#a nesting dolls theme for them

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝓌𝑜𝑜𝒻 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝒶𝒻𝒶𝒷!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Look, living alone in an off-campus apartment?

Absolute dream. 

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

Just you and your perfectly curated chaos.  

And your place? It’s whimsical as hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the best part?

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

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

Except… there’s one tiny problem.  

You, uh… kinda have a stalker.  

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

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

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

And then there was the fridge.  

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

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

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

Then, the underwear went missing.  

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

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

That’s when it hits you.  

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

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

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

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

These weren’t just dreams.

These felt real.

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

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

And the worst part? The voice.

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

"So pretty like this."

"Mine." 

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

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

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

Yeah. Those are fucking bruises.

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

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

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

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

Something’s been in your apartment.  

Someone’s been touching you.  

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

Your stalker is getting real fucking bold.  

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

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

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

So how the hell is they getting in now?

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

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

Except… yeah. That’s not happening.

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

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

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

There’s gotta be a way to handle this.

A plan. A solution. Something.

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

Yeah. That might not be a problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the shelves? A fever dream.

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

And, like always, Sol is here. 

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

Stuff you absolutely cannot carry alone.

Plus Sol? He’s freakishly strong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s exactly why you keep him around. 

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

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

But you can’t let him.  

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

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

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

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

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

You liked that.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

He went quiet.  

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

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

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

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

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

So, here you were. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unsettlingly familiar.

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

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

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

But still, something was definitely... off. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Puppy? 

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

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

You couldn’t help but smirk at the sight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You know exactly what you’re doing."

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

"Maybe I do… or maybe I don’t…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now, anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally.  

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

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

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

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

But tonight? You weren’t feeling it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mhm.

That says everything.  

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

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

You were not alone.

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

And then, you felt the stare.

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

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

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

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

Still, the presence above you remained unmoving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t stop there, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You belong to me.”

Your stomach lurched. 

Oh, hell no.

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

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

But enough was enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

…Sol?

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

Your stomach lurched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who the fuck asks that type of question?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was something else entirely.

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

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

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

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

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

"On your knees."  

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

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

Your patience? Gone. Shattered.

There was no point in playing nice anymore.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. What?  

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

You stared. Just. Stared.  

“…I’m sorry, what?”  

There was no way you just heard that correctly.

Ain’t no damn way.  

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

Your stomach twisted.  

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

Oh.  

Oh, hell no.  

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

A stalker.  

Your stalker.  

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

And it had been him.  

Always him.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just wanted you to see me.”  

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

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

You couldn't understand it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.  

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

After all,

Punishment is needed for a bad puppy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stared. Blank. Unmoving.  

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

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

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

And damn it, the whimper got to you.  

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

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

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

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

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

“Woof.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was all it took. 

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

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

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

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

You know what? Hell yeah.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes snapped up to yours, confused.  

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

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

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

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

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

The collar and leash. 

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

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

"Time for you to make up for it."  

And you meant every single word.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The praise seemed to spur him on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A-ah… Right there, Sol.”  

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

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

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

Honestly, it was hard to tell at this point.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you weren’t done with him yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your guard dog, your loyal pup, your Sol.

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

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

Completely wrecked, completely yours.

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan "Cheater" Husband blurb

Suggestive Themes. "Infidelity", Masochism, Crossdressing

-

Your husband is a boring man.

Simple, courteous, predicable.

Wakes up bright and early everyday for works, returning to the haven that is your love nest by dusk- If he has enough time in the morning, he'll prepare breakfast for the two of you. Variety is key to fulfilled existence, but he didn't see things that way. If you didn't remind him to broaden his horizons, he'd eat the same handful of fruit and sip his black tea each morning until the day he died.

After work hours, he spends every waking hour by your side, silently relishing in the domestic bliss. As he lays down to rest, your love is his blanket. When your out on the town, hourly updates are mandatory. When he's gone, you're left with schedules of where he should be at any given time.

The bubble of independencacy from one another had bursted years before you were wed. Hardly a day you goes by without you seeing each other -Which strengthens the question of how he came into contact with his new.. friend.

She's beautiful.

You'll give her that.

You like to think that she is. You know it. The photos she sends too blurry to make out - almost like she knows she's doing something she shouldn't. For his part, your husband has never responded to the obvious hints sprinkled through their conversation. You doubt he'd get the memo if she flat out begged him to bend her over his desk - but there were still signs.

Lipstick stains on the collar of his shirt. His briefcase hidding in plain sight. That saccharine, floral scent so strong you can almost taste it- He would've gotten away with it longer if he hadn't used something you yourself purchased for him last spring.

Their final text was the nail in the coffin for her... rather his identity.

"You don't deserve someone like them."

Even while playing the part of a flirty workmate seeking attention of a man who'd never give her the time of day, your husband still had to push forth the narrative that you are, and always will be out of his league. Come to think of it, most of their conversation wound up back to mentions of you. It was always about you.

"You didn't think I'd recognize my own phone number, Hector?'

It hasn't been yours in years, but you used it long enough to forget it so easily. Why should an upgrade put an old device to waste. Especially one holding so many memories. So generous of you to unknowingly gift him that old phone to use as his work number.

"Forgive me, Y/n. I don't know what was going through my head when.."

"When you were flirting with yourself? Dolling yourself up and never letting me see that side of you in the flesh? What did you expect was going to come from this, Hector? What were you hoping for?"

Jealousy-

Your hands around his throat as you reminded him, that woman - everyone, who he belonged to. Blood from his broken skin used as the paint to decorate his lips as you break him apart and mold him at your whim. He needed your rage, but he did not want to be the direct cause of it. If you hated him for real his heart could not take the rejection, but if he can have a taste of your resentment in the form of every bite you adorn his skin with-

Your faithful, loyal husband. Your toy to play with and take apart.

Is it there a world where he can be both?"

"Work has been pretty slow these past weeks. I hate to bother you, so having someone else to talk to about you helped. I suppose it got out of hand."

[zorosangell]

I love your stories!! Maybe a Zoro x princess!reader would be interesting? She ran away and became a pirate of the crew, but she is still very formal and polite while Zoro is... Zoro 😂😂

⛥ﾟ・。 knight

synopsis: as a princess, you constantly have a bounty on your head, which means you are almost always under attack whenever the crew docks on an island. so, after zoro saves you from being kidnapped again, you both have a heart to heart... which ends in a little confession.

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, reader talks very proper, reader's a little dense, zoro's a little emotionally constipated

"Get the princess!" the leader of the thugs shouted, swords drawn as the huge gang chased after you.

Hastily, Zoro attempted to cut a nearby corner, teetering to the side a little bit before he stabilized and continued to sprint down the street.

"What the hell were you thinking, huh?!" he panted, brows furrowed at he glanced at you, who was thrown over his shoulder. "I leave you alone for two seconds! And somehow you find a way to grab the attention of every damn criminal in town!"

"I was thirsty!" you exclaimed, defensively. "I thought I was going into a bar!"

"It was obviously a bounty hunter's nest!" he fired back.

"How was I supposed to know that?!"

"It was called the Killshot! And had a sign hanging outside with a picture of a gun!"

"I thought it was just a colorful theme!"

Zoro groaned, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head as he cursed whatever god that allowed this to happen yet again.

One of these days, he was gonna pretend he didn't see anything.

You were a princess, plain and simple, heir to the throne of some far off kingdom in the New World.

Ever since you were a little girl, you'd longed for adventure, not wanting your world to be confined to the walls of your castle, or the borders of your kingdom.

So, you promised yourself that the moment you turned eighteen, you'd run away.

And that's exactly what you did.

Though, in hindsight, it was probably not the best decision, as you had absolutely no idea how the outside world worked.

Still, somehow by fate or by fortune, your clueless self had managed to make it all the way to Loguetown, where the crew saved you from a few assassins.

Thus, you became the Strawhat's resident princess and diplomat.

And Zoro's resident pain in the ass.

Whenever the crew docked on a new island, you always insisted on exploring it yourself, excited to see the new sights and sounds.

And, like clockwork, you always found some way to call unwanted attention to yourself, the swordsman always finding himself in close proximity.

He had half the mind to think you did it on purpose.

Brows furrowed, his feet picked up speed, muttering intelligible things to himself.

'Princess be damned... no woman's worth this much trouble...'

Out the corner of his eye, Zoro peeped an alley not too far away, quickly running to duck inside it.

Dropping you to your feet, his strong hands grabbed your shoulders, yanking you into the shadows and covering your mouth as you let out a tiny yelp, eyes widening.

'Brute!'

You'd never been handled with such lack of care...

Back home, you were referred to as the Crowned Jewel of the Kingdom, known far and wide for your beauty and kindness.

Many often sang your praises, sending you buckets upon buckets of fan mail and writing songs about the prosperity your family had brought to the kingdom.

And the few that actually got to touch you did so with the utmost care, often reverently.

Meanwhile... this man talked to you as if you were an incompetent child, and tossed you around as if you were some sort of rag-doll.

Safe to say, it was quite the culture shock.

As the large group of men passed, Zoro tightened his grip on you, watching closely they examined the shops and stalls outside—some of them having split up to search quicker.

"Coulda sworn they were right here..." one of them grumbled under his breath, brows furrowed.

The dark-haired man paused, giving the space one more once over before turning to the others, sheathing his sword with an annoyed sigh.

"Looks like we lost 'em. Let's circle back to where we found 'em and see if that redhead knows anything."

Your eyes widened, knowing exactly who he was talking about.

"Nami!" you whimpered, forcing Zoro's calloused hand to press harder into your face to muffle the noise.

"Quiet," his deep, rough voice ordered, tone leaving no room for argument.

Suspicious, the man glanced in your direction, narrowing his eyes at the darkness as he looked directly at you—though he didn't know it.

Your heart stopped, your entire body freezing up as both you and Zoro stayed as still as statues, pressing firmer against the wall of the alley to avoid being revealed as he left.

And once he was completely one, you both let out a sigh of relief, your shoulders dropping as the tension finally oozed out your back.

"Are you stupid or something?" Zoro spat, curtly, brows furrowed. "You could've gotten us both caught!"

"I already expressed my apologies! It was not on purpose!" you countered, throwing your hands up in the air. "I simply wanted something to drink, but then those thugs just grabbed me! And did so without asking!"

Zoro let out another sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he hung his head.

You couldn't be serious...

"They're bounty hunters, (y/n)... they're not gonna ask permission to kidnap you."

"I'm afraid I just learned that firsthand," you huffed, a small pout gracing your lips and you leaned against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest. "And after I was so generous... I even offered to negotiate the terms over lunch."

With a raised brow, Zoro leaned against the wall with you, confused.

"Terms?"

"A closed contract between me and all affiliates of the Killshot gang that would have guaranteed my continued residency with the Strawhat crew in exchange for a sum total of five-hundred million berries, paid monthly or in advance, depending on their preference."

The swordsman nearly choked on the air he was taking in, floored by the number you said so casually.

"Five-hundred million?!"

You nodded, plainly, confused by his surprise.

"Money is no object for my family. Especially pertaining to my safety," you shrugged. "I extend that offer to my friends, as well. Back at the auction house on Sabaody, I would have happily bought Camie to save her... but Sir Raleigh had already beat me to the punch."

