuddered in pleasure at the feeling, and he buried his face between your breasts to quiet his moans as he began to rock his hips back and forth. His sensitive tip fucked your palm as he moaned out your name from between your breasts. Tears pooling at the corner of his closed eyes as pathetic needy whimpers left him.

“You’re mine. Mine..you’re mine ______. I love you so much.” He cried as he felt himself about to cum. Then, with another thrust he came hard into your and his laced hands. As he calmed his breathing down he slowly lifted his head up, you were still asleep, oblivious to the lewd act he just made you do. “You’re so beautiful, dear. You feel so perfect.” He whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

Standing up he pulled his pants back on, then walked to the bathroom to wash his sticky hands. Grabbing a rag he wet, he walked back to clean up the mess he left on your hands. “Crowe..the paper...” you mumbled in your sleep. Sol’s scarlet eyes widened in shock at the name, why were you talking about him when he was right here. His fists clenched and eyes narrowed, a dark cloud casting over his face. “You really ought to stop talking about him, dear. Crowe doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t understand you like I do.” He hissed through gritted teeth. You were just confused - that’s okay, Sol was patient. He leaned down to press a kiss against your lips once again before wishing you a good night. With that, he quietly slipped out of your apartment.

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The final day of class before winter break came the next day. You and Sol sat in art class together, sketching your final assignment. The classroom was quiet as everyone worked. You kept glancing at the dark haired man next you, a faint blush on your face as you remembered the brief dream you had of him last night. You dreamt that he was having sex with you, you heard his moans as he fucked you. Then, just before the dream actually got good, your mind decided that all of a sudden you were going to dream about you and Crowe finishing up your finals paper for English class that you had done earlier yesterday. God! Why did his stupid pretty face have to ruin the best dream you ever had!

Class couldn’t end any sooner and the Professor motioned for everyone to turn in their assignments. He reminded the students to check their emails during the winter break to see their grades. You quickly stood out of your seat, the chair nearly falling back as you fumbled with putting your things away. Sol noticed that something was off about you, you wouldn’t look at him at all. Surely you didn’t know what he did with you last night, right? He slung his backpack over his shoulder as he watched you as you zipped up your backpack. “Want to go to the arcade?” He asked you suddenly, “Hyugo and I are going since classes ended early today. Like right now.” He added.

Snapping your head up, you actually looked at him for the first time today. Your eyes meeting his, “O-oh…umm. I’d love to but I don’t have any…money.” You mumbled, voice trailing off at the end. “Campus library let go of all the part timers a few weeks ago, remember? And my other job cut my hours. So it’s tight right now.” You sighed sadly. “I wasn’t asking you to pay. I just asked if you wanted to come with us?” He said.

Sol noticed a strand of hair hanging in front of your face so reached a gentle hand up to brush it aside, tucking the strand behind your ear. “I’ll pay. You know I’ll always take care of you, ______.” He reminded you with a kind smile that made your heart flutter. It was something he always told you, you weren’t sure why he was so kind to you when you had nothing to offer him in return. You were a broke college student who couldn’t even cook your own meals. A faint blush dusted your cheeks as you shyly looked away, “O..okay. Then yes, I want to go.” You shyly said as you tugged at the sleeves of your favorite jacket.

“Alright, good. Here I’ll carry your bag. Hyugo should be waiting at the entrance.” Sol said, taking your bag from you with a swift motion. You tried to protest but he was already walking ahead so you were more focused on catching up to him.

The walk to the arcade didn’t take long, but you were shivering from the cold winter breeze. Sol noticed you shivering and he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, bringing you close to him. You looked up at him before looking away shyly. Once inside the arcade, the three of you played games for some time. You pointed at a claw machine, wanting to win the cute cat plushie, you tapped at the glass before looking back up at Sol with big pleading eyes. “Aw, it's so cute. Do we have enough coins to win it?” You asked excitedly. Sol patted his pockets and sighed, shaking his head. “No, but I can go get some more if you’d like?” He asked, he just wanted to see you happy.

