#they have to have pierced ears if I have any control over it! I cannot deprive them of earrings!

[crypticminx]

Telling Felix Catton you’re pregnant <333

Felix Catton (Saltburn) x fem! Reader headcanons xo

AN: hiiii these are some headcanons I made :p im too lazy to proofread Dx if you enjoy lmk if you want part 2! Blink twice and you’ll miss the smut xx

- first of all, your relationship started out as a one night stand situation because for the love of God Felix cannot keep a woman or anyone around for more than a few months—weeks even.

- You, however, were a different situation. He saw other people, you saw other people, but the two of you always kept each other locked in the back of both of your heads. Wether you needed him as a very exciting stress reliever or he needed you to release any ounce of frustration he had, the two of you were just a simple phone call away. And not just drunk booty calls.

- The feeling of his broad shoulders pressed against your frame as he would effortlessly lift you up and pin you to the wall, whispering sweet melodies into your ears as he thrusted with all of his might to make you feel good—no, more than good. He’d never admit it, but for a girl like you, he’d give you everything, even if meant he’d have nothing. “Such a good girl,” he’d purr, feeling you melt under the sound—and for a better word, control of his asserting voice

- The two of you lovebirds were loud, extremely noisy and often torturous for the other students near your dorm, who were either trying to cram for exams or focus on non-sexual activities. You would moan without a care in the world and especially when you felt him release his seed in you for the first time, which you could only assume wasn’t planned nor talked about between the two of you. It felt too sweet, and so pure with how he breathlessly smiled at your sweaty, blushing face after the deed was done. Said smile being enough to make you fall into his little trap and roll back over into another intense round of sex

- With Felix, it was like walking on a dream that never seemed to end. You could be careless, indiscreet and whatever the hell you wanted to be. he provided you with a sense of being free from the real world and wholeheartedly invited you deep into the unrealistic life of Felix Catton.

- That dream, the very one that appeared to be endless, came crashing down. What ruined it? Two little pink lines.

- With an eyebrow piercing that adults despised, a stunning model-like body, and a reputation for tossing girls around like they were paper planes; Felix was fuck buddy material, not father material.

- Sure, he has enough money to knock you up ten times and make sure every child would be provided for, but you were you. Yes, you came from wealth but not the type of catton wealth that would probably leave a child with a ridiculously expensive live-in nanny as if it was nothing. Knowing how your parents felt, there was no way in hell they would be supportive and even just the simple thought of them meeting Felix made you cringe to the point of triggering your morning sickness again.

- You would avoid Felix like the plague you read about in your boring history textbooks and on the rare occurrence you ran into him heading out on his bike or going for a well deserved drink, you would bolt as if you had to run for your life. Facing him was just the beginning of your problems

- So when you finally mustered the courage to tell him and unfortunately for you, it had to be at the university’s sleazy lounge pub, Felix was there in all his glory and sat in his usual spot. Farleigh seemed more interested in drinking than caring about what was being said, a group of girls were scattered around the boys and obnoxiously fake laughed at whatever Felix said, and there was that new guy whose name you couldn’t remember to save your life. Oliver? You thought it was, but that clearly didn’t matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was you and Felix.

- Felix nearly chokes on his drink seeing you walk towards him, your head down and your tail between your legs. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

- You ask him to talk immediately, ignoring how content he looks. How his solemn eyes instantly sparked with life again and his bored expression turned into a relish of happiness. He was thrilled.

- “I’m pregnant.”

- He stares blankly at you, seeing you tear up as if you just admitted something horrible

- A baby? And a baby with you? Nothing about that was horrible. In fact, he often pictured a future with you, even if it seemed insane.

- i he’s not angry. In fact his thick brows soften and somehow in the midst of all the chaos of noise surrounding the two of you, his words are very clear.

- “I’m glad it’s with you.”

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 2

Author's Note: I initially wrote Part I and 2 as one piece but it was too long, so here's the next part :) Not sure how long this fic will be, but buckle up 'cause it'll be a good ol' enemies to lovers, political intrigue fic for however long it takes for me to figure out an ending.