Slowly, a small smile crept onto the swordsman's face, the rigidness in his stance slowly morphing into one more relaxed.

'Well, I'll be damned...'

It was moments like these that he enjoyed, as he was actually offered a glimpse at your true self.

The woman that an entire kingdom absolutely adored.

Princess (y/n).

Sure, you were hard-headed at times, and completely clueless when it came to social interactions outside of high society.

But you had heart, and generosity that quite literally knew no bounds.

Just... maybe some self defense lessons were needed.

"I gotta teach you some hand to hand if you're gonna keep goin' on these little expeditions," he sighed, clearing his throat as he glanced down at the ground.

"Combat?" you scrunched your nose. "What is the point of that when I have you?"

The gears in his head came to a screeching halt, his head snapping over to you so fast, you'd think he'd have whiplash.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"You are a swordsman, are you not?" you raised a brow.

"Yes..."

"And you follow me around, yes?"

"I don't follow you around!"

The man flushed, face burning at your plainness.

"You are always there when I am in trouble."

"Yeah... well... that's 'cause I have shit luck..."

"But you care about me, right?"

Zoro froze, throat clamming up.

He had never been presented with questions like these before, and they were forcing him to think.

To read into why exactly he was always there whenever you called for help.

You were always within arms reach of him, the two of you seeming to just naturally float around each other, even as you did your daily routines.

And although you were far from his responsibility, Zoro couldn't understand why he felt the need to worry so much.

He knew million times over that the crew was capable of protecting you, and that if anything were to happen, Luffy or Sanji could more than adequately swoop in to your rescue.

But for some reason, reminding himself of that fact didn't subdue the concern that spiked in his chest when you left his line of sight, or the faint pang of panic in his breath.

'Dammit...'

Too many questions.

"I... yes," he answered, awkwardly.

Instantly, a warm smile broke out on your face, melting the swordsman's heart into a puddle on the floor.

"Then, that makes you my sworn sword!" you beamed, cheekily.

"Your sworn... what?"

"My sworn sword. My knight. My champion," you elaborated. "You stand by my side throughout my travels and keep me under your protection."

"I do WHAT?!"

"Is your hearing all right? You seem to be having a hard time processing what I am saying..."

"No, no... it's... it's not that..."

An uncomfortable silence suddenly settled over you both, the swordsman practically praying that the gang would come back so he could run you both back to the ship and escape the atmosphere.

You, on the other hand, had been feeling quite the opposite, wanting things to be settled right here and now.

Zoro had been your "crush"—lovingly dubbed by Nami—for over two years, and was the only person in the world that was consistently there for you, always rushing to your rescue without fail.

Despite his prickly exterior, and his sharp words, you could tell he was a kind, loyal, and compassionate man.

He just needed a little push.

Just then, the sound of running footsteps began to draw nearer to the mouth of the alley, your eyes shooting wide at the sound.

"Someone is coming!" you whispered, quickly turning to him .

Eyes doe wide, and breath quickened, you settled on something you'd read in a book once, hoping it would conceal your faces.

What possessed you to do it, you had no idea.

Pulling the man in by his robe, you smashed your lips into his, his eye shooting as wide as a saucer.

Everything had gone from zero to a hundred so fast.

Left was up.

Down was right.

But, in that moment, everything felt oddly right.

So, for the first time in his life, he caved, allowing his eye to flutter shut and his body to ease into the kiss.

Sliding your hands up, one of them cupped his face, while the other threw your arm around his neck, keeping him in place as he snaked his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you closer.

The kiss was electric, and, while very uncoordinated and eager, felt like liquid fire was coursing through your veins, pushing you forward.

Smoothly, the two of you shifted, Zoro pushing you up against the wall and tilting his head in order to get a better angle, deepening the kiss even further.

His hands gripped you even tighter, suddenly fearful he would float away if you didn't keep him grounded.

With your touch burning his skin and your scent flooding his nostrils, he felt like he was higher than the clouds, like this was heaven on earth.

Your lips were so damn soft...

Hell, you were so damn soft...

You washed over him like a wave of calm, the rhythm of the kiss lulling his worry-filled mind until the only thing he could think about was why the hell he didn't do this sooner.

"Aw, jeez! This is what you guys were doing all this time?!" Luffy exclaimed from the mouth of the alley, completely ruining the moment.

'Thats why...'

The two of you quickly threw yourselves off each other, faces burning with embarrassment as you looked in opposite directions.

"At least do that inside. You're gonna catch somethin' out here..." he shrugged, turning to walk away.

Your eyes shot wide, and you snapped your head over to the boy.

"Wait, Luffy, what did you think we were—?" "Don't wanna talk about it!"

"You idiot, we weren't—!" "M'not listening!"

You turned to the swordsman, brow raised in confusion.

"What is he talking about?"

Zoro's eye widened, and it finally donned on him that you hadn't been taught about... the birds and the bees.

'Christ...'

"I'll tell you another time," he sighed, talking your hand and leading you toward the exit of the alley. "Let's go back to the ship."

"Yes, of course!" you playfully bellowed. "Lead the way, knight!"

"I'm not your knight!"

"Whatever you say... knight..."

[outnumberedsins]

what is a side system vs sub system vs layer? ive heard multiple definitions of subsystem and im confused (I'm sorry if this sends multiple times my wifi is bad)

No problem! All of these terms are very similar and rely heavily on inner structure. I hope this helps:

'Subsystem' can mean multiple things. The first meaning refers to groups of alters that are somehow linked together and separate from other alters somehow. This could be a group of alters very similar to one another, ones with better communication between one another, or separate in other ways. Subsystems may reside in specific areas of the innerworld or have a separate inner world themselves.

The second definition refers to 'alter-in-alter' subsystems. Think of it like a russian nesting doll - an alter has their own alters. These subsystems may have their own innerworlds and struggle with communicating with those in the main system when fronting.

The third definition is an overarching term for any groupings of alters, including layers and sidesystems. Basically, it's a catch-all term. This definition is the most common within clinical literature, so when reading them, it might be confusing.

Here's an attempt at a visual representation:

The larger subsystem has good communication with the rest of the system and resides in its own area of the innerworld. These parts could have all split to deal with the same specific trauma and are considered a subsystem because they sort of stick together.

The smaller subsystem is a possible example of an alter-in-alter subsystem. The part that's inside the main system may be the "host alter" for that subsystem. Their innerworld is disconnected from the main one and may have communication difficulties.

'Sidesystem' can refer to a programming-specific phenomenon where programmers specifically create programmed parts somewhere completely separate from the main system. I'm using this definition because it's what I was referring to in my previous post, and I don't feel like debating if non-programmed systems can have structures that are similar. In literature, this is seen referred to as 'Left' and 'Right' sides of systems, but they don't necessarily have to be right next to each other. Despite the name, they don't have to be left/right, that's just how some people describe them.

Sidesystems typically have their own innerworld and are used by programmers to keep programmed parts hidden and separate from the main system or those that deal with day to day life. Sidesystems themselves can be layers. There may be one or two higher ups that can travel between sidesystems.

A notable difference between sidesystems and other groupings of alters is the amnesia level. Amnesia barriers between sidesystem alters and non sidesystem alters are huge. While there can be amnesia between other groups, the whole point of sidesystems is to create a completely separate "system," and thus, very heavy amnesia is present.

An attempt at a visual representation:

Sidesystems have no connection with the main system. This can be changed through integration of course, but as a base, they are completely seperate. Ideally, none but a couple alters will know about each other.

'Layers' refers to groups of alters that are separate from the main system, often "stacked" on top of one another. Despite the name, they don't have to be stacked. That's just how some people describe them. Layers are very common within polyfragmented systems, especially programmed systems. Layers often have their own themed innerworld, for example, a city or forest. Alters are typically separated by purpose or other split patterns and may have communication difficulties with other layers. In programming, layers are often seen within sidesystems or are sidesystems themselves. There may be some connection between layers.

An attempt at a visual representation:

In this, there are three layers stacked on each other. The main system has a connection to the layer below them and may be able to communicate more easily. The layer above, however, has no connection, and it may require a higher up part to communicate with them.

As you can see, all of these terms are very similar and can overlap with one another, and all can exist within the same system. At the end of the day, use what you are most comfortable with. Do you just want to call everything a subsystem? That's fine. If you like the specification? That's also fine.

For example, one person says "I kind of visualise it as descending 'containers' of alters. Like it goes, 'sidesystem -> has multiple layers -> has multiple subsystems.' but I know that that isn't everyone's experience."

Another says, "I can't be assed to specify what kind of group it is. I call everything a subsystem. It works for me."

All in all, I hope this helped. Let me know if you have any other questions, and I'll do my best to answer them.

[heiresstothenest]

The presence of neglect in Very Little Nightmares

To celebrate the sixth anniversary of my nearly-favorite game, I’ve decided to analyze the motif of neglect that VLN carries. While its main theme is debatable, and there is a good amount of evidence that supports other ideas, I’m fully set on the belief that VLN focuses on the concept of neglect, mainly.

Starting with the most obvious, the Pretender is a child that has been driven into this narcissistic state of mind by both the absence of her parents, forcing the need for a sort of coping mechanism and the excessive praise she receives from her caretakers. While I don’t believe that her “parents” placed next to her in the family portrait are her biological parents, they definitely could have acted as parents for her, at least initially. With her mother absent for unknown reasons and her father dead, her life lacks the most important thing a child needs to develop emotionally, likely the exact same thing that had happened to her in the waking world. Those parental figures might even be the thing that caused her to accept the Ferryman’s offer to join the Nowhere. She has clearly not even sufficiently interacted with other children either, despite all the dolls she surrounds herself with. She needs to be superior to everything and everyone, they shouldn’t be able to move or talk back – and so the Craftsman rips their lives (and their organs) out and makes them into dolls, and any doll that the mistress isn’t happy with goes into a pile hidden under the rocks. 

Next up is the Nest itself, specifically the building. Anywhere that the mistress does not step is in decay, full of cobwebs, dilapidated. There is nobody to clean the place up there, since as from what we’ve seen the Butler never goes that high up into the building. From its exterior view, the place looks like it’s about to fall over, the precarious cliff beneath even more dangerous in appearance. As we go further into the Nest’s gardens, the delicate potted plants and shrubberies become heaps of brambles and thorns. No matter where you are in the Nest, the further you go, the more deteriorated it will become. The Nest is the product of the negligence that was put upon the Pretender, desperately trying to be refined and showy but revealing its true side once you go too far.

The Residents of VLN are a little tough to tackle since we have so little information on them, but I’ve done what I can. The Craftsman, despite his extremely crooked posture and lack of care for himself, keeps on working in his workshop, skinning children, removing their organs, and making them into dolls – all without a proper mask or even gloves on his hands. At least he washes the skins. Meanwhile, the Butler’s freedom is completely neglected. Whoever put that lock over his hands, whether it was the Pretender or one of her parents, clearly disregarded any semblance of hope that he could have, keeping the key stowed away deep in a crevice on the cliffside. I see this as some sort of punishment put into order on him, constantly forcing him to keep his head bowed to the mistress.