Hyugo nodded, “Yeah let’s play some more games! Oh, let’s get some food too. I’m starving!” He exclaimed, nudging Sol’s side. Sol looked at you, waiting for your answer. “That sounds good to me. While you two do that, I’m going to head to the bathroom. I’ll meet you back here.” You said. The pair nodded and with that you went your separate ways.

You found the restroom. It was located in the back of the arcade and once done, you hummed quietly as you made your way back to the claw machine with the plushie you wanted. But you unbeknownst drew unwanted attention to yourself; you hadn’t even stepped a few feet back out of the bathroom when you were immediately cornered by a much taller and bigger man than yourself. He backed you in between two large pinball machines, leaving you trapped. “Hey sexy. You got a boyfriend?” He slurred, it was obvious he was drunk. He had both of his arms on either side of your head so you could barely move. “Not interested.” You spat as you tried pushing him away, but to no avail. That seemed to only anger him more as he lowered his face to be at eye level with you. “Come on, don’t be like that. I’ll treat you nicely.” He said, though this time his voice was much darker. The stench of alcohol lingered with every breath he took. You turned your face to the side, but that seemed to only anger him and this time he grabbed your jaw roughly in his hands, forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t turn away, sweetheart. Just come on let me sh—“ he began, but suddenly his hand was ripped away from your face and you closed your eyes, fully expecting to get hit. You heard shouting and skin hitting skin, you still kept your eyes shut, flinching with every sound. The noise of the arcade was too loud and you slid down the wall, covering your face with your hands as you buried your face against your knees.

“Don’t you fucking touch her! I’ll kill you!” You heard a familiar voice shout, it was then you uncovered your face and your eyes widened in shock as you saw Sol fighting with the man, both with bloody noses. Hyugo pulled Sol away while a random person held back the other man. The two men were still shouting curses at one another, though you were so overwhelmed you could barely understand what they were saying. You noticed Hyugo was having trouble holding back Sol, so you quickly scrambled to your feet and stepped in front of the dark haired man, pressing your hands against his chest. “Sol! *Enough!*” you pleaded, tears forming in your eyes. The drunk man had lost his balance at some point and fell to the floor, but he was still threatening you and Sol. The man called you every name in the book, and he was mocking you - but you didn’t care. You just wanted to get out of here. There was a terrifying look in Sol’s scarlet eyes and it turned your blood cold. “Sol *please,* let’s just go.” You pleaded with him once again.

As soon as Sol heard your voice waver, he stopped and his eyes widened in a mixture of horror and guilt as he realized that you were crying. He cupped your face in his hands, shaking his head, “No, no, no. Please don’t cry. I’m done. We can go.” He said in a panic, “He didn’t hurt you, right? He didn’t touch you?” He asked. You shook your head, “No. I’m okay.” You reassured him, just wanting to leave. Your lip quivered as you looked up at him and you simply nodded, taking his hand in yours as you dragged him out of the arcade. Though when Sol was certain you weren’t looking, he turned back to the man and spat at him before he followed you out.

Once outside you wiped your tears away with your jacket sleeve, smearing your makeup a bit in the process, but you didn’t care. You didn’t dare let go of Sol’s hand, afraid that if you did he would turn back and actually kill the man. Hyugo sighed, rubbing his temples, “We should leave before the cops get called.” He mumbled. Sol clicked his tongue in annoyance, “We didn’t do anything wrong. That low life touched ______. I just defended her.” He spat back. You tugged Sol’s hand, “I want to go home.” You sniffled. “I’ll walk her home. You go ahead, Hyugo.” He said. The blue haired man raised a brow, by the way he looked at his friend you sensed that maybe he didn’t want to leave him alone. “You’ll call right? As soon as you dropped ______ off at home?” He asked, his brows furrowing.

Sol had already wrapped his arm around your waist, your and his backpack slung over his shoulders. “Yeah, I will. See you later.” He said pulling you along to walk off in the other direction. Hyugo just nodded watching as you two walked off.