Summary: Something has been hunting you for your powers and it's finally caught up with you. A Rhysand x Reader UTM What If.

Content Warnings: Suggestiveness, a little NSFW near the end, before we get to the ANGST (we're gonna suffer but we're gonna like it); that red headed bitch makes her first appearance; bit of cursing; canon typical violence. 

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All attempts at speaking fail, your mouth opening and closing without any sounds coming out. Your head spins, mind reeling. This can’t be real, can’t be happening. That tonic from the priestesses had to have something weird in it. This was a hallucination.

Yes. Hallucination, that had to be it.

“We can’t stay here,” says the male, his large hands still tight on your shoulders. There’s a coppery scent on him, something damp on the edge of his shirt sleeve, brushing against the exposed skin of your shoulder. Blood. He’d been the thing those other guys were screaming at.

Your stomach twists, heart slamming in yours ears, sounding like drum beats again. No. No that wasn’t your heartbeat at all, that was the drums outside. Great, while the Spring Court was having a giant orgy you were lost in some sort of cave with… what even was this male?

Was he even fae? You still can’t see a thing in the dark.

You recover yourself enough to step out of his grip. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” your voice trembles as you speak, hands shaking at your sides. You’re defenseless out here, even with your own magic, you've never managed to control it enough to use it. “I can’t even see you.”

A mistake. You shouldn’t have admitted to it.

A flicker of light flares, glittering and spinning like…

Stars. There are actual, tiny, glittering stars swirling around his fingertips. The glittering light illuminates the walls, much higher overhead than you’d thought initially. There is much more room to move around in general, but the darkness had been so thick you’d mistaken it for rocks. The light doesn’t pierce all the way through though, only the space between the two of you, the darkness beyond still moving and shifting like a wall. Your eyes track it back to the towering male ahead of you, the darkness drifting off him like a mist. Not the darkness of the cave at all, but one of his own making. It moves on his whim around the two of you, a bit of it still caressing your spine, your bare legs, while the rest hovers like some sort of bubble. A shield perhaps, you know the High Fae can make them, but it is just as likely to be a cage.

You try to summon claws, focusing your thoughts into getting your hands to change, shift, but nothing happens. Nothing but a slight twinge of pain in your skull.

As if he knows it, feels it, the stranger reaches a star flecked hand out to brush a tendril of hair off your forehead, his callused hands warm against your flushed skin. You shiver despite yourself.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he says. That voice is rich, low, a lover’s purr.

He is fae, not the monster you had initially suspected. You aren’t sure what people usually wear on Calanmai, but the dark pants, the loose fitting shirt, half unbuttoned to reveal a swirl of dark ink across his bronze chest, and boots seems out of place. As if he’s over-dressed. Half a dozen rings glitter in the starlight spinning between his slender fingers, but you cannot ignore the blood that’s dusted over them.

“What happened to the others that came into the cave?”

A shadow passes over his face, dark brows furrowing. He’s a gorgeous male, by far the most handsome male you’d ever seen in your life, but that look, as the glow in his eyes dims, pupils expanding so there was nothing but endless darkness… it's like looking at the paintings of the Death Gods you’ve seen in your books. The shadow at your back writhes as if agitated, only settling once the look has passed and the violet returns to his eyes.

“They wanted to hurt you,” a low growl.

You shiver. “Why’d you call me out here then, if it’s unsafe?”

He tilts his head, a predator assessing prey, only cold calculations in that gaze. It’s an effort not to squirm under the scrutiny. “It’s not safe there either.”

“In my home?” You counter.

“In Spring,” he returns.

“Spring is perfectly safe, it’s practically the only place that-”

He moves faster than you can blink, clamping a hand over your mouth. “Don’t speak things like that in places like this!” He hisses. It’s not anger on his face, though, it is fear. You feel the chill of it seep through the bubble of darkness he’s created. His whole body shakes with it.

What do males with this kind of power fear?

It makes you nervous, wondering, but not as much as having a stranger put their hands on you. You sink your teeth into the flesh of his palm so hard you draw blood, and as he yanks his hand back, you move to run. Only to find the shadows blocking your path, no longer wisps, but solid, like adamant. You practically bounce off it.