The girl in the yellow raincoat was initially eager to help other children, but by the time she enters the Butler’s domain she is fairly careless when it comes to others. The scarf kid taught her that what comes first is yourself, even if it costs the safety of the people around you. This idea is surprisingly common for children in Little Nightmares. She might not even care for the boy anymore, as she expresses no emotion upon the realization that he is the Nest’s newest victim, leaving him there on the floor. After Six and the raincoat girl collaborate to escape the Butler one last time, the same exact thing happens to the poor thing – her fellow escapee leaving her behind after they make their way out of their situation. I think that at this point she lost her faith in helping others, not even considering the safety of Six as she runs into the shed at the end of the garden, shutting the door in her face. Though, even in her final moments when she is saved by the companion that she failed to protect, the ultimate embodiment of neglect in the Nest, the Pretender, wakes back up and brings the girl down with her.

And uh yea!! Happy anniversary, Very Little Nightmares

[huffelpuff210]

Fighter Part 7 Dark Alpha Tony Stark x Dark Alpha Steve Rogers x Dark Alpha Bucky Barnes x Omega Reader

Warning: Dark Themes, Swearing, kidnapping, forced sex. 

Steve watches as you sleep soundly in your nest you made out of his clothes, Bucky’s and Tony’s you have one of his tees on that hangs over your mid thigh, You’re heat lasted two week, Tony explained it could have been your body making up for the years you were on suppressants.

The three Alpha’s took you in so many ways, you were not complaining it was the Omega in you that kept begging for more, and the heat that overwhelmed you, 

Tony and Bucky had to leave on a mission that involved more Omega’s in hiding, So Steve was left alone with you as you slept off your exhaustion from the two weeks of heat, Your breathing slow and steady as he leaned against the door frame watching you sleep soundly in your nest, Wearing not just his mark but Bucky’s and Tony’s as well.

He knew once everything wore off that’s when the real fight would begin, you were a fighter and he had to admit that is one of the things that drew him to you in the first place and your sweet smell, You smelled like apples on a spring day with strawberries. it was an addicting smell, 

he walks over to your nest, moving some of your long dark hair out of your face, 

“Doll wake up you need to eat something, you’ve been asleep for two days.” He whispers in you ear, 

You just let out a groan and roll over that your back is now facing him, 

Steve chuckles kissing his mark which sent electric through your body, you eyelashes slowly flutter open, Steve holds you in his muscular arms chuckling. 

“There she is.” He says nuzzling his face in your neck

Your eyes widen coming to the realization, You leg out a growl, standing from your nest, 

“Now doll none of that.” He says standing up 

You made a run for the door only for him to grab you and slam you back into your nest, 

“Enough!” He growl it was like something snapped in your brain and you froze, 

He smiles down at you, 

“That’s my good Omega.” He says petting your hair, 

“Now you need to eat something, since you are over your heat.” He says 

He holds out his hand, And you take his hand without any hesitation.

He leads you to the kitchen where you sit quietly, as he grabs some eggs out of the fridge. 

You were so tired but he was right you needed to eat something to regain your strength, That was your first heat in five years,and boy were you feeling the after math, you were sore everywhere, not to mention the rough sex with each Alpha, it all seemed like a dream, 

You were feeling sort of out of it, in a daze as Steve brings you the cooked eggs and some fruit, You look up at him, 

“Eat you need it.” He says with a smile

part of you wants to throw the plate in his face but the other part just obeys, You take a few bites, but your appetite seems to vanish you were more nauseated and sore than anything. 

“Whats wrong doll.” He asked 

“I don’t feel well.” You don’t know why you even answered him, But you did, 

He looked at you concerned, 

“It probably from not having your heat for so long.” He says 

You just nod, 

“Can I go back to sleep?” You don’t know why you are asking permission but it seemed to please him, 

“Yes, I’ll clean up.” He says standing 

You nod standing making your way back to the bedroom and laying back in your nest, You feel sleep take over you immediately 

Steve was cleaning up when the front door opened, Tony and Bucky back, 

“How was the mission?” Steve asked 

“Great about a dozen Omega’s in hiding, got them to a detox facility.” Tony says 

“Where’s our girl?” Bucky asked watching Steve clean the dishes, 

“She just went back to sleep, she’s not feeling well.” Steve says smirking 

they all smirk at each other hoping for the best, Hoping at least one of them was able to put a pup in her during her heat, 

Bucky made his way back to the bedroom but Steve stopped him, 

“You two might want to shower before going back there and smelling like other Omega’s” He says 

They both nod each making their way to the bathroom to wash off the smell of the Omega’s

Bucky returned with his hair wet just in a pair of boxers, 

“I wanted to ask you did you see the scars?” He asked Steve nodded remembering seeing the scars that were on your back, some looked like claw marks others looked like whip marks, 

“Should we ask her about it?” Tony asked popping back into the living room with the two Alpha’s

“maybe after she more calm.” Steve says both Alpha’s nodded heading back to the bedroom where their Omega rested.

[luvfy0dor]

Henlo

You know who it is, we all know, henlo

I feel like I’ve been here a lot recently

Just starting off with saying I loved the Dazai piece. It was really cute. Dad Dazai trying his best, made my heart melty

But I think you know why I’m here today

On this day

Honestly the day doesn’t entirely matter but I’m here on THIS one

With the dad Fyodor thought I promised

Cuz here I was thinking to myself. I feel like Fyodor definitely wants his child or children having some connection to Russian culture, since that’s a part of them too, regardless of their other parent’s nationality or background, he definitely wants his included. (Tho his partner could totally do the same)

So I was wondering, would you like a piece of him either teaching his children Russian or making Russian food for them? Or really sharing any Russian cultural thing with them at all. Honestly whatever one is easier for you to write or go into detail with, they’re all equally cute.

Cuz if his child or children develop a connection to that, I feel like that would make him a lot happier than maybe he would fully show.

I hope this ask sparks the creative brain juices in a fun way

Also considering sending a Halloween themed request at some point idk… oh but who knows!We’re here rn and having fun with this, that’s all we need at the moment

Also real glad you enjoy my messages lol. I will absolutely keep sending. Take as long as you need

-the person here attempting to give everyone baby fever because it’s funny

This blog’s Dad Fyodor anon

"da!" - Dad!Fyodor x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

Warnings; Google translate Russian, not much reader involvement, very minimal proofreading happened

Description; Dad!Fyodor teaching his child about Russian culture! It incorporates ideas from the first dad!Fyodor part.

A/n; YESYESYES I one hundred percent agree, I think about this on the regular OMG I hope I depicted this well bc my knowledge on Russia isn't all that extensive lol, if you have any corrections, do tell me!! : ) Also I'm gonna be so fr I had NO idea what to name this so we're rolling with da I guess.............

Headcannons !! ༊*·˚

★ He teaches his child/children classical Russian music when they're old enough to play more difficult pieces. Until then, he'll settle for twinkle twinkle little star.

★ Introduces his children to ballet.

★ His children have a variety of Russian-originating toys, such as Matryoshka/Russian nesting dolls, rocking horses etc.

★ Brings his children to Russia at least once, specifically to Moscow (irl Dostoevsky was raised in Moscow, so we're gonna assume BSD Dostoevsky was too) to experience the culture first hand.

★ Teaches his children the foundations of the Russian language. He would like them to fluently speak it one day, though.

★ Cooks Russian food for them like I mentioned and included in the first part.

★ They learn about Russian history from their father, anywhere from Peter the Great to fur trade and all that jazz

Scenario !! ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

(as always, p/t is parental title, d/n is daughters name)

Your head leaned against your fist while you watched your husband and daughter focus on their current activity. D/n carefully picked the colors and pigments she would use to color in the white spaces on her paper, and Fyodor just tried to keep things inside the lines. You could see the little girls tongue slightly sticking out from between her lips in concentration, making you smile.

Your daughter went to pick her next color, chosing a pink crayon to fill in the nose of the cat. "Papa, what'd you say your hat was called again? The one you always wear." She clarifies, even though there was really only one hat that Fyodor would wear at all. His eyes don't leave his thin paper as he replies, "A ushanka, and it's from Russia, malyshka." He answered, pushing some of his hair out of his face and behind his ear. "Russia." She says, the sound not unfamiliar, but not common to her either. "Where's that?" She tilts her head upwards, putting her crayon down to signify her attention on her papa. He puts his down too and rests his arms on top of one another.

"Quite far, but it is in both Asia and Europe. That's how big it is, it stretches over two continents." He says, a smile on his face. Her eyes widen a little. "That is really big. Have you been there before?" Her head tilts and she shifts a bit in her seat. "I grew up there, in the city of Moscow." He says, happy with her clear interest in his motherland.

"We should go there for a vacation one day!" She says, a grin on her face. He laughs a little bit and nods. "I agree, we definetly should." He agrees, fantasizing about it in his head. "Is that why you talk like that?" She questions her fathers accent, skittering around the table and climbing onto his lap. He smiles gently and nods. "Yes, it's called an accent, malyshka. I learned English, but Russian is my mother tongue. There are a lot of different pronunciations for certain sounds in Russian." He tells her, his hands fidgeting with the young girls hair. He parts it into three sections and starts to braid it.

"Is everything different there?" Fyodor hums, thinking as he weaves her hair into a gorgeous French braid. "Well, it definitely very different, but I don't think I would say everything." He says. "There are more historical differences than anything, if I do say so myself." She hums in understanding. "Papa, can you teach me some Russian?" She asks, turning her head to look at him with puppy dog eyes, even though she really didn't need them. He smiled and nodded.

"What should I teach you?" He softly questions, looking into the young girls eyes. She thinks for a moment, tapping her pointer finger on her chin. "I don't know! Whatever you want." She says, just excited to hear another language. He chuckles softly. "я не знаю, что тебе сказать" (I don't know what to tell you) he responds, a small grin on his face. Her eyes widen, almost as if she never believed he could speak a different language. You giggle a bit at her reaction.

"What does that mean?!" She excitedly asks, her mind seemingly blown over this. "It simply means I don't know what to tell you." He speaks. "But I can tell you the simple stuff. Like 'да' means yes and 'нет' means no. Hello is 'привет' and goodbye is 'до свидания'."

The young girl takes a mental note of these words. "привет, papa! I think I said that right." She says. You proudly watch the scene go down. Fyodor gives you a similarly prideful smile. "Yes, you did wonderful, malyshka." He praises her, patting her shoulder. "I'll have to teach you more one day." She nods vigorously, very obviously wanting him to. "Yes! And then we can have secret conversations, no one else will know what we're saying!" She snickers, making him smile.

A/n; I hope this is alright!! I loved this request a whole lot. Oh, also, feel free to send in that Halloween request even though it's November now lol

"Oh, ofcourse. That will probably be rather far in the future, though." He says, removing her from his lap and gently patting her back. "That's okay. If I learn more I'll know more words." She states the obvious. "And I'm gonna learn from the best russian ever." She beams, making Fyodor grin. "That's right, sweetheart."

[wildsparrows]

Fledglings AU intro post

"I can be different, I can't be puppeted!"

Birds Of A Feather, or the Fledglings AU, is basically about five orphan kids from Playcare who narrowly avoid being experimented on for varying reasons.

The Fledglings AU is heavily inspired by a song. In this case, it's Bird Cage Blue And Yellow by Yaelokre. It fits enough that almost every lyric can correspond to an event in the plot in a sort of animatic, except I don't have the motivation for that.

