in which : your boyfriend gets jealous when you flirt with another guy during a mission (re: blade is salty asf)
honeytrap [noun]: a stratagem in which a person entices another person into revealing information or doing something unwise.
wc: 2k, established relationship, stalking (it’s blade lol), reader is a tease #hellyeah, skinship bcus he can’t help but be touchy when he’s jealous (source: i said so). art by @/guaisanmu on x.
in celebration of blade n kafka x fortnite collab ig.
when blade first heard about the mission you were assigned, he showed no obvious interest. no questions asked, not even a glance in your direction. which, if anything, made you more suspicious.
after all, he had a (terrible) tendency to “coincidentally” appear on nearly every assignment of yours, regardless of how often you insisted he stay behind.
for once, he complied—begrudgingly, but still. he stayed put, just like you asked.
that much is true.
right up until kafka casually mentioned, almost offhandedly, that she’d seen you with dan heng earlier.
does that explain why he was now stationed on the opposite side of the cafe you and dan heng were seated at?
maybe.
but it’s okay, he justifies to no one in particular. it's perfectly fine as long as you don’t notice him. he needs to make sure you are doing your job properly, is all.
from his hiding spot behind the wall, he sees you invite dan heng to tea under the pretense of a friendly conversation; wearing the guise of a traveling merchant, you chat enthusiastically with him about trivial matters, your tone disarmingly harmless as you subtly pried for information on the astral express.
“so the express usually stops by this area for repairs?” you ask, idly stirring your tea. “must be hard to maintain such a big train while traveling.”
he watches as dan heng hesitates before answering, clearly weighing how much to share.
your eyes lit up at his explanations, your head tilting in that familiar way, so similar to the expression you wear on the rare occasions blade speaks about his day.
blade folds his arms and leans against the wall, his gaze never leaving you. from this angle, he can see the way you smile patiently at dan heng, gently coaxing words out of him.
he knows this is all for the sake of the mission, but it still rubs him the wrong way to see you act so close with someone else, especially dan heng, of all people. (not like he’d ever admit that to you though.)
couldn’t you have chosen the trailblazer instead? why did it have to be dan heng? the more he thinks about it, the darker his expression grows, a faint scowl forming as his fingers dig into the rough surface of the wall—
“ah,” an elderly voice chuckles from behind him, amused. “admiring the young couple, are you? they certainly look good together.”
when blade gives no response, the old man follows his line of sight, glancing between you and dan heng. “you know them?”
“they’re my lover”, he wants to say; but he swallows the voice down, and stays fixed on the table by the window.
leaning forward across the table, you prop your chin on your hand, nodding along at dan heng occasionally. and as if he’s examining you under a microscope, blade’s eyes narrow slightly at your every movement.
it’s not anger, not quite—more of a slow, simmering displeasure. like the faint itch he feels after you bandage his wounds. not unbearable, but all the more aggravating and impossible to ignore.
as if to rub salt into said wound, you reach your hand out, thumb brushing lightly against the corner of dan heng’s mouth, wiping away the faint trace of tea from his lips. the gesture looks to be intimate from your boyfriend’s vantage point, though you probably have no idea.
dan heng freezes. his eyes flicker wide for a fraction of a second before he looks away, ears faintly tinted red. even the old man beside blade can’t hide his reaction, letting out a quiet whistle, “young love these days.”
…
so far, you’re doing well.
your soft smiles and carefully chosen words has dan heng lowering his guard, answering your questions more freely than before.
but he doesn’t like how well it’s working.
he doesn’t like that you’re laughing at dan heng’s unfunny remarks (are they even good jokes, or are you just humoring him? whatever it is, it can’t be that funny.)
seeing your fond expression aimed at him makes blade’s chest tighten unpleasantly, it irks him to the point that he blurts out—
“they don’t look good with him.” the comment slips out in a flat tone, directed to the old man’s previous harmless compliment.
blade imagines you standing beside him instead, fingers intertwined with his, every ounce of your attention focused on him and him alone.
“they look better with me,” he adds, more so muttering to himself.
the man laughs at his reaction, shaking his head. “ah, so you’ve got competition, then.”
his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. competition? what a joke. as if he’d ever allow anyone to take you from him.
“…do you feel like we’re being watched?” dan heng asks quietly.
you blink, taken aback by his question. “huh? by who?”
you follow his earlier line of sight, gaze drifting toward the wall at the end of the street. there’s nothing there—at least, nothing anyone else would notice.
but you know better.
the faint traces of spider lilies left behind essentially confirms your guess.
and you can’t stop the small, mischievous smile tugging at your lips.
the mission wraps up smoothly.
you’re the last to arrive at the gaming cafe, spotting blade leaning against the wall near the entrance while silver wolf is still inside, aggressively mashing buttons at a machine.
“took you long enough,” the latter mutters without looking away from her screen.
blade says nothing yet his gaze flicks over you once, making sure you’re fine.
normally, he’d turn away after confirming you’re unhurt. today, he doesn’t. he pushes off the wall and steps closer instead, close enough that his shadow falls over you.
“we’re meeting kafka and firefly at the shopping channel,” you say, stepping closer. “they’re finished too.”
silver wolf finally wins her round. “ugh fine. but i’m not carrying the bags.”
blade’s hand hovers at the small of your back—
“yo.” silver wolf leans over your shoulder, oblivious to what’s going on, her chin brushing your shoulder as she squints at whatever’s in your hands.
—before it drops back to his side.
silver wolf straightens. “you good?” she asks, tapping your arm lightly. “you froze for like, two seconds.”