Sol didn’t let go of your waist for the whole walk home, he held you protectively, glaring at anyone who looked in your general direction. Once you arrived back at your apartment you fished around in your jacket pocket for your keys, eventually finding them and unlocking the door. “Do..do you want to come in?” You asked Sol shyly. You were really inviting him inside! He felt his heart skip a beat and he swallowed nervously, “Sure.” He smiled and stepped inside after you, setting down the bags onto a stool by the door.

You untied your sneakers and left them at the door before you looked up at the tall man. “Do you want tea? Coffee?” You asked him.

“What do you want? I can start the water.” He asked you back.

“Tea sounds good. Something relaxing.” You replied, motioning him to follow you into the kitchen. You poured water into the electric kettle on the countertop as you reached into the cabinets to grab two cups. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to change real quick.” You smiled before walking off towards your bedroom to change. Sol already knew where everything was located, so he grabbed two tea bags, setting them into the ceramic mugs as he waited for the water to boil. Then a thought ran through his mind as his hand absentmindedly rested on his front pocket. You didn’t get to eat the dinner he made you for tonight which meant you wouldn’t sleep well.

So before the water was done boiling he pulled out a small bag in his pocket, and broke apart the sleeping pill, letting it dissolve in the hot water. He just wanted to make sure that you’d be able to sleep tonight was all.

When you walked back out of your room, your tea was already made and Sol was sipping on his as he leaned against the wall. He looked at your outfit, did you wear something like that on purpose to tease him? You wore tight shorts, a tank top, your favorite jacket unzipped, and the cutest bunny shaped slippers. “Thank you so much, Sol.” You smiled at him as you held the mug in your hands and slowly sipped on it. He nodded, “Of course. Anything for you.” He said returning your smile. You chatted with him for a while it was obvious that you were just stalling, you didn’t want him to leave. You were still shaken up from earlier, from both how Sol reacted and to what may have happened if he wasn’t there to save you from that man.

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You sat on the couch, legs crossed as some random show played quietly in the background. Sol sat across from you, you both had long finished your tea. He could tell you were getting a bit more sluggish, “I’m sleepy, Sol.” You yawned. “You should go..it’s getting late. Hyugo is probably worried about you.” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes with your sleeve. Sol frowned, “It’s okay. I don’t mind. I want to make sure that you’re okay.” He replied back, he didn’t want to leave you alone.

“I’m okay. I just don’t want to be alone..” you sniffled. “I think someone has been breaking into my house.” You then said, flicking your gaze up to look at him with a worried expression. Sol froze, his breath hitched in his throat. “W..what? Why do you think that?” He asked, trying to remain calm. Folding your hands together in your lap, your eyes darted around before landing back on him, “Sometimes things are out of place.” Is all you said, “So please don’t leave me alone.” You then pleaded, suddenly leaning over towards him on all fours.

Sol’s eyes flickered to your face and to the gap between your shirt, he could see you weren’t wearing a bra and he shifted awkwardly in his spot on the couch as he tried to remaining eye contact with you. Placing a hand over his crotch, he let out a cough, a dark red blush making its way to his pale features. “Okay. I won’t. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.” He responded, a look of desperation in his eyes. You smiled, feeling butterflies in your stomach when he said those words. Then your mind wandered back to the dream you had last night, you sat back legs now folded underneath you.

“Can you come lay down with me in bed?” You asked him, looking away shyly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stay up much longer. Plus it’s more comfortable than staying out here.” You added. Sol found it hard to even speak now, he nodded and bit his lip. You stood up and began to walk towards your bedroom, turning off the lights along the way. Before you rounded the corner you noticed that he was still sitting on the couch, “Are you coming? You don’t have—“ you began only to be cut off by him springing up, “I am.” He mumbled shyly as he followed you into your familiar bedroom.

Your bedsheets were messily strewn about on your bed, like always. Clothes tossed haphazardly throughout the room, he watched as you shrugged off your jacket, tossing it on the vanity chair and you kicked off your slippers. You crawled into bed, pulling the sheets over your cold body. “What do you usually wear to sleep, Sol?” You asked him curiously, waiting for him to come lay down as yet another yawn left you.