The main five kids are based on the five kids from Charlie and The Chocolate Factory. The Charlie in this case being Joseph, a minor character in the game who canonically was friends with Kevin and questioned one of the scientists after seeing them carrying Kevin off while he was asleep.

The other four are pretty much OCs, who are:

-Nathan Hauksson, stand-in for Mike Teavee

-Yara De Costa, stand-in of Violet Beauregard

-Scott Choudhury, stand-in for Augustus Gloop

-Lyssa Lee, stand-in for Veruca Salt

This is pretty much in the order of which kid escaped first, with Joseph being the last to escape. And by that, I mean he escaped during the Hour Of Joy, the day he was scheduled to be experimented on.

The four used to act more like the rotten kids themselves, but have somewhat matured since then. Same with Joseph, who's more jaded compared to his younger, bright-eyed self.

In a bad ending type scenario, I'd imagine them being turned into toys based on each kid's fate in the movie. Yara could be a Strawberry Shortcake-esque blueberry doll, Lyssa could be a plush squirrel, etc.

Going back to the Yaelokre song the AU is inspired from, I've added a lot of sparrows and birdcage motifs to the plot. For example, in any flashbacks showing one of the five kids during their orphan days, a sparrow will show up nearby to foreshadow their eventual escape.

It's mostly referencing the line, "Malayang Maya, Malayo-layo" meaning "Free Sparrow, Far Away". In contrast, any kid foreshadowed to be experimented on will have a taxidermied sparrow nearby, typically left by the prototype as a warning.

There's also an in-universe reason for the abundance of sparrows in the factory. Because in the AU, the scientists began experimenting on sparrows with poppy gel first instead of rats, luring the sparrows first with poppy seed feeders.

Birdcages would also frequently be seen in the lower levels. Sparrows still lurk in the factory because of the poppies that still grow in the labs, and it's not rare for some toys to look for sparrow nests to eat the eggs...if not the birds themselves.

I'd probably run this blog as an ask blog with the occasional oneshot in the format of a document or a tape. I won't always be able to respond due to college, and even if I do, it won't always come with a drawing. With all that out of the way, let's get to the rules for the asks:

No weird asks. All five orphans are underaged. I will allow the occasional dirty joke to slide since they're rat bastard teenagers, but I'd appreciate refraining from that anyway.

No spam asks. The more you spam, the less motivated I will to answer. I'd probably just delete your spam asks instead.

Anon magic is unfortunately not allowed for this one. Idk, I don't think it'd fit the kind of vibe I want this blog to have. OCs and other RP accounts are of course welcome here, as long as they're not too OP for the Poppy Playtime universe.

This is a Poppy Playtime AU, so it's of course gonna tackle a bunch of dark topics, and I'll make sure to tag and put trigger warnings outside of the usual death and child experimentation tws accordingly. Still, there may be some asks I might not entertain if it entails darker themes than what the AU is tailored to.

I have the right to not respond to an ask if it makes me uncomfortable for some other way not mentioned here. What? You want a refund?

Idk what else to put here, just use common sense and Netiquette.

[asher-agere]

Could you write more about CG Natsume? Please, I'm obssessing over it :3

FINALLY. IT’S TIME

Caregiver Natsume

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

⭑.ᐟ Natsume is a super good storyteller! I think he’d be really good at doing different voices especially, which also makes him good for acting out stories with plushies or dolls! Like, he can sound like a totally different person, he’ll also notice if his little one has a favorite voice that he does and he’ll make sure to incorporate it into everything! Each of his babies toys has its own unique voice, so he can actually come up behind them and cover their eyes and change his voice to say “Guess who?” And the little one can actually tell which toy he’s holding! It’s a very silly little game

⭑.ᐟ Natsume loves going on adventures with his little one! It can be marching around the house, having a secret meeting in the yard, exploring a park or a forest, he loves it! He’ll pack a little care bag with some snacks, basic first aid supplies, and important toys like a tiny plushie or a teether! Of course he lets the little one lead the way, this is their adventure after all! He’s simply along for the ride, a passenger in their story. He loves to point out different bugs or plants and explain what they are to his little one! He especially likes finding edible plants like berries to show his little one the wonders of nature

⭑.ᐟ He makes full use of his ability to turn into a cat. He’s very energetic in either form honestly (For his age. There’s a difference between an energetic toddler and an energetic 50 year old man), and he loves to run around playing games like tag! He’ll use his ability for better mobility, and to hide better in hide and seek! His favorite move is to transform into a cat then hide in a pile of plushies, he totally blends in. Because he’s definitely bought calico cat plushies, quite potentially just to help him blend in for these situations. But also they’re just cute! That’s the logic he says of course

⭑.ᐟ He’s a very attentive caregiver, always wants to be near his little one and doing things with them! He tries minimizing time he can’t focus on them by doing things like pre-preparing snacks! That way if his baby wants a snack he can just grab it and go! Worst case scenario it might need microwaved, but he doesn’t need to actively do much for that. He definitely constantly has sippy cups and bottles that already have juice or milk in them, milk might need heated up based on his little one’s preference, but juice is just a grab and go!

⭑.ᐟ Naps! While Natsume is a pretty active guy… Who doesn’t like a little nap every now and then? He loves to cuddle his little one all warm and cozy, always reminding them how important it is to rest up. Just a little cat nap! Also he definitely enjoys making a sort of nest with blankets and pillows, he says it helps it feel more cozy! And he is more than willing to upgrade from nest to fort as well! Making a fort is so much fun, and it makes it feel even cozier! Plus a thinner blanket makes the light shining through look like different colors and that’s really cool and soothing!

⭑.ᐟ If he ever can’t watch his baby for whatever reason he’ll guide them to Haruno and Naomi! I don’t think Natsume trusts people very easily, and while he knows many characters very well, he’s also aware many of them aren’t very trustworthy. But he lives with Haruno and she’s a lovely young lady! Plus she’s always hanging around Naomi, the two girls don’t seem to have any ill intent, he’d trust them with his little one! Of course he much prefers to watch them himself, but he has plans set up for in case he ever gets too busy!

⭑.ᐟ He buys his little one a bunch of cat themed stuff! He buys them plushies, because for one he can hide in them for hide and seek, but also he tells his little one to hug them if they ever miss him and he’ll feel the hug and go to them! Also he definitely buys them cat themed pajamas or a onesie, he likes to call them his little kitten! Plus kitty cat themed coloring books! He always likes telling them to color in a portrait of him! He’ll change into his cat form and swish his fur majestically! Those are the main three he likes to buy, but he’d also be more than happy to buy pacifiers, sippy cups, picture books, anything his little one wants!

⭑.ᐟ Natsume is an amazing listener. He’s always encouraging his baby to talk to him, prompting them using questions and stuff, always praising them too of course! If they’re only able to babble he’ll switch to cat form and meow at them! It shows that neither of them can really talk with words, but they can still mindlessly talk and it’s ok! I think he’d like the use of talking apps on tablets to communicate, that way his baby still gets to hear the words out loud if they want to try and say it, but they have an available way to communicate without needing to talk! He’s of course open to things like communication cards, sign language, communicating through drawing or writing, he’s very adaptable!

⭑.ᐟ Natsume likes his quiet solitude, he doesn’t want to share his baby! Of course if his baby really wants a play date he’d allow it, how can you say no to an adorable little one? But the entire time he’ll just be sitting off to the side watching to make sure nothing goes wrong. Honestly he’s kind of sulking. If it becomes a regular occurrence he’d learn to get used to it though! Slowly growing more comfortable with his babies friend and accepting them into their life! However it takes time to get to that point, like I said Natsume doesn’t trust very easily. He also refuses to use his ability around his little ones friend so that he can stalk them a little bit in cat form. Just a little bit!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

HOORAY FOR NATSUME. This man’s wiki page is disappointing though, I struggled to find good information about him </3

[DNI ID: A white box with a grey border. Natsume in cat form to the left and in human form to the right. Grey text reads “DNI if your blog isn’t child safe. I will block NSFW accounts” End ID]

[sweetheartmotives]

《☆Yandere Otter Hybrid☆》

Desc and possible Tw: Yandere themes, Sexual themes, mentions of biting, and maybe captured?

Let me know if I missed any!

Whenever there's a new animal species found, you're the first to know. Your team has brought you a newfound species, It's suspected to be a part of the otter family since It has the characteristics of an otter. For example, it's ears and tail. The only weird thing is.. it has a human body.

Anyhow, you've been assigned to study it. At first, the otter being was aggressive and most likely stressed from the sudden change of environment. You've taken the necessary steps to make it comfortable. For example; giving it toys, blankets, treats, etc. It seems the otter being has grown to like you.. a little too much.

•• Yandere Otter Hybrid who... got very aggressive and scared when you first bring them into the lab.

•• Yandere Otter Hybrid who... would snap at you any chance they get.

Growling and hissing while trying to bite you

••Yandere Otter Hybrid who... at first didn't accept your gifts. They would push away blankets, treats, toys, etc. You aren't winning yet! They aren't giving up!

•• Yandere Otter Hybrid who... slowly but surely got used to you, After 6 months of constant growling, of course.

Maybe you're not as bad as I thought..? Yan Otter hybrid thinks to themself

•• Yandere Otter Hybrid who... would bring you their toys as a gift.

Take... Offers you one of their toys

•• Yandere Otter Hybrid who... makes loud squeaks and cries whenever you're not by them!

Loud squeaking

•• Yandere Otter Hybrid who... falls for you. They love your smell and looks.. You are so so perfect to them..

•• Yandere Otter Hybrid who... enjoys holding hands, snuggling, playing, and nesting with you. All things otters do to show affection!

•• Yandere Otter Hybrid who... over time, they started to embrace you while rubbing themself all over you.

Maybe if I court them, they'll be my mate? Sigh It's worth a shot.. Otter Hybrid mutters to themself

•• Yandere Otter Hybrid who... eventually goes into heat. They became more talkative, now discussing with the other researchers about finding a mate! You specifically

I need a mate! Yes.. if I don't have one, I'll die. Yan Otter Hybrid is obviously lying but the other researchers don't know that.

•• Yandere Otter Hybrid who... eventually gets what they want. You in their exhibit, all dolled up for them!

You're literally just naked 💀

•• Yandere Otter Hybrid who... makes sure the windows, cameras, etc. are turned off or covered by something to protect your guy's privacy! Mating is a sacred thing that two or more lovers share, and it should be treated that way!

You're my mate.. my pretty pretty mate.

•• Yandere Otter Hybrid who... forces you into mating press. They're literally trying to mate with you.

You'll make a great parent to our babies, my pretty mate.. Otter Hybrid says while touching the bulge on ur tummy <3

•• Yandere Otter Hybrid who... goes all night with you. Filling you to the brim with every ounce of love They have for you! No breaks :p

•• Yandere Otter Hybrid who... has special sperm that can get any Gender/sex pregnant. Boy, girl, or other will get pregnant by it.

•• Yandere Otter Hybrid who... in the end, will make a great partner and parent to your guy's babies!