“yup, im fine.”
you are absolutely not fine.
out of the corner of your eye, you see blade turn around a little too quickly, like he’s suddenly very interested in anything that isn’t you—conveniently avoiding silver wolf’s narrowing, suspicious stare.
he rubs the back of his neck, and now you can’t stop imagining what might’ve happened if silver wolf had shown up just two seconds later.
the street’s lively, bright lights reflecting off storefront glass. silver wolf skips ahead, hands stuffed in her pockets, rambling about her new console game while you trail behind with blade.
things are quiet between you two, which is unusual since you’re normally the talkative one. but your mind keeps drifting back to earlier; he rarely initiates kisses, so the thought of it now leaves you surprised and honestly, a little giddy.
he shifts slightly, and you notice him starting to take off his coat. “oh, i’m not cold—”
in one smooth motion, blade pulls off his coat and instead of draping it over your shoulders, it lands squarely over silver wolf’s head.
“—what the—?!”
you hear her exclaim in the background but your attention snaps back to your boyfriend almost instantly.
he uses the brief distraction to pull you close, one hand sliding to your waist, the other steady at your back. you barely get a word out before he leans down and kisses you.
“why is it dark—get this off—”
blade pulls back just enough to let you breathe, but his forehead stays pressed to yours.
“missed you,” he whispers.
people usually exaggerate this part in dramas, but somehow, you can actually feel your heart skip a beat.
the moment is abruptly broken when silver wolf finally wriggles free, gasping, half-annoyed. she stops dead in her tracks, staring at the two of you, before recoiling dramatically.
“ew!” she yelps, making an exaggerated gagging motion. “can’t you guys do that somewhere private?!”
you step back quickly, flustered at being caught by your colleague.
blade, however, seems completely unfazed. he takes his coat back from her and slings it over his shoulders with a casual shrug.
silver wolf groans, making another retching noise, and storms ahead. “i’m telling kafka!”
blade doesn’t even flinch at her half-hearted threat, which elicits a giggle out from you. he glances down and you catch the faintest hint of satisfaction lingering in his eyes.
this time, he doesn’t let too much distance form between you as you continue walking.
on your shared bed, your boyfriend lies flat on his back, and you settle yourself atop his lower abdomen.
“blade… i didn’t know you read,” you tease.
a rhetorical statement, of course—you’ve never seen this man pick up a book in his free time, not even once.
“why are you ignoring me?” you press, tilting your head and leaning just enough to peek over the top of his book. “aren’t you the one who said you missed me?”
you tap the edge of the book with your index finger, nudging it down toward him.
he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing, and looks away; revealing the top of his ears just barely reddening under his hair.
“...are you done?”
you ignore his attempt to act indifferent, changing the topic.
“y'know… i have to say, you must be a real genius to make sense of all those words.”
before he can even ask what you mean by that, you reach over and flip the book upside down (or rather, right-side-up).
"really?"
"..."
it’s not like blade usually pulls stunts like this, you know he’s never been good at putting his feelings into words. but at least he makes them known to you. somewhat.
you’ve gotten good at reading his hints, though really… who could possibly miss them? he’s surprisingly so easy to fluster when it comes to you, even when he tries to hide it, it’s written all over him. only someone dense as a brick would fail to notice.
but you feign ignorance even now, its nice to hear him admit it himself once in a while.
“is this because you’re jealous of dan heng?”
for the briefest moment, he visibly stiffens. ah. so it is about earlier.
he blinks, gaze traveling slowly from your thighs straddling his lap to your face, taking in every detail as if savoring the view.
“and you still decide to mention his name?”
he doesn't miss the small tug of your lips at his admission. he continues, “then, did your hard work pay off?”
“actually… he already found out a while ago.”
“good,” he says immediately, a not-so-subtle satisfaction threading through his tone. “so he knows you’re mine.”
“yes yes, but that’s not really the point—”
he buries his head in your shoulder, almost nuzzling into your neck. and you can’t help but think he’s just like a black cat staking its claim on its owner.
“ahem, what i’m trying to say is… i got the info we needed in the end thanks to a source dan heng gave me.”
his hand slides along your side before his lips press against your neck, hair brushing softly against your skin.
you roll your eyes, fully aware he hasn’t been paying attention to your words at all.
instead, he seems far more interested in the way you react—how your shoulders tense when he decides to press a deep kiss under your ear, and how your breath hitches while you stubbornly bite your lip.
the book lies forgotten at the edge of the bed, its pages crumpled where it had been carelessly set aside.
whatever pretense he’d had of reading is long gone now as his fingers curl a little more firmly at your waist, thumb tracing idle patterns against the fabric there as though committing the shape of you to memory.
a faint, smug hum vibrates against your skin. so much for pretending the effect you have on him doesn't work just as well on you.
he still won’t admit it outright; but the little quirk of his lips, the subtle flush at his ears…
those will have to keep you satisfied for now.
obligatory smau section (click in for full screenshot)
dh pov once he finds out abt your relationship w blade:
(d*n h**g is like a trigger word for ur bf plz dont mention it around him again)
in which : your boyfriend gets jealous when you flirt with another guy during a mission (re: blade is salty asf)
honeytrap [noun]: a stratagem in which a person entices another person into revealing information or doing something unwise.
wc: 2k, established relationship, stalking (it’s blade lol), reader is a tease #hellyeah, skinship bcus he can’t help but be touchy when he’s jealous (source: i said so). art by @/guaisanmu on x.
in celebration of blade n kafka x fortnite collab ig.
when blade first heard about the mission you were assigned, he showed no obvious interest. no questions asked, not even a glance in your direction. which, if anything, made you more suspicious.
after all, he had a (terrible) tendency to “coincidentally” appear on nearly every assignment of yours, regardless of how often you insisted he stay behind.
for once, he complied—begrudgingly, but still. he stayed put, just like you asked.
that much is true.
right up until kafka casually mentioned, almost offhandedly, that she’d seen you with dan heng earlier.
does that explain why he was now stationed on the opposite side of the cafe you and dan heng were seated at?
maybe.
but it’s okay, he justifies to no one in particular. it's perfectly fine as long as you don’t notice him. he needs to make sure you are doing your job properly, is all.
from his hiding spot behind the wall, he sees you invite dan heng to tea under the pretense of a friendly conversation; wearing the guise of a traveling merchant, you chat enthusiastically with him about trivial matters, your tone disarmingly harmless as you subtly pried for information on the astral express.