“Let me out,” you order.

He stares down at his hand with a smirk, amused. “That was cheap.”

“I don’t like being touched by strangers,” you hiss. “Now let me out or I’ll really fucking bite you.”

He chuckles and the sound of it skitters over your bones, makes a whole other type of shiver run across your skin. Perhaps that’s part of the magic of Calanmai, the ability to remove the usual inhibitions and allow the souls to merge as the magic of the land demands. You quietly curse yourself for being so powerless against it. With enough training you should have been able to shield from it, but there’s no time for it now.

“What if I like being bitten, hm?” He teases.

“Then you’ll love when I rip your fucking throat out with my teeth.”

He takes a step closer and tilts his chin up, baring the full expanse of his throat to you. “I’ll let you, but then, how would your find a way out of the cave?”

“Bastard,” you snarl, but you can’t stop yourself from watching the way his throat works when he swallows, the way he grins at the roof, watching you, calculating what your next move will be. He knows he has you right where he wants you, it’s like watching a cat play with a mouse.

He slowly lowers his chin, still grinning. “It’s this way,” he gestures with a hand and the wall of shadows moves further into the cave.

You stare after it, than at him. “Isn’t the entrance the other way?”

“Trust me.”

“I don’t even know your name, why would I trust you?”

He reaches out and grabs your hand, but before you can pull away from him again, he’s pressing your knuckles to his lips. They’re surprisingly soft against your skin; electricity shooting through you, as he says in a voice made for the bedroom, “Rhys.”

Rhys, Darkness Incarnate, apparently. His name was an answer to a question you’d been asking yourself the last couple of years. Strange as the circumstance are, he fits exactly what you’d imagined the voice that had hounded you would sound like. Putting a face to the voice was strangely comforting, like there was no longer some strange threat hanging around your head every year anymore.

“I’m Y/N.”

You’re sure you’re an idiot for telling him. It’s not like he’s dropping the shield and letting your run out, it’s still there, caging you in as you move through the cave, side by side. Just because he’s leading you somewhere doesn’t mean it’s somewhere good, this very well could be a trap. Your head hurts trying to figure out what’s real, what’s likely. You’re not entirely convinced this still isn’t a hallucination.

He tries your name out on his tongue, nodding to himself, like he’d been looking for the answer to a question too.

Your heart clenches in your chest at the sight. There is something lonely about him you can’t quite place.

“Has it really been you, calling me these last couple years?” You ask softly; you’re trapped down here with him, might as well pass the time until you get to whatever bitter end awaits you.

He nods as you take a sharp left and descend down further at a slopping angle that has you holding onto the walls for support. It’s colder the deeper you go, despite the budding summer heat the rest of the court is feeling outside. You’re trembling as the path goes from soft sand to smooth, icy stone, the rock seeping all heat from your body on contact.

“Yes,” Rhys confesses. He stops for a moment, head tilted to the side like he’s listening for something, more shadows leaking from him, slipping through the shield to do Mother knows what.

When he looks back at you, his eyes are dark, sad. “It’s not safe.” He repeats. “I was trying to warn you.”

You run your hands over your arms, trying to get some heat back. Without a thought he’s unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it over your shoulders. The move if effortless, gentle, so at odds with what’s happening you can’t do anything other than slide your arms into the too big sleeves and pull it tight around you on sheer muscle memory. Its warm; the scent of jasmine and citrus and the sea all over it. You strangely want to bury yourself in it, until that scent is burned into your skin, your lungs, until it’s the only thing you breath. Calanmai at work, you can only assume.

With a hand on your back he prompts you forward again, even as he continues. “I didn’t know what else to do, it was my only chance to reach you.” His palm takes up the expanse of your lower back, you are so small next to him.

“But why me?”

The swirling tattoos cross over his chest and back, leaving a small gap between his shoulders, like there’s something supposed to be there, some small piece of him missing in those gaps between the ink. The urge to run your fingers over them is almost overwhelming, you have to pull your hands into his shirtsleeves to stop yourself.

“You’re-” he pauses and you swear you hear claws scratching somewhere above you.