We'll be together, forever ♡

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you enjoy reading, as I enjoyed writing!! 《*≧∀≦》

(Also credit to @suiana ! this idea came to be from their Yandere Naga fic I read a while ago! :3)

[blissfullybubblez]

🌧️☁️ Rainy Day Fun for Littles! 🌈

When it’s too wet to play outside, it’s time to make the inside just as fun! Here are some super sweet and cozy things you can do when the rain’s tapping on the windows:

🖍️ 1. Color Your Heart Out Grab your favorite coloring books or just some blank paper and crayons. Draw rainbows, puddles, or even make your own silly creatures that love the rain! 🌈

🍪 2. Bake a Little Treat Make cookies, cupcakes, or even simple no-bake treats. Get messy with frosting and sprinkles! Don’t forget to share your creation with your stuffed animals or family! 🍩

🎶 3. Rainy Day Playlist Dance Party Put on some cheerful songs and dance around the living room! Don’t worry about the rain outside; inside is the perfect place for a wiggle-filled jam session. 🎧

🧸 4. Build a Cozy Blanket Fort Gather all your blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals to build the fluffiest, most magical fort you can. Then, curl up inside with a book or your favorite movie. 🏰

📖 5. Read, Read, Read! Rainy days are the perfect excuse to snuggle up with a pile of books. Read some favorite stories or explore new ones. Or, listen to an audiobook while you cuddle in your blanket nest. 📚

🎨 6. Crafty Creations Make some rainy-day crafts like paper raindrops, rainbows, or little cloud mobiles. Use colorful paper, glue, glitter, and stickers to make it fun and sparkly! ✂️

🎥 7. Movie Marathon with Snacks Pick out your favorite movies, grab some popcorn, and settle in for a movie marathon! You can even pick a theme, like “superheroes” or “silly animals.” 🍿

🐾 8. Have a Stuffie Parade Give each of your plushies their own name and personality, then line them up for a fun little parade around your living room. They can even have their own dance-off! 🧸

☁️ 9. Make a Rainy Day Journal Draw pictures or write about your favorite rainy day memories. You can even include a list of things you love about the rain, like puddles and the sound of raindrops tapping on the window. 🌧️

☕ 10. Have a Tea Party Set up a tea party with your stuffed friends, dolls, or family. Serve pretend tea, cookies, and snacks, and chat with your guests about the weather. 🫖

Rainy days don’t have to be dull. They’re just a chance to slow down and enjoy the coziness of being inside. Stay warm, stay snuggled, and make the most of your day indoors! 💖🌟

[kylieswift31]

Today was a fairytale funeral

“I have this dream my daughter in law kills me for the money. She thinks I left them in the will.”

I recently made a post about Cinderella and how the inner version of Taylor became exiled during the fearless era, and then a few hours later Taylor sang 'today was a fairytale' and 'exile' during the surprise song set on the eras tour. The combination of these two songs reveal the contrast between the dreams vs reality that Taylor faced as a young woman entering the music industry.

This is going to be another long really long post, but it's worth sticking around until the end...

The fairytale

Taylor's earlier albums heavily featured fairytale themes, especially within the fearless era. The song 'today was a fairytale' originally debuted on the valentines day movie Taylor Swift featured in, with Taylor Lautner playing her high school boyfriend. This movie follows the journey of several characters simultaneously, revealing the connections between them all along the way.

When 'today was a fairytale' was added to the fearless tour in 2010, it was the first of several songs performed in a black and silver cocktail dress. The visuals in the background depict a forest scene, reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet sneaking away during 'love story'. Taylor also wears a very similar dress during the 'our song' music video as she's singing "I didn't kiss 'er and I should have".

Taylor also performed 'today was a fairytale' during the 2010 Grammys where Stevie Nicks joined her on stage. For this performance Taylor was wearing a blouse reminiscent of the Romeo look that’s seen on the cover of the fearless re-record. Notably, Eric Dane from Grey's anatomy played a famous football player for the valentines day movie. His character came out as gay during a press conference when many were anticipating his retirement. And at the end of the tour Taylor wore a patriots jersey for her performance of 'today was a fairytale' at the Gillette stadium.

Exiled

Following the incident with Kanye West interrupting her acceptance speech at the country music awards show, the speak now tour reveals subtle references to this negative experience and how it had affected Taylor going forward. The 'speak now' performance in particular features Taylor interrupting a wedding that’s taking place on stage as she proceeds to drag the groom into the crowd.

After losing him along the way, Taylor reaches a lone tree in the crowd. She begins singing 'fearless' on a ukulele with a brief cover of 'I'm yours' by Jason Mraz mixed in. "I won't hesitate no more." Taylor then transitions into playing 'last kiss' on the koi fish guitar. "When we say hello, and it's magical, we never imagine that hello could someday turn into a goodbye." The combination of all of these elements is a visual representation of the outer version of Taylor saying goodbye as the inner version of Taylor became exiled.

Fast forward to the release of fearless Taylor's version and we can start to see the evidence of this separation. The lyric video for 'today was a fairytale' is full of duplicated pictures of Taylor from the past, all with varying levels of saturation. This feels like an introduction to the layers of Taylor that have developed over time. The Taylor on the left represents the exiled inner Taylor who is hiding behind a mask. The Taylor on the right represents the outer version of Taylor that is acting as a facade to conceal the layers underneath, just like a set of nesting dolls. And the middle layers represent the different versions of Taylor that have been added over the years. No matter which layer you're looking at, it is acting as both a mask and a facade for the inner and outer layers on either side.

There are many versions of Taylor seen throughout her music videos. I began seeing them as a set of nesting dolls as a way to make sense of the many versions of Taylor we've seen over the years. And it was all inspired by The Truman Show. The director (director Taylor) created Truman as a true man (regular Taylor/Taylor ™), but he was acting like everyone else around him by wearing a mask (pop star Taylor) but they saw him as a character (giant Taylor). Truman lied to everyone around him to protect the inner version of himself underneath (inner Taylor). We all have differing opinions on who Taylor is underneath the pop star persona (straight, queer etc), but the secret to seeing the innermost layer of Taylor is to understand that the outermost version of Taylor exists too. Taylor has been directing herself in the sense that she's created her own layers, but keep in mind that she wouldn't be referencing Truman's story so heavily if there wasn't someone in her life playing this role too.

A cry for help

This was just supposed to be a brief post about the connection between the two surprise songs, but it felt like Taylor was leaning over my shoulder saying "you know this is about the Truman show too right?!" So if you haven't read this post about The Truman Show yet, I'd highly recommend you do so before proceeding.

It's no coincidence that Taylor has referenced Truman's story so much throughout her work because she relates to his story on a personal level. Truman kept talking about how he wanted to get out of town and travel to Fiji, each time forcing the director to retaliate by trying harder to make him stay in Seahaven and continue being the star of the show. Taylor's version of leaving town was leaving her old record label and her plans of going to Fiji was talking about wanting to come out as queer in a similar way.

The 'anti hero' music video is a direct reference to the scene after Truman's first attempt to escape. In hindsight, this attempt was set up to fail as a test run to find out what roadblocks could hinder his real plan to escape. Taylor left her old record label at this point, but her fight for her plans didn't stop there. The aesthetic of the lover era hinted at Taylor's big plans to come out at the time, but this was quickly sabotaged by the sale of her masters. Chronologically, this music video depicts the fallout from that experience.

Truman had slowly been drawing the viewers attention to the flaws and behaviour of the people around him. This gave the viewer a chance to pick up on the clues that he wasn't happy with living a life that had been scripted for him. His wife Meryl advertising a product while trying to offer to help him is seen as the final straw, but in hindsight Truman had known all along that this type of behaviour wasn't genuine. As Taylor cuts into her food, purple glitter begins to ooze out of the egg yolk. The way that the food is arranged as a smiley face feels like a metaphor for how delicate the facade is that Taylor has created to conceal the inner versions of herself. How someone looks on the outside doesn't always reflect how they feel on the inside. This is what Truman meant when he told the director that he couldn't see inside his head. Taylor is showing us that we only see the mask she's hiding behind and that the Easter eggs she's left along the way point to who she really is on the inside. We just need to view them through the context of the Truman show.

When Truman finally confronts Meryl she calls out for help even though no one else is around. It becomes clear that she is talking to the director who is in charge behind the scenes. Taylor appears to be scared as she tries to call for help, only to reveal that the cord had been cut. This suggests that the phone and house is part of a set and that the act of calling for help was just a visible way to show how Taylor feels on the inside.

Truman purposely escalated the situation with Meryl because it was a part of his plan to encourage her to leave. He couldn't progress to the next stage with her watching over him. Taylor also appeared to be scared because she was confronted with the ghosts of her past self. They follow her around the house, but the ghosts in the mirror imply that they've been there the whole time. Taylor's just drawing our attention to them now because she knows what will happen next. Both Taylor and Truman are wanting us to see the director's role in their lives because their actions have always had the same consequences.

To calm Truman down, his best friend Marlon is sent in to intervene. He walks in carrying a six pack of beer, his usual excuse to show up unannounced. When Taylor™ (the Truman version of Taylor) reaches the front door, she opens it to find the pop star version of herself. This appears to indicate that she has answered the call, but we can infer from Truman's situation that it's actually the director attempting to remediate the situation.

When Truman and Marlon get together, Marlon is subtly guiding Truman to follow the script the director has laid out. And at the same time, Truman is subtly revealing what he needs help with on the outside for his big escape plan. As the two versions of Taylor begin taking shots together Taylor™ becomes more in sync with pop star Taylor over time. This means Taylor™ is being guided, just like Truman was.

Dead inside

As we see giant Taylor for the first time she had interrupted a dinner party and the scene feels similar to when Truman tried to leave town on the bus. Truman was again drawing our attention to how strangely everyone has always reacted in his presence. In this case, the dinner party guests reacting to the giant Taylor could be a reference to her level of fame or her queerness. Either way, her size implies that she's the elephant in the room. An archer shoots her with an arrow and this shows that the giant Taylor bleeds purple glitter, just like the egg did. She attempts to drink from a bottle of wine but discovers it had run out. This is a reference to Alice in Wonderland drinking to shrink in size and suggests that the giant Taylor just wanted a chance to fit in.

Truman and Marlon found a way to communicate with each other very subtly in plain sight, to the point that it's undetectable unless you're looking for it. The pop star Taylor is doing the same thing, but in a way that makes it seem like she's teaching Taylor ™ bad habits. Taylor™ takes notes as pop star Taylor explains the rules she needs to follow to keep up the facade that is concealing the inner versions of Taylor underneath. This feels like a true man bootcamp.

Taylor™ eventually throws up some of the purple glitter, implying that this outcome was a part of their plan. This reminds me of the phrase that suggests to 'chew the meat and spit out the bones'. It has a biblical background to encourage discernment, but in this situation pop star Taylor is showing Taylor™ how to read between the lines in order to see the helpful advice she is sharing.

The old Taylor is dead

From the director's perspective, Truman was trying to escape because he had found out that his father was still alive. So to prevent Truman from leaving he reunites them. Marlon guides Truman to follow the script as they're reunited. This feels like the end of Truman's story as it cuts to the director's point of view behind the scenes but we eventually learn that Truman had been working towards a bigger plan the whole time. Pretending to go back to normal was a part of the plan to lull the director into a false sense of security, allowing Truman to leave when he least expected it.