“so the express usually stops by this area for repairs?” you ask, idly stirring your tea. “must be hard to maintain such a big train while traveling.”
he watches as dan heng hesitates before answering, clearly weighing how much to share.
your eyes lit up at his explanations, your head tilting in that familiar way, so similar to the expression you wear on the rare occasions blade speaks about his day.
blade folds his arms and leans against the wall, his gaze never leaving you. from this angle, he can see the way you smile patiently at dan heng, gently coaxing words out of him.
he knows this is all for the sake of the mission, but it still rubs him the wrong way to see you act so close with someone else, especially dan heng, of all people. (not like he’d ever admit that to you though.)
couldn’t you have chosen the trailblazer instead? why did it have to be dan heng? the more he thinks about it, the darker his expression grows, a faint scowl forming as his fingers dig into the rough surface of the wall—
“ah,” an elderly voice chuckles from behind him, amused. “admiring the young couple, are you? they certainly look good together.”
when blade gives no response, the old man follows his line of sight, glancing between you and dan heng. “you know them?”
“they’re my lover”, he wants to say; but he swallows the voice down, and stays fixed on the table by the window.
leaning forward across the table, you prop your chin on your hand, nodding along at dan heng occasionally. and as if he’s examining you under a microscope, blade’s eyes narrow slightly at your every movement.
it’s not anger, not quite—more of a slow, simmering displeasure. like the faint itch he feels after you bandage his wounds. not unbearable, but all the more aggravating and impossible to ignore.
as if to rub salt into said wound, you reach your hand out, thumb brushing lightly against the corner of dan heng’s mouth, wiping away the faint trace of tea from his lips. the gesture looks to be intimate from your boyfriend’s vantage point, though you probably have no idea.
dan heng freezes. his eyes flicker wide for a fraction of a second before he looks away, ears faintly tinted red. even the old man beside blade can’t hide his reaction, letting out a quiet whistle, “young love these days.”
…
so far, you’re doing well.
your soft smiles and carefully chosen words has dan heng lowering his guard, answering your questions more freely than before.
but he doesn’t like how well it’s working.
he doesn’t like that you’re laughing at dan heng’s unfunny remarks (are they even good jokes, or are you just humoring him? whatever it is, it can’t be that funny.)
seeing your fond expression aimed at him makes blade’s chest tighten unpleasantly, it irks him to the point that he blurts out—
“they don’t look good with him.” the comment slips out in a flat tone, directed to the old man’s previous harmless compliment.
blade imagines you standing beside him instead, fingers intertwined with his, every ounce of your attention focused on him and him alone.
“they look better with me,” he adds, more so muttering to himself.
the man laughs at his reaction, shaking his head. “ah, so you’ve got competition, then.”
his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. competition? what a joke. as if he’d ever allow anyone to take you from him.
“…do you feel like we’re being watched?” dan heng asks quietly.
you blink, taken aback by his question. “huh? by who?”
you follow his earlier line of sight, gaze drifting toward the wall at the end of the street. there’s nothing there—at least, nothing anyone else would notice.
but you know better.
the faint traces of spider lilies left behind essentially confirms your guess.
and you can’t stop the small, mischievous smile tugging at your lips.
the mission wraps up smoothly.
you’re the last to arrive at the gaming cafe, spotting blade leaning against the wall near the entrance while silver wolf is still inside, aggressively mashing buttons at a machine.
“took you long enough,” the latter mutters without looking away from her screen.
blade says nothing yet his gaze flicks over you once, making sure you’re fine.
normally, he’d turn away after confirming you’re unhurt. today, he doesn’t. he pushes off the wall and steps closer instead, close enough that his shadow falls over you.
“we’re meeting kafka and firefly at the shopping channel,” you say, stepping closer. “they’re finished too.”
silver wolf finally wins her round. “ugh fine. but i’m not carrying the bags.”
blade’s hand hovers at the small of your back—
“yo.” silver wolf leans over your shoulder, oblivious to what’s going on, her chin brushing your shoulder as she squints at whatever’s in your hands.
—before it drops back to his side.
silver wolf straightens. “you good?” she asks, tapping your arm lightly. “you froze for like, two seconds.”
“yup, im fine.”
you are absolutely not fine.
out of the corner of your eye, you see blade turn around a little too quickly, like he’s suddenly very interested in anything that isn’t you—conveniently avoiding silver wolf’s narrowing, suspicious stare.
he rubs the back of his neck, and now you can’t stop imagining what might’ve happened if silver wolf had shown up just two seconds later.
the street’s lively, bright lights reflecting off storefront glass. silver wolf skips ahead, hands stuffed in her pockets, rambling about her new console game while you trail behind with blade.
things are quiet between you two, which is unusual since you’re normally the talkative one. but your mind keeps drifting back to earlier; he rarely initiates kisses, so the thought of it now leaves you surprised and honestly, a little giddy.
he shifts slightly, and you notice him starting to take off his coat. “oh, i’m not cold—”
in one smooth motion, blade pulls off his coat and instead of draping it over your shoulders, it lands squarely over silver wolf’s head.
