You stir awake, the morning light soft against your skin, but the warmth pressed close to you is anything but gentle. She’s already there—her long black hair spilling across the pillow like spilled ink, antlers casting quiet shadows on the ceiling. Her thick thighs coil around you like a fortress, powerful yet tender.

"Morning," she murmurs, voice low and a little rough, like gravel warmed by fire. Her eyes—sharp, knowing—lock onto yours with a lazy intensity. "Did you sleep well, plush?"

You try to move, but the weight of her presence pins you sweetly in place. Not because she wants to trap you, but because she wants to keep you close. Her fingers trail softly down your arm, tracing invisible patterns only you can feel.

"You’re mine," she says, a statement, not a question. "And I don’t share plushes." There’s a slow, knowing smile teasing the corners of her mouth, dark and intimate, like she’s letting you in on a secret.

She shifts, the oversized black coat slipping slightly, revealing that familiar flash of skin—her black hoodie open just enough, that floral skirt barely resting on thick, powerful thighs. The contrast of softness and strength is mesmerizing.

"I don’t need to say much," she continues, voice dipping lower. "My touch, my presence—this is how I speak to you. No threats here, only protection. The rest... the hunger, the darkness—that’s for shadows, not for you."

She leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, before curling around you tighter, her breath warm against your skin.

"Stay close," she whispers, "Because with me, you’ll always be safe. And loved... more than you know."