A similar scene plays out as Taylor™ and pop star Taylor are reunited with the giant Taylor. With the added context of Truman's story, this now seems to be an attempt to placate them too. If we know that the pop star Taylor was subtly teaching Taylor™, we can begin to see the signs that they were both working towards a bigger plan. All we have to do to understand their motive is to read between the lines.

If you open up a nesting doll and put it back together again without the inner layers, you're essentially creating a horcrux. This is what happened when Taylor lost access to her masters and what the many versions of Taylor represent. Slowly over time she's been rescuing each layer piece by piece. And once they're all reunited Taylor will become complete again.

The koi fish guitar and the purple glitter are a clear reference to the speak now era, and the purple colour is often associated with queer women. These connections point towards the giant Taylor being associated with the speak now era. The director allowed them to reunite with the giant Taylor because she was the lesser of two evils for the director to choose from. The aesthetic of the lover era and the music videos that went with it appear to be a compromise intended to prevent Taylor from going after her bigger plan.

I mentioned earlier that the inner version of Taylor became exiled during the speak now tour. In hindsight, the red version of Taylor then became a decoy to draw our attention away from the speak now era so that we didn't realise that she was left behind. "'Cause you never gave a warning sign. (I gave so many signs) So many signs, so many signs. You didn't even see the signs." The tree where Taylor was exiled is featured on the cover of the book in the 'all too well' short film and the only lingering evidence of her existence is the red scarf.

The bigger plan Taylor™ and pop star Taylor were working towards was hinted at with the koi fish guitars. Pop star Taylor was smashing her guitar, drawing our attention to the speak now connection. This distracted us from the second koi fish guitar Taylor™ was holding onto, concealing their bigger plan hidden in plain sight. And it's all linked to the koi fish. In the 'lavender haze' music video, Taylor pushes down the walls of the bedroom to reveal that the house was all a facade. She then proceeds to go to sleep on a cloud while surrounded by koi fish as they swim by. This is a reference to the phrase 'sleeping with the fishes', a term used to imply a dead body had been dumped in the ocean. This suggests that Taylor™ and pop star Taylor are working together to rescue this version of Taylor. And how do we know which version is still missing? Taylor showed us with the midnight mayhem with me videos when she paired track 1 with 'lavender haze'. This implies that Debut Taylor is the original version of Taylor who is dead sleeping with the fishes.

The funeral

"And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?"

Looking back we can see that Taylor Nation has been going live to draw our attention to the 'I don't wanna live forever' surprise songs, but more specifically the difference between live vs live. And just like Truman, Taylor™ doesn't want to be live forever, hence the funeral. Taylor's direct references to The Truman Show deviate with the funeral scene, but the main characters do correspond to Truman's family to draw our attention to their intentions. This means that Kimber is Truman's wife, Preston is Truman's mother and Chad is Truman's best friend. I've been going back and forth trying to decide if they could represent Taylor's family or herself, but ultimately I believe it's about fans. As the funeral starts, Kimber is using a selfie stick to fix up her lipstick. "Once you fix your face I'm going in". This action feels like the funeral is a big performance for her rather than a somber occasion.

Next, Preston gets up to read out the will. Kimber and Preston both sound distraught when they discover that Taylor left everything to her cats and all that's left for them is 13 cents each, but the delay in Chad's reaction suggests that he's not surprised but is playing along to keep up appearances. The 13 cents is a reference to Taylor's favourite number and a cent is typically a penny, but it’s also a unit of measure in music. I'm not familiar with US currency, but many versions of the penny seem to feature a shield. The inscription on them reads 'e pluribus unum' which translates to 'out of many, one'. This motto represents a union formed by many states. This implies that there is a maximum of thirteen versions of Taylor, and that once limit is reached they will reunite again as one.

As they continue to argue over the will, Chad and Preston point out that Kimber is wearing Taylor's dress from the fearless tour. She gets upset over this, claiming that "we were very, very close and I miss her!" Knowing that her character is referencing Truman's wife Meryl, this emotional outburst now feels contrived as if she's putting on a show.

The fight escalates when it's pointed out that Chad is recording the funeral for his podcast 'life comes at you swiftly'. This suggests that he's using the recording for ulterior purposes. The argument turns into a fight as Chad accuses Kimber of killing Taylor. "Kimber was the last one with her. She didn't fall off that balcony, she was pushed!" This implies that Chad knows more than he's letting on and is purposely escalating the situation to create a rift between them all.

If the cents represent a new era of Taylor, midnights being the 10th era suggests that they have almost run out. Therefore Kimber, Preston and Chad's disagreement and outrage is a genuine reaction to how little time they have left, not the money. While everyone is distracted, Taylor gets out of the coffin but no one notices because they're too busy fighting amongst themselves. This version of Taylor is wearing a teal and green shirt, colours associated with the debut version of Taylor. But if we've already established that the original version of Taylor is in the lavender haze, does this mean that debut Taylor is the original Taylor™?

Just like Truman learnt at a young age that he needed to fit in and follow the script like everyone else, Taylor did too. "When you are young, they assume you know nothing". If Truman was the 'true man', the more accurate description for Taylor would be the 'good girl'. All her life that's who she was expected to be so that's who she tried to be. Underneath that outer layer, is another layer, and another layer and so on of Taylor's attempts to be a 'good girl'. Each layer of nesting dolls may look identical or completely unique to the next, but in the end there's only one left that's not hollow at it's core. This is the innermost version of Taylor.

"Changed plans and lovers and outfits and rules.

All to outrun my desertion of you."

If Taylor learnt to conceal her inner self before debut, then each layer since then has been her attempt to replace the part of herself that was left behind. This suggests that reuniting all thirteen layers of Taylor was the bigger plan she was working towards all along.

The will to live

"But who got the beach house?"

"She's having it turned into a f*cking cat sanctuary!"

Taylor didn't leave her children very much in the will, but she did request that the beach house be turned into a cat sanctuary. It's common knowledge that a cat typically has nine lives, but knowing Taylor her cats would have 13 lives instead.

To tie it all back to the 'today was a fairytale' connection that started all of this, the thirteen versions of Taylor are woven together in the same way the multiple storylines of the characters in the valentines day movie tell a bigger story together. They each have a story to tell individually, but together their lives weave together to create a patchwork of who they are as a whole. Each version of Taylor is connected through the invisible string, and Taylor has left subtle clues throughout her career to guide us along the way.

Speaking of subtle clues, is there really a secret encoded message hidden in the funeral scene?

There is if you read between the lines!

Chad points at the picture of Taylor with her cats after he asked about secret encoded messages. Taylor overhears this and pokes her head out of the coffin before anxiously glancing at the picture of herself to make sure no one had picked up on her secret encoded message. These subtle actions link the picture that's just out of view at the same time to what they were talking about it. I know that this picture of Taylor with her cats is not new information, but I do think we have failed to uncover the significance of it.

To understand this picture we first have to consider Truman's motivations to leave Seahaven. If Marlon was guiding Truman to aid his escape, the director was using Meryl to prevent Truman from leaving. And the next step in his plan was for Meryl to conceive, give birth and replicate Truman's life in the spotlight. The idea of being responsible for another person living the life he had is what motivated Truman to finally leave.

Scott Borchetta and Scooter Braun had initially told Taylor that they would only permit her to use her older music or video footage within the first year after she left her old record label if she agreed to their terms. This included but was not limited to saying:

"If I agree to not re-record copycat versions of my songs"

This clause went against everything Taylor had ever wanted: to own her own work. Embracing the queer side of herself was a big part of Taylor's journey initially, but creating change for everyone following in her footsteps is her greatest plan above all else.

"You look like Taylor Swift™ in this light. We're loving it."

The long pond studio sessions begins with Taylor talking about how she had created a studio in her home called kitty committee studios while in lockdown. As it comes to an end, Taylor and Jack are talking about how her cats are often fighting in the background while she was recording.

"If I was to close the door on them, they would meow, so they need to be free range cats. Cage free."

Benjamin Button is Taylor's third cat, the one she received during the 'Me!' music video from Brendon Urie. This moment is monumental as it signifies Taylor owning her first album. The significance of this suggests that Taylor was never planning on coming out during the lover era, it had always been about wanting to have access to her catalogue.

"Hey kids, spelling is fun!"

There is no I in team, but "you can't spell cats without TS!"

What's the time Mr Wolf?

Truman's director was concealed within the moon structure he created in the sky of the dome above Seahaven. At the end of the 'karma' music video Taylor and Ice Spice both lasso the moon and saturn with gold and silver thread. This implies that there are two seperate directors influencing her actions from behind the scenes and that her plan involves stopping them, and not leaving her career.

"And you poke that bear 'til her claws come out and you find something to wrap your noose around."

We need to keep in mind that Taylor's references to the Truman show throughout her music videos are a way for her to leave breadcrumbs without leaving a trace. The purpose of this is to avoid directly naming names. And just like Truman, the whole point of the story was to slowly expose us to the director's role in her life. I keep referring back to Truman's story in the same way because there's so much of Taylor's personal life that we'll never be privy to, but ignoring the role of the director means that we're completely missing the truth sprinkled in amongst the lies throughout her discography.

"'Cause for every lie I tell them, they tell me three."

Taylor left many clues in the 'midnights mayhem with me'. But the biggest clue of all was hidden in the title. MMWM. For every truth Taylor has woven into her songs, she's covered it up with three lies. In a previous post I pointed out how Taylor had used the McDonalds slogan to troll everyone by linking her truth with the most recognised symbol of all, the M logo. "We're loving it." And it all stems from her favourite number 13. Believing that Taylor is singing about a Woman or Man depends on what side of the street you're standing on (and if you're looking up at her or looking down at her). If the 3 represents women, the 1 represents the fine line or tightrope that Taylor has had to walk as she added whispers of her truth in plain sight.

"Lost your balance on a tightrope. It's never too late to get it back."

The significance of Taylor's cats doesn't stop with her catalogue. I'll leave it up to your imagination to discover how Taylor has been using the word to troll the directors, but on a more serious note we need to take a closer look at the meaning behind "Karma is a (copy)cat". When Taylor was told that she couldn't create copycat versions of her work she followed that direction meticulously. But just not in the way you think.

"But the story isn't mine anymore."

Taylor didn't rerecord her albums, she just retold the story.

Losing the rights to her own history is why Taylor didn't hesitate leaving everything behind when she left her old label. Instead, she started telling her story in her own way. And lover was the beginning of retelling her-story from debut. Folklore is retelling the story of Taylor™. Evermore is retelling the story of the princess that became frozen in time from speak now. Midnights is adding context to her-story from red. TTPD is the reality of her time in 1989. And there is no TS12 because there will be no explanation. TS12 is the inner Taylor, Taylor Swift. Who Taylor is at 12am is the same Taylor that started at 12pm.

'e pluribus unum'

"Midnights become my afternoons"

But wait, there's more!

There are more layers to the clock than just the twelve numbers.