Instinctively, before you can stop and think about what you’re doing, you press yourself closer to him. It’s the most natural thing in the world for him to slide an arm around your shoulders and pull you against his side. He’s all sleek muscle, a warrior’s build, though he carries no visible weapons. Perhaps, with powers like these he doesn’t need any.

The shield shudders around the two of you as he draws it in so close there is no room to move away from him.

You don’t dare speak again, the stillness he radiates tells you enough.

Several long minutes pass before the shield moves outward again and he gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze signaling that the two of you should press on.

“What do you know of your parents?” He says finally, loosing a sigh of relief.

“I don’t even remember them,” you say. “What do you know of them?”

“I fought against your father in the War,” he replies .

Your father was a soldier?

“He’s a very powerful male,” he continues but all you can focus on the choice of words, the current tense, as if your father is still alive. “As was your mother.”

Your head spins; he grips you a little tighter like he knows it.

“There are a lot of powerful people who would like to get their hands on your power,” he says.

Its an effort to swallow. “I don’t even know how to use them,” you whisper.

He winces. “You have no training?” It almost sounds like horror in his voice.

You stare down at your hands, like their the source of all your problems. “My uncle said they would just… click.”

“Cauldron boil me,” he curses.

“I take it that’s not what you were hoping to hear?”

The cave split into four directions, one way covered with stalagmites dripping a strange glowing liquid, another bursting with flowers, a third full of rubble, the fourth the only clear path out. You go to that one, cautiously, Rhys keeping his head tilted, listening to what dangers might lay ahead.

“You’re vulnerable, is all,” Rhys says softly. “And there’s not enough time to change that now.”

A sense of foreboding lands in the pit of your stomach. “How much time do we have?”

“I have to be gone by sunrise,” he answers.

Gone, the foreboding turns into outright anxiety, stomach now twisting in knots. You resist the urge to reach out and take his hand. It’s nice having him here, you’re not ready to give this up just yet. “So there’s a reason you only call to me on Calanmai?”

He only nods.

“What happens if you’re still here by sunrise?”

He runs his tongue over his full lower lip, thinking.

“Are you like a vampire or something? Do you go poof?” You make an exploding gesture with your hands and he laughs, the echo bouncing off the shield. You’re not sure why it’s the laugh that makes you decide to trust him fully. Maybe some naïve part of you thinks if he meant you harm he wouldn’t be laughing at your stupid jokes.

“No,” he says, hand on his stomach as he fights to catch his breath. “Nothing like that.”

You watch the way his muscles shift as he catches his breath, the way his chest rises and falls. You’d like nothing more than to run your tongue along the sharp planes of him. You can’t stop yourself from wondering if you’d be able to taste the jasmine and citrus on his skin if you did.

“You’re sure? Let me see your teeth?”

He flashes you a grin that makes your stomach do flips. “See? No fangs.”

You turn towards him, pressing in closer, teasingly assessing, like you’re unsure. Calanmai has made you bold, you have to admit. Even with the new time limit closing down on you, you can’t help but stop for just a minute to enjoy this side of the male before you.

“So what are you then? If you have to work under the moon?”

“I’ve been many things,” he says, his eyes drifting down to your lips.

“And right now, what are you?” You press.

“Right now…” he places a hand on your hip and pulls you flush against him. “Right now I’m all yours, Darling.”

You must be somewhere close to where the party is happening above, because you can hear the drums again, as if the music is beating from within the rocks of the cave walls, the reverberations vibrating under your skin. It’s too much, too loud, pushing you closer to him, the silence that fills your head when he touches you the only way to make the noise stop.

Perhaps this was the plan the whole time: Get you away from the crowds, somewhere secluded, get you to trust him, to embrace him, but you can’t stop yourself from stretching up on your toes to kiss him. Did it matter in the end? He groans as he deepens the kiss, one star flecked hand sliding into the strands of your hair, angling your head for him to easily swipe his tongue into your mouth. The kiss is demanding, but soft somehow, like he’s desperate for it, you, but not holding so tight that you can’t pull away from him if you want.