“—what the—?!”
you hear her exclaim in the background but your attention snaps back to your boyfriend almost instantly.
he uses the brief distraction to pull you close, one hand sliding to your waist, the other steady at your back. you barely get a word out before he leans down and kisses you.
“why is it dark—get this off—”
blade pulls back just enough to let you breathe, but his forehead stays pressed to yours.
“missed you,” he whispers.
people usually exaggerate this part in dramas, but somehow, you can actually feel your heart skip a beat.
the moment is abruptly broken when silver wolf finally wriggles free, gasping, half-annoyed. she stops dead in her tracks, staring at the two of you, before recoiling dramatically.
“ew!” she yelps, making an exaggerated gagging motion. “can’t you guys do that somewhere private?!”
you step back quickly, flustered at being caught by your colleague.
blade, however, seems completely unfazed. he takes his coat back from her and slings it over his shoulders with a casual shrug.
silver wolf groans, making another retching noise, and storms ahead. “i’m telling kafka!”
blade doesn’t even flinch at her half-hearted threat, which elicits a giggle out from you. he glances down and you catch the faintest hint of satisfaction lingering in his eyes.
this time, he doesn’t let too much distance form between you as you continue walking.
on your shared bed, your boyfriend lies flat on his back, and you settle yourself atop his lower abdomen.
“blade… i didn’t know you read,” you tease.
a rhetorical statement, of course—you’ve never seen this man pick up a book in his free time, not even once.
“why are you ignoring me?” you press, tilting your head and leaning just enough to peek over the top of his book. “aren’t you the one who said you missed me?”
you tap the edge of the book with your index finger, nudging it down toward him.
he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing, and looks away; revealing the top of his ears just barely reddening under his hair.
“...are you done?”
you ignore his attempt to act indifferent, changing the topic.
“y'know… i have to say, you must be a real genius to make sense of all those words.”
before he can even ask what you mean by that, you reach over and flip the book upside down (or rather, right-side-up).
"really?"
"..."
it’s not like blade usually pulls stunts like this, you know he’s never been good at putting his feelings into words. but at least he makes them known to you. somewhat.
you’ve gotten good at reading his hints, though really… who could possibly miss them? he’s surprisingly so easy to fluster when it comes to you, even when he tries to hide it, it’s written all over him. only someone dense as a brick would fail to notice.
but you feign ignorance even now, its nice to hear him admit it himself once in a while.
“is this because you’re jealous of dan heng?”
for the briefest moment, he visibly stiffens. ah. so it is about earlier.
he blinks, gaze traveling slowly from your thighs straddling his lap to your face, taking in every detail as if savoring the view.
“and you still decide to mention his name?”
he doesn't miss the small tug of your lips at his admission. he continues, “then, did your hard work pay off?”
“actually… he already found out a while ago.”
“good,” he says immediately, a not-so-subtle satisfaction threading through his tone. “so he knows you’re mine.”
“yes yes, but that’s not really the point—”
he buries his head in your shoulder, almost nuzzling into your neck. and you can’t help but think he’s just like a black cat staking its claim on its owner.
“ahem, what i’m trying to say is… i got the info we needed in the end thanks to a source dan heng gave me.”
his hand slides along your side before his lips press against your neck, hair brushing softly against your skin.
you roll your eyes, fully aware he hasn’t been paying attention to your words at all.
instead, he seems far more interested in the way you react—how your shoulders tense when he decides to press a deep kiss under your ear, and how your breath hitches while you stubbornly bite your lip.
the book lies forgotten at the edge of the bed, its pages crumpled where it had been carelessly set aside.
whatever pretense he’d had of reading is long gone now as his fingers curl a little more firmly at your waist, thumb tracing idle patterns against the fabric there as though committing the shape of you to memory.
a faint, smug hum vibrates against your skin. so much for pretending the effect you have on him doesn't work just as well on you.
he still won’t admit it outright; but the little quirk of his lips, the subtle flush at his ears…
those will have to keep you satisfied for now.
obligatory smau section (click in for full screenshot)
dh pov once he finds out abt your relationship w blade:
(d*n h**g is like a trigger word for ur bf plz dont mention it around him again)
𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: sol x gn! reader · crowe x gn! reader · smut · kink exploration · 3am reading vibes · short & sweet headcanons · playful teasing · canonical + headcanon mix · reader as observer · light dom/sub undertones · spicy content · slightly unhinged fantasies
𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Ah, kinks—everyone’s got ’em, especially us fanfic addicts. Soft, spicy, or delightfully unhinged, there’s always that one thing that hits just right. You know the vibe: it’s 3 AM, you’re scrolling AO3, Tumblr, or Wattpad, hunting for that one trope that makes your brain and heart go yep, that one. Guilty? Same.
For this little experiment, I mashed a bit of canon with my own headcanons for Crowe and Sol—because why not? This time, I narrowed it down to just four kinks, short, sweet, and spicy.
Buckle up—it’s gonna be a fun ride.
𝓌𝒸: 19k
Starting, I’ve noticed that TKATB fans have their unique preferences when it comes to Sol or Crowe.
For example, fans who gravitate toward Sol tend to enjoy the idea of him being dominant—whether it’s being in control of him or just envisioning him taking charge. It’s that mix of power and intensity that gets people excited. You know who you are, you freaks!
On the other hand, fans of Crowe are drawn to his reliability, his deep understanding, and his caring nature. He’s willing to guide you through anything, offering both emotional support and strength. It’s comforting, isn’t it? And yes, I’m a freak too—I get it.
✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒
Naturally, I had to start with the man himself—Jericho, or Crowe, as he's known. Though the details are still unclear, he exudes a mysterious, almost savior-like presence. I WANNA KNOW SO BAD.