If the eras are the chapters of Taylor's story, the midnights track list is the manifest. This is the role Taylor played as her own director, or in other words the mastermind. The manifest is her evidence explaining why she created Taylor™. Each track lines up with the ending of an era, starting with the inner Taylor lost in the lavender haze. Debut is in exploring new love with maroon. Fearless is paving the way for Taylor™ as the anti hero. Speak now is exiled as Taylor™ in the snow globe/fish bowl with snow on the beach. Red is leaving the old Taylor behind with you're on your own kid. 1989 is in the getaway car with midnight rain. Reputation is dreaming of purple skies and galaxies with Question...? Lover is playing with fire in vigilante shit. Folklore is reflecting on the diamonds frozen in time with bejewelled. Evermore is preparing to cross the line with labyrinth. Midnights is weaving the invisible string with karma. And TTPD is providing the evidence of how the inner Taylor became exiled.

The next layer reveals the four quadrants, just like the midnights vinyls. These reveal the fantasy vs reality of Taylor's history. "One for the money, two for the show". If we look closely we can see the evidence that the two directors are scripting both Taylor's career and her love life. This is in the form of limiting her music and forcing her into PR based relationships. The first quadrant reveals the dream Taylor had of owning her own music. The second reveals how convincing PR relationships can be. The third quadrant reveals Taylor's plans to reclaim her life's work and history. And the forth quadrant reveals Taylor's current fight to experience a love life without outside influence.

"And I hope it's shitty in the black dog"

"Karma is a cat purring in my lap because he loves me"

Truman spent his life feeling trapped in his hometown as he kept the truest parts of himself hidden. So much of Taylor's music videos point to feeling the same way. On the outside she is projecting the good girl version of herself, but underneath she feels abandoned. And both are in pain because they have been exiled from each other.

Many of Taylor's albums are full of fantasy because that's the life she's created for herself to maintain the facade and the man wall is the remnants of her dreams. The only layers that depict Taylor's reality are the albums that correspond with her real cats in the picture from the funeral scene. During the lover era, Taylor assigned a cats movie character to each of her albums. The big cat in her lap is Benjamin Button. He represents Taylor's future with debut and lover. Meredith Grey is tucked in underneath. She represents the life of Taylor™ as speak now and evermore. And Olivia Benson is behind her. She represents Taylor's history with 1989 and TTPD.

The 'fortnight' music video was a stark contrast with the asylum feel compared to the rest of her discography because that was our peek behind the magician's curtain. It reveals that the deeper meaning behind the tortured poets department is that both halves of Taylor are being tortured. To understand the severity of this, we have to envision the clock as a globe. The equator becomes the fine line the inner and outer version of Taylor is walking along. Taylor™ is in the glass display box performing for the world to see. Meanwhile, inner Taylor is buried and exiled underground. The men in Taylor's music videos frequently represent the other half of herself. In reality, they are orbiting each other but never allowed to touch.

Taylor's end game is to break down the facade of Taylor™, remove the mask to expose her inner self and reunite the two halves of herself once more. After all, it's delicate.

The tortured poets department is called that because Taylor isn't the only tortured poet. So many artists and celebrities from the past have been tortured in some way. Taylor's not the only one that's breaking down their facade and this is what all of the willow orbs represent. It takes someone with enough power and attention to be able to create lasting change, and Taylor's the one that's going to change everything. In 'look what you made me do' Taylor is sitting at the children's table teaching them all of her bad habits. But we have to keep in mind that this is the pop star/anti hero version of Taylor.And her partner in crime is none other than Jack Antonoff. They've been sharing Taylor's tricks with the next generation of artists to prevent them falling into the same trap that Taylor did.

They're creating copycats of Taylor.

"Karma is a cat"

"Every bait and switch was a work of art"

"Karma is a cat purring in my lap because he loves me."

A tortured poet,

Kylie x

P.S. What's in the briefcase Taylor?

P.P.S. I know who the real muse is too hehe

[dimalink]

Tv in constellation

Tele universe - it is true space. Especially, when you moving with using of TV translation with channel or with usage of VHS cassette in a new world. In a far-far galaxy. Or in world of Star Gate. Start Trek. Star Wars. Action movie. Action. All of these - it is so entertaining, and so pulling into. And it drags you in! World of television – universe in a box. High technology.

And space. Unlimited space with millions of stars at the sky. Around stars, planets are rotating. And, there are, even, more of them, than stars. More than stars. Nebulas. And galaxies. All of these are unlimited.

Such a feeling of freedom and flight. Television – universe. Magical. Even mystical theme. Modern theme of a modern man. To watch tv. Especially, if it goes there interesting movie or a tv series.

Tv set can be big or not big. Mainly, medium format is rather enough. And, of course, all of these, about a retro theme. TV level of 90s. Or 2000s. Crt tv. Those tv, that you can use to play with cable with three colors in Nes or Sega. And, maybe, even, in first PlayStation.

Whole world – inside television. Mystery. Mystery, which you can look at and, maybe, even, to take a part in format of videogame.

Music theme – it, also, sounds like something mysterious and dragging in. Into the space. Into the tv watching period. Theme is more like stylish and cool 90s or 2000s. When you sit before Tv in the evening. And, try to find something interesting. And, maybe, you can play a console. Music is electronic. Synthesizers. Retrowave. Synthwave.

Retro nostalgia moment. Dedicated to tv. Age of 90s and 2000s. Time, when you spent before tv. While watching some channels and game consoles to play. It is so interesting to turn on television and watch for yourself - does it have for today something interesting! So, this way, one day, I see for the first time Star Gate! They were going by Tv! Or, tv series, or sci fi. Or X-files.

Such an intro. Visual theme. About tv in space. It flies in space. With a random way. And, this is a small program. Program intro. Just, start and watch. At the visual side. With the music. Music is synthesized. Tv is flying in space. Mystery of 20 century. Tv mystery. And space. Tv space. Also, you can see a popular musician by tv. To see cool music clip. Why not – it is a virtual universe. Universe inside universe. Such recursion.  As, nesting doll. One inside another one.

Visual fantasy about this theme. A little of mystical. Stars and space. With television, which, simply, is moving there, flying. A little moving, twitching. Stars, stars. To watch a space image – it is, also, standalone thing. And, what is it there amongst the stars? There, it is a tv is flying! So this is a joke answer. It is, simply, intro.  It is written with programming language Qb64. In terms of practice and search for a new themes. For point of interest. It is, always, interesting to do something, to try something.  Especially, if it goes good. If It turns out. Such idea for simple little programs intros. As intro for some cinema company before movies itself. But, with a form of a small program. With Basic.

It is so nice, in the little evening, to launch little program and to watch, simply, sit and watch! Relax, such modern meditation! Before your eyes – Tv in constellation! In its own constellation. Tele universe. Real one universe. TV moment!

Dima Link is making retro videogames, apps, a little of music, write stories, and some retro more.

WEBSITE: http://www.dimalink.tv-games.ru/home_eng.html ITCHIO: https://dimalink.itch.io/

TUMBLR: https://dimalink.tumblr.com/ BLOGGER: https://dimalinkeng.blogspot.com/ MASTODON: https://mastodon.social/@DimaLink

[resident-gay-bitch]

Steddie ficlets (under 3k words) are below the cut; angst, fluff + smut

All works can be found on AO3 as well.

Works (over 3k words):

Find Here You can find all my other Steddie works on that post, as it was too cluttered to add them all on the same one :)

Ficlets (under 3k words):

Nightmares After one of his nightmares, Steve calls Eddie as he can't reach Robin, Eddie confesses he has nightmares of his own, and they find comfort in eachother - angst + fluff

Seven Minuets The party plays seven minuets in heaven and when Steve and Eddie get shoved into the little bathroom together, Eddie begins to question everything, primarily regarding his sexuality - fluff + kinda suggestive themes?

Axl Harrington Steve is doing his best as a single dad, trying to help his trans teen learn how to bind, and trans Eddie steps in to help them out - fluff! with little speckles of single dad angst

Accidentally Kissed Drunk and lonely, Steve thinks he finds Nancy in a quiet room and puts the moves on her, only after feeling up her shirt, does he realise it's actually Eddie he's making out with, and he realises he kinda liked it - dumb angst and happy ending fluff + suggestive themes

Love Sick Eddie and Steve first meet as little kids in the doctors office, playing together in the waiting room they make their Ken and G.I.Joe dolls kiss. They then remember each other years later, trading confessions and chain smoking their anxieties away - primarly fluff with a bit of an angsty ending

Bet On You Rockstar Eddie comes back to Hawkins for his high school ten year reunion and gets roped into attending one of Robins charity events, and he finally sees Steve after 10 years apart, and he thinks he might have just scored himself a hot date - fluff

Red Light Steve pulls up beside a metal head at a red light, and the idiot starts singing to him - fluff

If I Was A Worm Steve asks Eddie if he'd love him if he were a worm, and Steve should have expected Eddie would give him an answer far from normal, but it only makes him fall harder in love - fluff

Marry Me? Eddie proposes to Steve on a whim one night by giving Steve one of his rings - flufff!!!

Not Quite Puppy Dog Love (Steve's POV) Steve doesn't know what to do when the demon version of Eddie in the upside down swoops and carries Steve off to his nest, but he can't help but find him kind of cute as he coos like a pigeon and crawls around like a puppy to bring Steve his treasures - fluffy with some mild angsty themes

Not Quite Puppy Dog Love (Eddie's POV) Kas Eddie doesn't remember much about his past life, but he does remember the golden haired boy swinging that bat when the humans enter his relm, and his heart fucking soars at the sight of the one occupying his dreams every night - flufffff with some sad moments

Cropped Out Eddie loses his mind at the sight of Steve in a crop top and totally embarrasses himself about it - silly

That's A Promise Eddie wakes up in the hospital to find Steve there, holding his hand, promising he'll do everything he can to protect Eddie from now on - angsty fluff

Bullshit Eddie has a bad day whilst healing post Upside Down, and Steve tries his best to stay calm and help, but he only has so much strength - angst (@mugloversonly wrote a little hopeful ending to this with the perfect resolution I think, read their continuation here)

[midnightanxietytm]

A little nightmares rant

The canceled comics are largely considered non-canon, but they do carry some relevant implications about the Nowhere. The largest of them is that the Nowhere has a set hierarchy.

This is supported by the games themselves; of the three regions we explore in-game (The Nest, The Maw and The Pale City) all have a major, more powerful entity that rules over it, and all of them, despite being vastly different, have one common factor.

The implication of Wealth.

The Pretender rules over the Nest; a giant mansion, her butler and her crafter working to attend to her every whim, powerful in their own right, but still bound by hierarchy.

The Thin Man rules over the Pale City, it’s citizens kept pliable by the Signal Tower whilst the Doctor and Teacher work to keep things moving in the dream-like logic of the nowhere.

The Lady runs what seems like a cannibalistic vacation destination, her cooks and the Janitor working to put food on her clients mouths (and clients on her clients mouths).

And the comics give us even more characters, namely the North Wind and the Ferryman.

Those “rulers” each seem to have a role, watching over the cogs that make this nightmarish world spin, lubricated by the blood of countless children, but they want more. In the canceled comics, it’s implied those overlords are competing in some way, their goals long blurred, but their ambitions ever burning.

Hierarchy is an essential part of capitalist mentality; those who hold the means to make money are the ones who call the shots. Those who don’t, obey orders.

And the thing about those hierarchies is that the ones who hold the power will do anything to hold on to it.

Through the eyes of children, this is all pointless.