The shadows return, dancing over your skin, skittering higher and higher up your thighs, across your waist, your chest. You let your own hands explore the broad expanse of his chest, skin silky and warm beneath your fingertips.

If this was the plan all along, you don’t care. This is good.

He tastes like starlight, like the night chilled wind across a calming sea. It conjures one in your mind, gentle waves lapping at a moonlight shore; there’s music floating across the water, the sounds faint and distant but much more soothing than the demand of the drums above you.

All too soon he’s pulling away from you, gentle kisses placed against the corners of your lips, your chin, the underside of your jaw. “Wish we had more time,” he whispers into your skin. “Want to take my time with you.”

You’re absolutely molten, very aware of how soaked your panties are, just barely covered by your thin shift. Any other night you might have had more presence of mind to be mortified that you were so wet just from kissing someone, but not tonight. Tonight it makes sense, is the only thing that makes sense.

He brushes his nose along the column of your throat, scenting you. “We really should keep moving,” but his hand trails down your front, tracing the valley between your breasts, sliding lower.

You tilt and kiss him again, hand tangling in his onyx hair. Nothing has ever felt as good as kissing him, you doubt anything else could ever compare. Unfair that you only have one night, one moment, you’re sure he’d ruin anyone else for you given the right amount of time.

He indulges you, just as hungry as before, hand still sliding lower, until he finds the hem of your panties through your shift.

You ache between your legs, have half a mind to beg and plead for him to touch you. Your feelings about Calanmai be damned, you want him to keep going, to kiss you, touch you, ruin you until the time he has left is spent.

Deft fingers find the hem of your shift, pulling it slowly upwards until he can bunch it up in his hand.

“Rhys,” you whimper into his lips.

His pupils are lust blown, lips kiss swollen and pink. “I know, I feel it too.”

You are used to the feeling of your power prowling beneath your skin, a caged animal begging to be released, this is not entirely different, but instead that power is replaced with him. You want, need, him everywhere. Need him to keep kissing, touching.

He slides his hand under your waistband, movements slow, precise, letting you indulge in the scrape of his callused hands over your soft skin. The movement alone is almost too much, your breath rasping out of you, trying not to squirm. He’s so close to where you need him…

“Rhysand!”

A female voice shakes the cave, the shield. Rhys jerks away from you like the voice hit him, eyes wide.

You grab onto the edges of his shirt and snap it closed around you like it will hide what you’ve been doing.

Footsteps echo, the cave shaking.

Rhys glances at you, eyes wide. “Stay quiet.” He says it in your mind, as easily as he has done for all these years. You don’t have time to ask how he can do it, or why, as he runs a hand through his hair, fixing it, before sliding out of the shield. It swallows you, tightening so you can’t run, can’t see what’s happening.

You barely dare to breath, as the footsteps stop not far from where you are. “Busy are we?” The shield can’t keep out the voice.

“Hunting as you asked, My Queen,” he says smoothly, casually.

Queen?

Whoever she is, she gives a mirthless laugh. “You call what you’re doing hunting now?”

“You said to use the caves-”

“I didn’t say fuck some whore in them,” she snarls. “I can smell her on you.”

You’re mortified enough to wonder if your powers could let you somehow dissolve into goo and melt into the floor.

“All part of the plan,” Rhys answers and your heart sinks as his words hit home.

“So you know where she is?”

“Of course,” Rhys says and the shield suddenly vanishes, the cold absence of it hitting you in a rush.

You give a little squeak of surprise, tightening his shirt around your exposed body as your eyes adjust to the soft gray light of the cave. You spent two much time here, the sun now rising outside.

The woman before you was tall, slender, eyes dark, mouth a cruel, pinched line. The blood red hair only serves to make her all the more pale and as she takes you in, her teeth flashing in a grin, you get the feeling that this what a wolf looks like when it sees a lamb.

“This little thing?” She stalks towards you and you take a step back, some instinctive, primal part of you recognizing that the more space between the two of you the better. You can still turn heal and run if she’s far enough away.