His style is effortlessly sharp, and his quiet confidence makes him instantly trustworthy. Reliable, steady, and composed, Crowe is the perfect support when life feels overwhelming. His charm is subtle, blending good looks with an alluring personality—irresistible, without ever being flashy.
Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Crowe as kinky?
At first glance, no. Not. To a stranger, he’s too put together, with not even the faintest hint of anything unconventional beneath the surface. But as you get to know him, that answer begins to shift. Slowly, subtly, he reveals a side of himself that hints at complexity—an edge just beneath his polished exterior. However, don’t expect anything extreme or overtly wild.
What he does reveal is never too much but always just enough to leave you captivated—and maybe, just maybe, a little curious.
✑ Vanilla (Soft Dom…)
For Crowe preferences!!
He's the ultimate soft, warm partner. Like, you just know he's all about the quiet, comforting vibes. No crazy power dynamics or rough kinks—he's all about that steady, affectionate love. It's Vanilla, but in the best way possible, full of layers. He’s not rushing anything, just enjoying the little things, taking his time, and making sure you feel heard and cherished.
When you're with him, it's all slow and gentle—he’s not here for intense extremes. His love is patient, thoughtful, and wrapped in warmth. Every touch, every word, is like a soft caress, just so deliberate and tender.
And honestly? There's no need for anything crazy. Crowe's happy to explore your connection, build that trust, and just savor the passion that grows naturally between you two. It's the kind of love that builds and lingers long after.
Now… Crowe might be a soft dom—nah he IS A SOFT DOM.
Crowe’s not the type to push you past your limits just for the thrill of it. He’s not into playing mind games or testing how far he can take things. No, Crowe’s power is the quiet kind, the kind that makes you feel safe without even having to try. He knows the real strength is in taking care of someone, not in forcing them into anything they’re not ready for.
When you’re with him, it’s like he’s always tuned into you, always listening, always aware of exactly what you need. He’s the guy who doesn’t take, but gives—gives you everything he can, with a level of care that’s almost overwhelming. And even though he’s gentle, don’t get it twisted—he’s still a tease. He’s the kind of man who’ll leave marks on your skin, a subtle reminder that you're his. But it's all in the way he leads, in that steady hand that takes yours, guiding you through every little moment.
There’s nothing loud about Crowe—other than his moans and whining. I SWEAR he has pretty moans.
He doesn’t demand anything and doesn’t rush you, but he has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. When he touches you, it’s with a confidence that leaves you breathless but also comforted. He’ll press his forehead against yours, his hand guiding yours down to your stomach, just so you can feel his bulge inside you,how much he wants you, how much he’s thinking about you at that moment.
There’s no need for words—just that connection, that intense eye contact that says everything.
But yeah, he’ll also let you think you have the upper hand for a minute. Let you believe you’ve got him cornered, like you're finally taking control… only for him to flip the switch, regaining control without you even realizing.
With Crowe, it’s not about begging or pleading for pleasure—it’s about your happiness, your satisfaction. His version of dominance is the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket, soft and cozy. He just wants to see you smile, hear you laugh—moan, and whine under him, and know that every moment spent with him is full of happiness.
So, if you're into a soft dom who values deep emotional connection, tenderness, and affection, Crowe’s your man! He just wants you to trust him, to let go and let him care for you. Let him be there for you in every single way, in every moment.
And in that, he gives you all the security you’ll ever need.
✑ Praise (giving + receiving)
Crowe is all about Praise, and affection through words. Imagine him pulling you close, whispering in your ear while his fingers gently trace patterns along your skin.
“You’re such a good girl for me, look at how well you take me, love. That’s my girl, always so ready for me, aren’t you?” His words make you feel safe, wanted, and cherished.
He doesn’t wait for you to ask for reassurance—he gives it freely, letting you know how much he appreciates having you around, and how much he loves seeing you smile. And when it comes to your body? He knows every inch of it like he’s got a personal map of your every curve and spot. He might even joke, “No one will ever know you like I do. I’ve ruined you for everyone else, haven’t I?”
Crowe has this vibe about him, like he’s always hungry to make sure you're feeling amazing, but don’t forget to show him some love, too. He thrives on hearing you praise him, especially when you whisper how much you need him, and how much he’s doing for you. The sound of your voice, the words you say—they get to him, melt him down until his heart's pounding.
Now and then, he’ll pull back, checking in on you, “You okay? Am I pushing you too far?” It’s not just about the rush for him. He wants you to be comfortable, to be in sync with him as he takes you through everything, slow and steady, giving you all that love. “That’s it, you're doing so well,” he’ll say, his voice smooth like syrup, making sure you know you're adored.
But here’s the thing: if you keep praising him, or if you’re the one in control, just wait. Crowe’s mouth? It’ll get filthy. AND I MEAN FILTHY. He can’t help it, don't be mean now...
I mean, you can. You giving him head? Taking his cock deep inside your throat, feeling he's about to cum, then you pulled back, teasing him. He'll say, "Please, my love, you were doing so good on my cock—please, please, keep going, I need that tongue of yours."
One of his favorite things is when you’re so into it that he can just forget what you say and speak directly to you, but in a way that’ll make your body react before your mind even catches up. Like, he’ll whisper, “God, you taste so damn good. Missed me, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don't you?”
His words drip against you, his eyes dark with heat, like he's speaking to your body, not even acknowledging your moans. “Such a good fucking pussy. Always making me feel so damn good. Want me to stuff you full, hm?”
And when it’s all done? Crowe doesn’t just drop it and move on. He’s got aftercare down to an art. He’ll guide you through it, keep you close, making sure you’re okay, settled, and cared for, getting ready to do it all again whenever you’re ready!