Children have a unique non-role in capitalistic society. For the smooth functioning, they are best silent and unseen; quietly getting ready to fulfill their future jobs; educated enough to be efficient, but not enough to rebel.

This is what Six and Mono did during their games. You can almost call it a horror coming-of-age story. 

It's more clear with Six, because her journey in the Maw is the one that is most clearly an ascension to power. She literally climbs up on it, passing through every area until she takes what once belonged to The Lady. But Mono is also climbing up a hierarchy, and his setting is more urban and explores the role that media holds in conformity. In the real world, most TV and media companies are owned by the 1% when it comes down to it. Anyways, by the end of Mono's journey he has, quite literally, grown up. There is also themes of conformity in TSON, where Otto constantly expects and forces conformity onto Noone. Otto represents the mentality that children don't know any better, which eventually Noone herself starts to believe it as she relents and enters the Nowhere definitely when someone she trusts more beckons her to, probably to enter a cycle of her own. Also. Dolls! There are dolls or doll-like objects in all the games, and I think its's a commentary on how our society endorses the idea of children and needs them to survive, but can't actually make the world good enough for those children to grow. The Lady collects dolls sings them lullabies, caresses them, but when seeing actual children she attacks (or, yk, uses their meat to feed her clients.) Unfortunately I don't think that the next game will carry those themes with as much care due to the changes in company, but alas, hope is the last thing to die.

[subway-boss-jericho]

(Hammer anon) 

Emmet keeps having to remove them from the premises so their webs and nests don't block the airways, but Ingo keeps letting them back in when Emmet isn't looking

God forbid woman do anything /j 

This feels like the. Eating chess pieces meme except with bugs and air vents. It is funny thinking about him getting like. The equivalent of asthma because he likes bugs. 

Also. Is this why emmet has so many bugs. They are simply a little too silly to notice a gods blessing. 

Oh god the joltik infestation hc would be So Funny here 

On another note, and sort of corresponding to Ingo’s Very Long Bath, can ingo get functionally sick? Like rusty or have a… lichen issue (almost like mold- can they break down metal?) and in turn, if this could happen could emmet become ill? 

…I’m having the amusing thought of ingo having a mild pollen allergy. Goodbye eardrums. 

I imagine that, being underwater, ingo might gain a fair bit of plant growth going on. Or perhaps serve as a home for a few Pokémon. He probably wouldn’t quite be aware of it though… (getting off topic- I’ll get back to all that) 

their whole story is like this unfortunately and I uhhmmm,,,,,,, i havent found a way to, fix that. so I'm working on that part.

Casting eternal torment on them!!!

I’ve recently been of the mind that love with no where to go or no outlet is something on the lines of what grief is. While Emmet and Ingo Do have a place for that to go, actually being able to share it is a little more difficult now. Neither are dead (in a way that Truly matters, anyway) I can’t help but think they still might grieve a little. For what once was, maybe. Just for that familiarity. 

There is something quite terrible about realizing you will never be able to hug someone again! 

But like! They totally can and are showing the other that they care. Sometimes the most healing thing is allowing yourself to be sad with another person, knowing that they will Be There. 

[sorry been having a rough week and this hit me harder than expected] 

maybe I should push aside how I think it's "supposed" to look in order to actually mess around with how it Really looks in my head.

Sometimes it’s like that! It’s fun to doodle out some designs and such even if you know you won’t use ‘em. At least then you can figure out what you don’t want! 

the little gliscor plush/toy

Do you think that some of the children (or maybe thankful adults!) would carve out little pokeshi dolls of all the Pokémon Ingo’s do Emmet defeat as like. Trophies or something? 

(The reason gliscor is there is uh. Because I love gliscor. Would be funky to have a few random pokemon that just. Help out sometimes. Maybe the attacking ‘mon is close to a den and maternal instinct is Very Strong. 

I just think it’s kinda amusing for ingo to be fighting and cheer as a flock of murkrow to scratch at the eyes of the pokemon he’s fighting. Only to be swarmed himself a moment later) 

if AUs are songs then your asks are like the Audio Visualizers that play in my brain whenever I think about them. Does that comparison make any sense?

Yes! Ooo that is a fun comparison! It’s always lovely to bounce ideas around with people! (You have reminded me of crabulon’s theme at 4:00 skndnwjs)

Hoohg well I guess when I said it would take me longer to answer these because of school starting I was Not Kidding. Time sure does continue to pass. Hello again though!! I did not forget!! It's just taking me a while because of the energy it takes to give thoughtful answers <3 Hi!! missed you!!

This feels like the. Eating chess pieces meme except with bugs and air vents. It is funny thinking about him getting like. The equivalent of asthma because he likes bugs. 

God forbid women do anything!! I want you to know I want to draw that meme so fucking badly you're SO right. At my next available opportunity I'm doing that. And yeah, it's exactly like that. If the airways are blocked up or they start setting up too many strings in his lung-equivalent then he kind of just, coughs. Not loudly but, he gets very twitchy. He can't hold perfectly still, it tickles/itches/it's stuffy. It would take way more than they're capable of producing to actually inhibit or harm him in any way, which is why he keeps letting them back in, but Emmet knows it will build up if he lets it which is why he keeps kicking them back out. Infinite cycle.

(Edit, I did it the next day while still editing this response together)

The rest of the patented Jericho Ramble™ is below!

Also. Is this why emmet has so many bugs. They are simply a little too silly to notice a gods blessing. 

Correct, they are SO silly. Emmet does enjoy the company but he will never admit to it because at this point they're Doing A Bit and the first one to fold is the loser. This is also how Emmet eventually ends up with a shiny silcoon.

Oh god the joltik infestation hc would be So Funny here 

Yes!! Anything with joltik doesn't happen until after Ingo is recovered from the ocean and he heals a bit more from that whole experience, but I imagine they become quite the (beloved) nuisance to Emmet. Them feeding on electricity makes them a bit of a risk after his initial recovery, but after he gets back to a stable level then I imagine they bring both of them a lot of joy.

can ingo get functionally sick? Like rusty or have a… lichen issue [...] and in turn, if this could happen could emmet become ill? 

It would be extremely difficult to effect Ingo to the degree that would mimic physical sickness. I think there's a level where it's possible, but it's extremely unlikely. (That being said, after spending *checks notes* 300 years on the ocean floor, he has a lot of fucking things wrong with him. So yes he's very 'sick' when they get him out of the ocean initially. but OUTSIDE OF THAT it's unlikely!) However- Emmet can still get sick. It's extremely, extremely unlikely, but he can get sick like anyone else.

Emmet's health isn't directly tied to Ingo's current state- It's more like, Emmet cannot die so long as Ingo is alive. Any injuries or hypothetical illnesses that Ingo has are individual to him, and same with Emmet.

I imagine that, being underwater, ingo might gain a fair bit of plant growth going on. Or perhaps serve as a home for a few Pokémon.

Yes! In fact, he becomes a bit of an ecosystem in of himself, much like a coral shelf. Lots of pokemon and plants make him their home in the time he spends underwater- He's not aware of most of the pokemon, you're right, and the plants get cleaned off- But there is one pokemon that stays with him even after he leaves the ocean. A Dhelmise that has claimed him, and is actually with him for half or more of the time that he spends underwater. There's a boundary between the different sections of him, so parts like the main decks and halls remain essentially completely dry, but his vents lead directly from the outside to his lungs (with filters) so those get, very flooded. I don't know what types of pokemon would make him a home, but Lumineon and Finneon + Chinchou and Lanturn come to mind because they glow and it would be very dark inside his hull since the light from outside wouldn't reach. Aforementioned singular Dhelmise, but said Dhelmise is extremely territorial, so I imagine his internal ecosystem is actually quite peaceful and well-protected from major predators all things considered. I can elaborate more on that whole situation another time :> He's a giant fish bowl (Edit: Pokedex says that Lumineon and Lanturn are in fierce competition for food. I find this extremely funny)

Casting eternal torment on them!!!

Noooo!! No! It's only eternal torment until I figure out how it fix it!! I'm working on it!!! They'll be fine!!! Eventually!!!! I'll figure it out!!!! I'm figuring it out!!!! /lh (Jokes aside, I do have a good plot resolution that I am currently workshopping :] I'm really happy with it so far)

I’ve recently been of the mind that love with no where to go or no outlet is something on the lines of what grief is.

Ah fuck. I think you may have diagnosed me with this one. This uhhh,,, this might be the best way I've heard to summarize just about everything I write. I think this is a good way to describe the main theme I write about. which,.......... oof. that hits, DIFFERENT, hearing it from someone else. I am being perceived (wheeze)

Love with no where to go is just like grieving. It doesn't hurt very much when you have somewhere to put it, or you don't have any love to give away. But when you have excess, and all the doors are closed? where can that love go, when you have no where to put it? it builds in your chest with a torturous pressure, building and building, with no outlet. it hurts. its heavy. but you just keep carrying it, searching desperately to find someone who will accept it.

[sorry been having a rough week and this hit me harder than expected]

Yeah I mean, you just vibe checked me with the force of an uppercut to the chin so, I don't think I'm going to be able to think the same way after this one. 🤝 We are experiencing

In all seriousness, I hope you're okay. If anything I make bothers or upsets you, do please take a step back and take care of yourself. I may write angst but I want the people I know to be happy and healthy and A-OK. Especially if you're having a hard time- Never feel obligated to respond to anything if you're not up to it 👍 I've got all the time in the world, and anything you send me will always be cherished and treasured, no matter how small it is or how long it takes. 🤍

Do you think that some of the children (or maybe thankful adults!) would carve out little pokeshi dolls of all the Pokémon Ingo & Emmet defeat as like. Trophies or something? 

🥺🥺🥺 awwhhhh that's SUCH a cute idea!!! I love that. I never thought about that before, but I definitely think that should happen. They would be so emotional about it too. Emmet is trying so hard to maintain a cool persona but then some kid runs up to him and hands him a little handmade doll and I feel like he might just burst into tears to be honest.

The reason gliscor is there is uh. Because I love gliscor.

*Nodding* A delightful edition

Would be funky to have a few random pokemon that just. Help out sometimes. Maybe the attacking ‘mon is close to a den and maternal instinct is Very Strong. 

I feel like it's definitely likely due to simply how aggressive wild pokemon are in Hisui, but at the same time most gigantamax pokemon are between 70 and 120 feet tall. Which is HUGE. I still think there would be some defensive pokemon like you're saying, but I have a feeling the large majority will be fleeing for their lives kfjsdhgsdkh

(You have reminded me of crabulon’s theme at 4:00 skndnwjs)

I have provided the link for everyone so they can see this. That's exactly correct and you understand the vibe perfectly. Also you have great taste

I am SO sorry it took me so long to answer this one! And I still have to go answer the other one too (intense nervous sweating) so that's my bad! It is harder to build the energy to type responses when school is taking most of my energy in a day. Shocker I know /j But anyways!! Nonetheless!! Thank you for the ask :D It was a pleasure read and respond! I wrote most of my responses at different times so I hope it still reads coherently enough >>;

I'm gonna go read over the other one now to start working on a response to that one :> Not sure how long it'll take me but it will happen eventually

Have a great day!! Thanks for the ask! 🌠🤍