“My..boxers.” Sol replied shyly, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided your cute gaze. “You can sleep like that here. I don’t mind.” You mumbled motioning with your hand for him to come lay down. “A-are you sure?” He stammered, already unbuckling his belt, his hands shaking a bit in anticipation. “Mhm.” You hummed reassuringly, squeezing your legs together tightly. Sol wasted no time in taking off his clothes, it was a shame the room was so dimly lit so you couldn’t see him. He sat at the edge of the bed, still unsure of what he needed to do.

You tugged at his wrist, “Lay down with me. Under the blankets.” You encouraged him in a sleepy voice. He let you pull him down onto the bed, his heart was racing so fast he found it hard to breathe. As you both now laid under the covers he could feel your body heat, you were so close to him. Your bed wasn’t big by any means, so your bodies were practically touching. “I really like you, Sol.” You suddenly said, you weren’t sure why you blurted that out, maybe it was your drowsy drugged state that made you say something you didn’t mean to.

Sol’s eyes widened in shock as he turned his head to face you. He could make out your soft features from the dim city streetlights that peaked through the curtains. Your hand now was on his chest, you could feel how fast his heart was beating. “You take care of me. You’re so kind. I’ve never had anybody care for me like you do.” You mumbled, leaning over until your noses touched.

Sol raised a shaking hand to cup your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. “I’ll always take care of you, ______. I’ll be here. No matter what.” He whispered back. His words were so kind and gentle, yet there was darkness in which he spoke. You blushed and looked away, your eyes closing shut as you finally closed the distance between your lips. You were a bit unsure on how to kiss him, not wanting to mess with his lip rings too much, but as soon as your lips met something clicked inside the raven haired man.

He returned your kiss desperately, not wanting to stop. Were you really doing this? Was this seriously happening?! He thought. It was a shame you were half asleep, but it still didn’t stop you from your next move. You rolled onto of him, your legs straddling his waist as you cupped his face in your hands, kissing him with inexperience. It wasn’t like Sol minded though, he was also just as inexperienced. His hands were on your waist, fingernails digging into your soft skin as he let out a needy whimper when he felt you grinding against his dick.

“Do you like me, Sol?” You asked him, breaking away from the kiss for a few moments as you continued to grind against him. When he took too long to answer you paused and lifted yourself up about to get up. Feeling utterly rejected by him, humiliated. But his hands slammed you back down on top of him. A crazed look on his face, “Y-yes I do. I like you. You’re my soulmate, ______.” He desperately spoke, his eyes flickering trying to read your expression. All you heard was “yes”, as you began to fade in and out of consciousness, despite desperately trying to stay awake.

“G..good.” You mumbled against his lips, beginning to grind against him again as you cupped his face. Sol returned your kisses as he let out whiny moans of your name, begging you for more. He wanted to feel your pussy, god knows how long he had waited to fuck you. His hands let go of your hips and now tugged at the waistband of his boxers. He managed to slip them off and when he felt how wet your panties were a pathetic whimper left his lips. He pushed your panties aside and now he could really feel how wet your pussy was. His dick pushed between your folds, you shivered as you felt his tip slide over your clit. “S-sol.” You whimpered his name.

Oh god, just you saying his name so lewdly was almost enough to push him over the edge. “A-ah.” He cried out as he felt your pace quicken. He loved the way you were using him, like he was nothing more than a toy for you to hump to reach your orgasm. The head of his dick was so sensitive and he felt your clit rubbing against it. “I..I’m gonna cum.” He warned you. Sol’s fingers digging into the plush skin of your thighs as he bucked his hips upward. “I-I wanna fuck you…please. Feel your pussy…please.” He begged, biting your lip. But you ignored him continuing to grind against his hard dick as your moans became a bit louder, your thighs shaking. You could feel yourself about to cum, but Sol suddenly let out a yell. “A-ah ahh ______.” He cried as his hot cum shot out. He threw his head back, eyes squeezing shut as tears pooled in the corner of them, his back arched, and fingernails scratching your thighs enough to leave a mark and draw some blood. His body shook under yours.