✑ Experimentalist
Crowe is the kind of man who never wants to leave any stone unturned, especially when it comes to experiences.
There was something about him that screamed experimentalist—like he needed to try everything, no matter how wild or unconventional. When it came to relationships, he was always up for anything, which meant he'd probably had more relationship experiences than most people you knew.
His mind is open, impossibly so, and he had an insatiable curiosity that could never be satisfied. He’d never form an opinion on something without diving in and getting his first-hand taste. If there was something new to try, something out-of-the-box—Crowe was there, ready to explore.
And honestly? He didn’t even need you to ask twice. If you suggested something wild, he’d be all in—his enthusiasm infectious, his curiosity never-ending.
However, he's pretty vanilla when it comes to experimenting, so don't expect him to go TOO hardcore. If there's a kink suited to his taste and he masters it? Oh, Babe, you'll feel it—so much in fact.
Take ropes, for example. Blindfolds? Handcuffs? Oh, he is intrigued. But, again, don’t expect anything brutal. He isn't the type to be into floggers or paddles; no, pain isn't needed for his skills. It is his anticipation. The slow burn of him carefully tying you up, not in a rush, but with the kind of patience that made every moment last longer.
When his hands hovered over your skin, it wasn’t just touch—it was electric. He’d make sure to linger, let his fingers graze over every inch, just enough to make you shiver, your breath hitching in the air between you. It wasn’t about hurting you, not at all. No, it was all about the build-up—the moment when the ropes or restraints were placed just so, tightening the tension between you both until it was practically unbearable.
And then? When you finally let go, it was a release so sweet and steady that it left you breathless. No rushing, no quick fixes—just a slow, fulfilling pleasure.
Adding on, Crowe loved the idea of restraint. Whether for fun, for art, or for that extra little spark of excitement, there was something about having you completely at his mercy.
And if you ever flipped the script? If he was the one getting tied up? Like I said, Crowe will be just as filthy when he lets his guard down.
✑ Dacryphillia
Okay, hear me out. I know what you’re thinking—"Crowe? He would never hurt me. Why would he want to see me cry?" And I get it, really. This is one of those wild ideas but just stick with me for a second.
You know how he’s all about emotions and deep connections, right? Get it?
He gets this deep fascination with what you feel and show, especially when it’s raw. Here’s where it gets interesting: Dacryphilia. Yeah, I’m talking about that thing where someone gets... well, aroused by tears, by the sound of you sobbing, the whole mess of emotions.
So, let’s imagine this: You’re begging him, pleading for more. Your face is a mess of emotions, eyes watery, tears rolling down your cheeks. And yeah, he’s gonna ask if you’re okay because that’s the kind of man he is—always checking, always making sure. But if you keep begging for more? Oh, that’s when it gets dangerous.
Each desperate plea of yours, each tremor in your voice, just fuels this fire inside him, an all-consuming fire. His eyes? They’re practically glowing, deep blue, and locked on you like he's drowning in you, in every little thing you’re feeling.
You can feel him there, so close you can almost taste his breath on your skin. His lips brush against your ear, a soft, teasing whisper sending shivers down your spine. "So desperate for me already, huh? We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet..." His voice is low, and dangerous, like he’s savoring every second of this.
You know he’s enjoying this. Every inch of him is hooked, and once he has you like this, there’s no going back.
Crowe’s could be teasing you for what feels like hours, driving you wild with a mix of pleasure and frustration. He’s pulled every bit of sensation from you, your body trembling with each orgasm, each touch—until you’re left aching for more. You’ve come undone on his fingers, his tongue, but now, you’re desperate in a way that makes your chest ache.
You need him, inside of you, filling you up, but he’s holding back. Just barely, he brushes against you with his cock, grinning at the whine that slips from your lips.
His fingers tease your entrance, and you can’t stop yourself from begging, voice shaky, "Please... Please, please." You repeated. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as they fall helplessly. The emptiness without him feels unbearable.
Crowe tilted his head, the smirk on his face practically dripping with playful mockery. “Just please?” He dragged the word out slowly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tell me what you want, love. What is it you’re begging for?” His hand slid up your stomach, hand pushing down lightly as if testing the waters.
A soft moan released from your lips as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, the playful glint in his eyes shifting into something darker, more calculating. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”
His soft gin stretched wider as you stumbled over your words, desperate and disordered, pleading for more. He could tell you were unraveling, and it only pushed him further, each whimper was like a small victory.
“You’re falling apart, love,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need... just say the word.” You could barely focus as the desperation built into your chest. His control over you was unnerving, yet exhilarating. The tears running down your cheeks were a mix of frustration and need, a silent scream for him.
“I need you, Crowe. Please...” Your voice was broken, but he was the one who was in control, studying the way you reacted like a willing experiment.
Crowe’s hand lifts gently to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaming down your face. He gives you a soft grin, his voice low and teasing. “Already crying for me, huh?” he murmurs, almost amused. His thumb slips past your lips, letting you taste the salty remnants of your emotions. "We’ve just started," he adds, a soft chuckle escaping him.
Before you can respond, his hips jerk forward, pushing into you with one swift, forceful motion. The shock of it makes your breath catch, and Crowe can’t help but smirk, his eyes glinting with that dangerous, experimental gleam.
Every move, calculated and deliberate, is part of his twisted exploration. And you? You’re the willing subject.
✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁
Sol is described as a “stinky basement-dwelling yandere”—ngl, this alone made me laugh. He’s a quiet kid, the one who lingered at the edges of every room, observing, never quite fitting in.
Beneath his reserved exterior was a complexity most couldn’t fathom. He’s incredibly smart, with a sharpness that slipped through his words when he spoke, though he rarely bothered to. His talents leaned toward the arts, paintings, and writings.