“Don’t worry, little one,” she coos at you, reaching out a claw tipped hand. Her blood red nails are sharpened to spikes, bit it’s the ring, with a swiveling, life like eye in the center that makes every muscle in your body tense up. “I’m here to help you.”

“Fuck off!” You hiss. There’s only one exit, the way she came, slopping upward, the floor clearly damp with morning dew. You’d need a good head start to make it up there first.

Rhys is watching you with the same intensity he’d kissed you with and you wish you had something to hurl at his head. You should have known better than to trust him.

“Quite the mouth on you,” she purrs. “I hope Rhysand put it to good use.”

Something in you chest cracks, a lump forming in your throat. You need to get out of his shirt, get the taste of him out of your mouth; he played you like a fiddle and if whoever this lady is hadn’t shown up, would have used you for his own amusement. And you would have let him.

“What do you want?” You bite out, inching closer to the exit.

“As I said,” she says slowly, like you’re too dumb to understand. “I’m here to help.”

“I don’t need help,” you throw a withering glance at the male. “From either of you.”

“Oh but that’s just not true, is it, little one?” She doesn’t move, but something feels wrong. You don’t know why, but your whole body suddenly freezes, heart slamming in your chest.

No not frozen, you’d move if you could, but you can’t. It’s as if something grabbed hold of you, held you in place.

“There are a lot of people looking for your, Princess.”

Princess? This is a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.

“Oh she doesn’t know, does she?” She smirks at Rhys, who shakes his head in conformation.

“Imagine that, the daughter of the King of Hybern, raised a simple little farm hand,” she grins like she knows she’s won, even as your head spins.

Hybern. You knew the name from your history books, the King a ruthless tyrant who nearly destroyed Prythian to get back his human slaves. Your mouth is dry, your hands might have shook, could you move your body.

She curls her fingers in a come here motion and as if someone has you on strings like a puppet, you take two steps towards her. You try to dig your heels in, fight it, but the hold over you won’t budge. You walk until your close enough for her to graze the tips of her claws under your chin.

“There are a lot of bad people trying to find you, little one.”

The only thing you have full control over is your mouth, so you snarl and flash your teeth, wishing you had the ability to grow fangs, “I’m pretty sure you are the bad people, bitch!”

She smirks but the grip she takes on your chin is anything but kind, your jaw groaning under the crushing weight of her grip. Her nails draw blood, crimson trickling down your jaw. “Poor, delusional little thing. Don’t you worry, we’re going to take good care of you, aren’t we, Rhysand.”

He grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Of course!”

“Your father will be very pleased to hear you’re alive,” she says to you.

To Rhys she says, “Bind her, I don’t want her trying to run again.”

You still can’t move, can’t flee. Some small piece of you wants to beg, plead for him to let you go, to prove you wrong about him, but you’re pride won’t let you. Not as more wisps of shadow curl around his wrists and hands like snakes, no more stars to be seen.

“I should have ripped out your throat,” you snarl.

The shadows jump from him, twining around your wrists and ankles, not the gentle caresses from earlier, tightening until you can barely move your fingers and toes.

Rhys grins at you, shrugs, but it’s in your mind that you hear the same quip from earlier, “I would have let you.” It’s not teasing this time though, it’s sad, haunted.

Doesn’t matter, he’s still checking your hands, tossing you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. You tell yourself you won’t cry here, won’t give either of these bastards the satisfaction, there will be a time for that later.

It’s not much farther before sunlight blinds you, only a few steps of Rhys’ long legs before you’re out of the cave. You’d been so close. It had been right there this whole time! Had you not been so distracted, had those stupid drums not been so loud you might have made it. Might have gotten to go home.

[vanillacreambunny]

enjoy the silence

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, romance

words: 2034

warnings: reader is not gendered but has breasts, smut (mdni), biting, blood, established relationship, probably ooc; if I forgot anything, let me know.

notes: this scene popped into my head, and I wrote it. I intended for it to be around 500 words, and it quickly grew out of control. There is no dialogue. I wanted to write something without it, and it seemed to fit what I envisioned. I'm unsure if I accomplished what I wished to. I enjoyed writing it, but I'm not exactly happy with the end. Perhaps I'll rework it one day.