You felt the warm sensation rising from your core, your clit becoming more sensitive by the seconds. Sol’s thick cum now providing more lubrication. His whimpering of your name and pleading was enough to push you over the edge and moments later you joined him in his orgasm. You cried out his name as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, holding onto him tightly as you rode out your orgasm. Honestly you weren’t sure if you were or not, your mind was so hazy. Then you suddenly came to a stop, your body shaking a bit as your eyes closed shut.

Sol caught his breath, his hands rubbed up and down your back and he realized you had fallen asleep. The medicine had taken its full effect. He wrapped his arms tightly around you pressing a kiss on top of your head a content smile on his lips. “You’re mine. Mine…you’ll never have to be alone again.” He mumbled against your hair. His scarlet eyes gazing at the ceiling as you were fast asleep against his chest. At some point he fell asleep still holding onto you, with his dick between your thighs.

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You had awoken the next morning a bit groggy, you realized you were in bed with someone and you stared down in horror as you realized that you had slept with Sol. You only remembered bits and pieces of the nights before, and your sticky panties confirmed that you two had been intimate in some way. You wiggled out of his strong arms as quietly as you could and rushed to the bathroom, grabbing your phone careful to not wake him up.

After you cleaned yourself up and changed, you sat on the ledge of the bathtub typing away rapidly on your phone.

Crowe I NEED YOU NOW!!!!

What’s up? You okay?

NOOO. I think I just messed up. I think I ruined a friendship.

Woah calm down, ______. Is this about him?

YES. Can we meet up at the cafe? Please. Right now.

Yes. I’ll be there in a few.

Thanks.

With that you clicked your phone shut and quickly got dressed into your clothes from yesterday, not wanting to disturb Sol’s sleep. You peeked into your room and still saw him resting. You left the house getting your wallet and keys and tossing them into your jacket.

Sol woke up not long after you had left the house and when he didn’t feel your presence he immediately shot up in bed, panic beginning to set in. Where were you?! He grabbed his phone getting ready to dial your number when he saw a text appear on the screen.

I’ll be back soon. :3

He calmed down a bit, laying the phone in his lap as he ran a hand through his messy hair. Why didn’t you tell him you had somewhere to go? Why would you leave alone in the morning after everything that had happened last night? It was then he felt a bit angry, wondering why you were sneaking around. Snatching his phone back up he called you but you kept ignoring his calls, finally though you answered.

“Hello.” Your voice came through on the other end, there was also another voice on the other end too. It was one he recognized. It was Crowe. He felt himself grow even more angry as jealousy filled him. Why the hell are you with him?!

“Who are you with?” Sol asked, his voice as sickly sweet.

“Shhhh be quiet. Yeah, hi Sol, I’m with a friend. Don’t worry, I’ll be back home soon.” He heard you shushing Crowe. His grip tightened on the phone, if he squeezed any harder he may have shattered the screen. “When will you be back? Where are you?” He asked, this time his tone wasn’t as sweet.

“Sol…please don’t worry about it. I promise I’ll be back home soon. I gotta go.” You reassured him before hanging up.

Sol was furious, he slammed the phone face down onto the night stand, the glass screen shattering. Why is he interfering? Why does she keep hanging out with him? Doesn’t he know ______’s mine?! So many jealous thoughts flowed through his head as he quickly got dressed. He freshened himself up before he left your apartment, storming on the busy streets. What you hadn’t known was that Sol had installed a tracker on your phone many nights ago. He was really trying to give you the chance to tell him where you were without having to resort to using the tracker, but you wouldn’t tell him. He had no other choice but to use it, and make sure you were okay. He had to make sure that filthy Crowe wasn’t touching you. And he needed to show the brunet who you belonged to.

It was a rainy day and he didn’t care if he got wet, he was determined to find out where you were. The tracker led him to a busy coffee shop where he saw you and Crowe sitting near the window. His scarlet eyes met bright blue ones, belonging to the last person he wanted to see. Sol’s eyes narrowed, and all the brunet did was return a sly smirk before mouthing something to you. You whipped your head around just as Sol stormed into the coffee shop, immediately making his way to the table you two sat at. He tried to maintain his composure, his chest rising with every deep breath he took as he glared at the man sitting across from you.