And yet, at the end of the day, Sol isn’t exactly smooth. He was hopelessly inexperienced when it came to relationships. He gets no bitches, and honestly, he probably doesn’t even try. But in his inexperience is a certain rawness, and once you did get to know him, he’ll flirt or charm you. But before, he just watched and wanted.
Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Sol as kinky?
Yes, let’s not sugarcoat it—he is kinky asf. Of course, he is. There was no way someone as quiet and repressed as Sol didn’t have a horny side, one he tried to keep buried but couldn’t fully hide due to his love for you.
✑ Switch (A Pervert…)
Now, about Sol’s... preferences.
From reading his relationship information card and playing the game. He is a paradox, a Switch in every sense of the word. He didn’t neatly fit into the mold of “always dominant” or “forever submissive.” Oh no, that would be far too mundane for someone like him. He's not a standard yandere people.
Sol is a man of extremes, a “pervert” in the most endearing, shameless sense of the word. He believed in living freely, without the shackles of societal expectations or traditional constraints. Ethics, morality, conventional roles—he’d toss them aside without hesitation if they stood in the way of his desires.
When he takes the reins as Dominant, Sol is the type to lean into theatrics, pushing boundaries with a devilish grin and that mischievous gleam in his eyes. He had a talent for making the experience unforgettable, for making you feel as though the entire world had melted away, leaving only the two of you. But when the tables turned, when Sol found himself in the more submissive role, he’d throw himself into it with equal fervor.
He’d challenge you to prove your worth, tease and push until you stepped up to the plate, and then—when you finally did—he’d surrender so completely that it'll feel like a victory worth savoring.
To Sol, sex and relationships weren’t just about power dynamics or tradition. They were a playground for exploration, a place where the only rule was to follow what felt right. With his “anything goes” mentality, Sol turned every interaction into a kaleidoscope of passion and unpredictability.
As mentioned, Sol, can’t help himself when it comes to you.
Let’s say he has this thing—Voyeuristic Disorder, to be precise, a fancy word for being a pervert. Dosn't care to see anyone else naked. Only you he wishes to see. He was obsessed with watching you, whether you knew it or not. In public or private, it didn’t matter.
He just liked being there, lurking in the shadows, soaking in every moment. Watching you do the most intimate things, completely unaware that he was there.
There was something so exhilarating about seeing you—your bare skin, the way you moved, the little things you did when you thought no one was watching. He couldn’t resist. The way your body reacted, the sounds you made when you didn’t know he was there—it was all he needed.
Deadass, I’m shocked that the creator of the game never added a specific scene where you were taking care of yourself in bed—you freak, oblivious to him sneaking a peek from the window, his hand on his cock, jacking himself off, doing exactly what he does best. Watching.
He didn’t let societal norms dictate how he expressed himself or who he loved. He was unapologetically himself—messy, chaotic, and a little too intense for most people’s taste. But for those brave enough to step into his world, you, well, if you picked him, that is.
Sol will offer an experience unlike any other: one filled with unrelenting honesty, unbridled passion, and a love that refuses to be anything less than extraordinary.
✑ Praise (Receiving)
Sol isn't the type of man you’d peg as desperate for validation—at least, not at first glance. His sharp, confident exterior gave the impression of someone who had the world at his feet, who didn’t flinch under pressure or crack beneath judgmental stares.
But peel back the layers of this supposed nonchalant and cool type of man, and you’d find a truth that was much more human, much more raw. Sol craved praise. Why? Perhaps it was the lack of it throughout his life. His track record for romance was, let’s say, less than impressive. Not because he lacked charm or good looks—he had both in spades—but because his overbearing aura and unapologetic eccentricities tended to drive most people away.
They didn’t understand him, couldn’t see past the way he challenged conventions. He wore his "loser" title like armor. After all, who cared if he didn’t have admirers lined up at his door? He didn’t need anyone... right? Yet, when someone, such as you, did manage to offer him an honest compliment, something sincere, it was like watching a dam break.
His confident smirk would falter for a second, his eyes softening, betraying the vulnerability he worked so hard to conceal. Sol wasn’t accustomed to receiving love—real, genuine love—and when it came, it hit him like a truck
✑ Masochist
The first time you noticed Sol’s tendency to endure pain, you’d thought it was just his stubborn nature. He’s always been the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve when it came to you—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically vulnerable. But as time went on, you began to see something deeper beneath that tough, rebellious exterior.
Sol wasn’t just someone who endured pain; he seemed to embrace it…? almost thrive on it, especially when it comes to you.
Sol is, without a doubt, a masochist. Not in the twisted, sadistic sense, but in an almost heartbreaking way. He’d do anything to please you, to earn your attention—even if it meant enduring the unendurable.
He could never be a sadist. No, he loved you too much to ever inflict pain on you, physically or emotionally. The very thought of hurting you would make his stomach churn. Instead, he channeled all his devotion into being by your side, no matter the cost.
There were moments when his tendencies became painfully obvious. Like he gets into fights back to back, defending himself or you—for example, the movie theater bathroom or the Campus library (With or without.)
You hadn’t/have even been there to witness it—Sol hadn’t wanted you to see him like that, bruised and bloody. But when you found out later, he brushed it off with that crooked grin of his, the one that hid just how far he’d go for you. “It’s nothing,” he’d said, wiping the blood from his lip. “They deserved it for talking about you like that.”
Or that time with Crowe. It had been an innocent moment, just you laughing at something Crowe said, but to Sol, it might as well have been a dagger to his chest. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, nails digging into his palms until they drew blood. He didn’t want to feel that way—jealousy mixed with self-loathing—but he couldn’t help it. Watching you walk away with someone else, even for a moment, was unbearable.