“Sol? H-How did you know I was here?” You asked him in shock. He ignored your question continuing to glare daggers at Crowe, who sipped on his coffee nonchalantly. “Hey there. Care to join us?” He asked with a polite smile, motioning with his hand to the available seat.

“No. ______, we’re going home. Now.” Sol demanded, now turning to look at you. He grabbed your wrist and you tried to jerk away, “Ow, Sol!” You cried out, which caused him to immediately drop your hand. “Are you okay?” He asked, his angry expression now etched into worry. You frowned, rubbing your wrist, “Y..yeah. I told you I’d be gone later. Please stop this.” You pleaded, looking at him with big eyes.

“You should be gentle with her, Sol.” Crowe scolded half heartedly. “______, you should go. Don’t keep him waiting. We can talk soon, I have to get to work anyways.” He smiled warmly at you.

“But I—“ you stammered, but the brunet cut you off with a wave. “Seriously, it’s fine. Just remember what we talked about, okay?” He winked, it was purposeful, he was trying to get under Sol’s skin and it was working.

Sol grabbed your wrist a bit more gently this time as you stood up, “We’re leaving. Bye.” He spat, glaring at the man as he dragged you out of the coffee shop. All the while Crowe watched with furrowed brows and a forced smile. He didn’t like Sol, he didn’t like him at all. But whatever made you happy, he’d tolerate.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ 🍋

Sol was dragging you down the street as you squirmed under his tight grasp on your wrist. The whole time you demanded to know what had gotten into him! This wasn’t the Sol you knew. Ever since the arcade, you noticed a sudden shift in his personality, it was instantaneous. As you two arrived back at your apartment, he shoved you inside with a forceful hand, slamming and locking the door shut. “What the hell is wrong with you, Sol?!” You screamed at him as you tossed your phone, keys, and wallet onto the kitchen counter.

Sol’s eyes were narrowed still as he walked towards you, instinctively you stumbled backwards until you found yourself with your back pinned against the wall with nowhere to go. His tall frame towering above you. “What’s wrong with me? You’re the one sneaking around with that bastard.” He hissed as he slammed his palms on either side of your head, pinning you between his arms. “I’ve tolerated him long enough. Doesn’t he know you belong to me?! I’m the one that’s caring for you and protecting you. While he does nothing.” He snapped angrily.

You cowered beneath him, beginning to grow a bit scared, “Y-you’re scaring me, Sol.” You whimpered. He clicked his tongue in annoyance; he didn’t like you pretending to be innocent in all of this. Perhaps you and that bastard needed reminding of who you belonged to. Sol crashed his lips against yours roughly, you felt his tongue trace the bottom of your lip. But when you were tightening your lips together to deny him, he bit your lip causing your lips to part open in surprise and with that his pierced tongue forced its way into your mouth. One hand on your jaw forcing your head to tilt up. You tasted like coffee and sugar, he didn’t mind at all though. It suited you.

You cried against him. He was being so forceful it was terrifying. He pulled away panting heavily, a string of saliva connecting your and his lips. His hand was still firmly holding your chin. “I don’t think you realize, dear. That you’re mine. No one else can have you. Ever. I won’t allow it.” He muttered. He noticed that your eyes were watery and a sympathetic smile made its way to his pierced lips. “Aww..please don’t cry, baby. I don’t want to make you cry. I promise I’ll make you feel good. You just need to be reminded that you’re mine.” He said in a gentle voice as his thumb wiped away your tears.

“I’m scared.” You whimpered.

Sol leaned down to press a much more gentle kiss to your lips, “You won’t be for long. You’ll be feeling so good in a minute.” He purred and with that he picked you up holding you so gently in his arms bridal style as he continued to kiss your lips. Once inside the bedroom he tossed you onto the bed and hovered over you beginning to tug at the waistband of your pants. “N-no Sol.” You whined but your arousal said otherwise. The truth was you were so turned on by him. You had wanted him in this way for so long.

Sol ignored your pleas and within a couple minutes he had you stripped of your clothes. You laid on your back on the bed as you looked at his nearly naked body, he stood only in his boxers. And now with the sun peeking through the blinds basking the room in a bright light you saw just how big Sol was. His body was well toned, just perfect. You saw the erection in his pants and you swallowed nervously at just how big he was. You weren’t sure if he was even fully hard yet.

You didn’t get to stare at him for too long though as he got to his knees, kneeling in front of your legs. “I’m going to make you feel so good dear. You won’t ever think of anyone else but me.” He said it almost came out as a warning. His slender hands pushed your legs apart and the look of pure lust was on his face. You tried to cover yourself up with your hands but he wouldn’t let you. “So pretty.” He whispered. God, he dreamt for so long to be buried between your thighs eating you out.

You jumped when you felt Sol’s tongue licking your pussy, the muscle dragging slowly between the slit. You felt the cold metal piercing drag along sending a shiver up your spine. He let out a moan as he tasted you. God, you tasted better than he could have ever imagined. He pushed your legs further apart and spread open your pussy, you squirmed a bit at being so exposed. Your hands balled up the fabric of the bed sheet beneath you as you felt the ball of his piercing roll over your clit, causing you to let out a loud moan. You knew you messed up when you gave him that reaction, because he immediately began to suck at your sensitive clit, rolling his piercing over it every single time causing you to moan louder. His tongue moving from teasing your clit to probing your wet hole. He wanted to taste every bit of you, this was pure bliss for the raven haired man.

“So good.” Sol praised. It was hard to focus as he sucked the sensitive bud, your head spinning as your legs quivered. He wouldn’t let you close your legs, no matter how much you tried. His tongue worked so expertly, he knew exactly how to get you whimpering under him. “Sol!” You yelped when you felt his tongue enter you, causing your hips to buck and your back to arch. It was such a strange feeling but god it felt so good. He was trying to fuck you with his tongue. Your hands tangled in his dark loose hair as you tilted his head back up to focus on your clit. “I-I’m gonna..” you gasped, squeezing your eyes shut as the warm sensation began to build more and more. Your breathing became more frantic and with another roll of his pierced tongue against your clit, your legs closed, Sol’s face still between your thighs as you held him there cumming all over his face. You were practically screaming his name as he continued to suck on your overstimulated clit. You begged him to stop, so he did and instead decided to clean you up.

Sol’s tongue lapped up every last bit of your juices, you tasted so amazing. He was drunk off of your scent—taste. Everything about you drove him crazy. He could spend the rest of his life buried between your thighs, licking your pussy and letting you cum all over his face. He was yours to use. “N-no more. Please.” You begged, your body falling limp.

Sol gave you one last taste, his tongue swiping up the full length of your pussy before he sat up. He licked his wet lips, “See..I’m the only one who can make you feel this good, dear.” He said matter of factly. He stood up pulling down his boxers revealing his hard dick. When you looked at him you nearly choked on your own spit. How the hell were you supposed to take him? He hadn’t stretched you out with his fingers to prepare you. “I-I can’t take you without—“ you began. But Sol leaned forward kissing you, shutting you up. “It’s okay. I’ll be slow.” He mumbled against your lips.

His tall frame towered above you, it was so intimidating, the way he looked at you with half lidded eyes and a small smile on his face. His arms were on either side of you pinning you between him. You felt the tip of his dick poke at your entrance. Sol continued to gently kiss you as he pushed himself inside you, he let out quiet whimpers as slowly filled you up. His body shuddered at the sensation, your tight pussy was everything he had ever dreamed off. “Fuck…oh god you feel so good, ______.” He moaned as he sat up now. Placing his hands on your inner thighs, he spread your legs apart as far as he could without hurting you. He wanted to see how well you took him.

Inch by inch Sol sank into you, it was agonizing how slow he went but by the look on his face he was savoring every moment. He was panting quietly trying to control himself, he did want to hear his soulmate after all. You squirmed under his strong grasp as he filled you up beyond belief. You weren’t ready to take him, he was so big it hurt. “S-Sol.” You cried, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes as you felt the tip hit deep inside, causing you to flinch in pain.