It wasn’t that he enjoyed the pain; it was just that he could handle it, even when it tore him apart inside.
And in the quiet, intimate moments, Sol’s masochistic streak became something else entirely. If you picked him willingly, He’ll trust you, and loved you, enough to let down every last defense he had. He didn’t just endure pain; with you, he could find meaning in it.
A sharp bite, nails dragging down his back—he shivered under your touch, his body responding in ways he didn’t fully understand but didn’t question. For him, it wasn’t just about the sensation; it was about the connection, the way it brought him closer to you.
Masochism, for Sol, wasn’t about pain tolerance. It wasn’t about how much he could take. It was about the way he found a strange, twisted kind of comfort in it. The pain wasn’t the point; it was the context, the giver—you. Sol would never seek out pain for its own sake, but if it was for you, if it meant being close to you, he’d endure anything.
Even in the game, he seemed to attract hardship like a magnet, always the one taking the hits—physically and emotionally. Whether it was the bullies who thought he was an easy target or the way he seemed to hurt himself just to prove his devotion to you, Sol carried it all with a quiet, unshakable resolve. Because, at the end of the day, it wasn’t about the pain. It was about you.
And he’d never stop. For Sol, loving you wasn’t just a choice—it was a part of who he was. If being close to you meant enduring the worst the world could throw at him, he’d take it all with a smile. Because that’s who Sol is. A damn masochist.
And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
✑ Somnophillia
It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Everyone could see this coming from a mile away—there was simply no other possibility. Sol, in all his twisted complexity, had long blurred the line between obsession and affection, his love taking on forms most would never dare to comprehend.
Some might accuse him of holding darker urges, like necrophilia, drawn to the lifelessness of the dead. But no, that isn’t Sol. Despite his obsessions, there was a deep-rooted sentimentality within him—a refusal to let go, to lose. If anything, he had made it clear in his own hauntingly poetic way: he’d rather die with you than live without you.
Yet, that didn’t mean his desires were any less unnerving. No, Sol’s particular brand of affection manifested in somnophilia, a fascination with the vulnerability of sleep, the beauty of your unconscious form. To him, those moments were sacred—your body relaxed, your mind adrift in dreams. It was when he felt closest to you, unguarded and free from the chaos of the waking world.
Before your relationship, it started innocuously enough—or so it seemed. He’d find ways to end up at your apartment, invited by some pretense or perhaps even through sheer charisma. And then, ever so subtly, he’d lace your drink with something to make you drowsy, to keep you from suspecting as his fingers ghosted on you.
You lay there, utterly still, utterly serene, your chest rising and falling with the kind of peaceful rhythm that seemed to still the chaos of the world around you.
It was maddening, the way you looked so untouched by the noise that haunted him, your lips slightly parted, the barest whisper of breath escaping them. Every exhale was a siren call, soft and unassuming, but it gripped him like a vice.
His gaze wandered, helplessly drawn down the curve of your cheek to your lips. They looked soft, and inviting in a way that felt almost cruel. He wanted to press his own to them, to taste whatever peace you’d found and see if he could borrow just a fraction of it for himself.
But it wasn’t just your lips. His eyes traced lower, following the lines of your body, the way your clothes clung to you, hinting at the form beneath. He shouldn’t be thinking like this—he knew he shouldn’t. And yet the thought of you, warm and pliant beneath him, invaded his mind, unrelenting.
He swallowed hard, trying to shake it off, but the more he fought, the more vivid the thoughts became. The sound of your soft sighs, the way you’d move under his touch, how you’d look at him—not like this, not sleepily and unaware, but awake, wanting.
God, he was losing it.
Sol leaned back, running a hand through his hair, forcing his gaze away from you for a moment. But it didn’t matter—your image was burned into his mind, and there was no escape. Watching you sleep was his guilty pleasure, though his guilt barely lasted long enough to stop him from pressing further.
Once the two of you were together, the dynamics shifted, but only slightly.
Sol’s obsession deepened, and the lines of consent became more of a gray haze in his mind. To him, love was devotion—complete and all-encompassing. And if you loved him, shouldn’t you accept him entirely? Shouldn’t you trust him to care for you, even when you weren’t awake to see it?
He was careful, always so careful with you, so don’t worry!
His lips found their way to the sensitive curve of your inner thigh, his movements slow and deliberate as if savoring every second of this quiet moment. You stirred faintly, a sleepy whimper escaping your lips as the warmth of his mouth brushed against you, teasing and tender.
Sol’s hands gripped your hips gently but firmly; his fingers splayed across your skin to hold you in place. You tried to shift, your body instinctively responding to the soft, wet pressure of his tongue on your needy cunt, but his strength was unyielding.
“Shh,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in the stillness. One hand slid up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering for a moment as he marveled at the serene expression you wore, so unaware of the devotion he poured into every touch. “You’re even more beautiful like this,” he breathed, his words an intimate confession meant only for the dark.
To Sol, this meant everything.
This was the essence of love itself—intimacy beyond words, a bond that transcended anything others could hope to understand. He wasn't like anyone else; he knew that, and perhaps that’s what made this feel so special.
So sacred.
There was a quiet possessiveness in the way he worshiped you, a deep yearning to etch himself into every corner of your being, to ensure no one else could ever touch the part of you that belonged to him.
And as you stirred again, a soft moan escaping your lips, Sol smirked against your skin, the faintest edge of smug satisfaction curling at the corner of his mouth. You might not fully wake, but you’d feel him—his touch, his adoration, eventually his cock. You’d know, even in sleep, that you were his world.
To be with him, you’d have to accept all of him. Even the shadowed obsession that came with it.