“It’s okay. You’re doing so well, dear.” He praised you. And without warning Sol snapped his hips back and slammed back into you, causing you to yelp. He couldn’t resist himself as he began to roughly fuck you. His fingernails digging into the soft skin of your thighs and quiet moans left him. He stayed quiet because he wanted to hear your sweet sounds.

He watched the face you made as every single time he hit that sweet spot of your pussy. The way your lips parted as you moaned his name and the how your back arched as he fucked you. The way your breasts bounced up and down with each thrust. He noticed the creamy white ring forming on the base of his cock. You felt so perfect, it was as if..”We were made for each other, ______.” He whispered. Sol let go your thighs, confident that you’d keep your legs spread out. He now cupped your breasts, fingertips lightly teasing your perked nipples as he watched you shudder under his touch.

Sol frowned, “Something’s missing.” He said in between pants as he continued to relentlessly fuck you. His pace was not slowing down at all, you were exhausted already, your pussy ached from how hard he was slamming into you. You weren’t sure you’d even be able to walk in the morning. “W-what?” You asked confused by what he meant but he didn’t answer you, instead leaned down to bite your neck. You cried out in surprise. He actually bit you. He nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin on your neck, not caring if he hurt you. After all, everyone needed to know you were his.

Your hands tangled in his hair as you squeezed your eyes shut, tears now running down your face. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he slipped one hand between your thighs. You body twitched when you felt the pad of thumb rub your clit, all the while he never stopped fucking and marking you. He let out a low laugh when he felt your body twitch underneath him.

Sol could tell you were close to coming, by how your breathing became more erratic, how you held him closer. “Are you going to cum for me, dear?” He asked. You didn’t say anything, which annoyed the dark haired man. He sat up, ripping himself from your grasp and stopped rubbing circles against your sensitive clit. “You need to answer me.” He growled and just to emphasize the point, he pulled nearly all the way out before he snapped his hips forward. You cried loudly, biting your lip and nodding eagerly, “Y-yes. I wanna cum for you, Sol.” You whimpered, looking up at him with the cutest expression.

Sol smiled lovingly at you, satisfied with your answer, “You’re so cute when you beg, dear.” He spoke gently and with that he returned to stimulating your clit. Your mind was hazy as you felt your orgasm building up, you were only focused on one thing and that was coming. Your hands reached up to dig their fingernails in the skin of his bicep. “You’re so close. I can tell. Just cum for me. Please. I want to feel it so bad.” Sol begged in a whiny, desperate tone as he quickened his pace. And just like that you practically screamed his name, your body shaking as you came around his cock.

You orgasming and screaming his name was the most beautiful thing Sol had ever witnessed. He had dreamt of this moment for so long, it was better than he could ever imagine. He felt your pussy tighten around him and soon after he was coming too. Sol threw his head back as his dick twitched, coating your insides with thick cum. He was buried deep inside you, holding your thighs firmly so he could adequately fill you up. “You’re so beautiful. So pretty, full of my cum.” He mumbled, gazing down at you now.

Sol gently pushed your legs apart as he pulled out of you and watched in awe as his cum leaked out of your tight pussy. It was a heavenly sight. He sighed in satisfaction, flopping down onto the bed as he wrapped his arms around your tired body, pulling you onto his chest. You buried your face into the crook of his neck as you clung into him tightly. “No one will ever make you feel this good, dear. You were made for me. We’re soulmates.” Sol said barely above a whisper as he gazed at the white ceiling. “You’re mine. I won’t ever let anyone come between us. Ever. I love you so much, ______.” He said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His embrace tightening around you when he said that.

There was something threatening about the way Sol spoke. You were a bit scared, but you had no reason to be, right? He just loved you and you loved him. “I love you, Sol.” You sniffled. Sol just smiled at your words. He finally had you all to himself.

[m0kka1]

WARNING: UNIDENTIFIED ANOMALY Mater [oc]

persona character upd

[m0kka1]

motivated to drop the beloveds here again

and of course my angelsona with ren 🗽

[m0kka1]

[m0kka1]

Begging on my knees bcs I'm requesting what would be the typical scenario with seung-min at home on a weekend (pls be wholesome)