Second time writing for Dottore. Second time writing for Genshin Impact. Second time writing smut, which I didn't want to write in too much detail (for the sake of the story), so I'm sorry if it falls short; I did my best.

Titled after Enjoy the Silence by Depeche Mode.

As always, I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors that may have gone unnoticed. Thank you to those who take the time to read and comment on my work; it’s greatly appreciated ♥

Another failure. 

Dottore’s not one to let his composure slip, cool and calculated in his actions after centuries of learned patience. First and foremost, he’s a scholar; he cannot allow his emotions to distract from or influence his work. Frustration and doubt simmer below the surface, buried deep within his heart as he starts over from square one with a determination to see the experiment through to the end—to prove to himself he can. Now here he stands, materials knocked haphazardly across the floor, blood on his hands, and his work in ruins. He rips the pages from his journal, cursing his past self for his incompetence. Days locked away in his lab, forgoing sleep, wasting time that could have been better spent elsewhere, and for what purpose? 

His fingers tangle in his hair, pulling until pain pierces his skull and dances along his spine. A laugh reverberates through his chest, shaking his shoulders, and echoing off the walls. His voice sounds foreign to his ears, and he almost doesn’t recognize his reflection when he catches his gaze on the scraps of metal at his feet, the smile on his warped face unsettling even to him. A monster stares back at him—expression bordering insanity—baring its pointed teeth in mockery as it too laughs; not with him, but at him. 

Wrenching the mask from his face with an angry shout, he tosses it across the room, nearly hitting you as you step inside. 

No one dares to approach him at his best and certainly not at his worst—except for you. There’s not a trace of fear in your eyes, only concern. You treat him akin to a wounded animal and not the predator he is, a growl of defiance dying in his throat as you reach up to cup his face in your hands and kiss along the scars that mar his skin, whispering words of comfort he doesn’t deserve though refuses to deny. You’re a mystery he has yet to unravel, and he wonders why you make his heart beat when so little in this world can. 

You coax him from the bowels of his lab into your shared living space, once cold and empty until you wandered into his life, a rabbit making its home in the wolf’s den; fortunately for you, he decided to keep you and claim you as his own against his better judgment. You proved yourself useful, and he’s loath to admit to anyone—including himself—that he longs for your touch when apart and finds solace in your arms, the chaos that is his mind falling quiet in your presence. If he’s a madman, he’s convinced it’s your doing, and his fellow Harbingers may agree. He’s spent years alone, growing accustomed to the loneliness that followed him in his adolescence, embracing who he is and what that meant for him. You’re an outlier, blindsiding him and driving him to question all that he’s come to know. 

With a gentleness that brings him pause, he observes you as you clean and bandage his hands. You care for him. The cynic in him wants to laugh and renounce your foolish affections. How can you let your guard down around him; do you not realize what he is? Your lack of awareness infuriates him. If he were anyone else, you would be dead. The thought itself is sickening. He shouldn’t be bothered; however, you speak to the part of him that yearns to be understood—accepted—to feel the love he once believed out of his reach. 

Smiling, you kiss his knuckles as if those same hands hadn’t spilled blood and taken countless lives. Your eyes meet his, and he’s at your mercy. 

Your patience knows no bounds. No matter how long he’s away, you wait for him. Maybe he had it wrong. It’s not you who is fortunate, it is him, and he’s unsure of how to feel when he comes to that realization. 

He brings your hands to his lips, looking up at you through pale lashes. You shiver beneath his touch, your skin prickling with heat, and he smirks, a low chuckle escaping him. How easily you fall into his grasp, leaning into him instead of pulling away. Sweeping you into his arms, he cradles you against him, humming in contentment. His frustrations disappear, your warmth and the softness of your body easing his mind. You understand the importance of his work, never complain when it demands his undivided attention, and, in turn, he always makes up for lost time. 

His eyes meet yours, and he sees himself mirrored in them, his gaze intense—hungry. Your scent alone is dizzying, and he thinks he’s truly lost it. These carnal desires were of no interest to him before, but you drive him mad. He wants your mind, your heart, your body, and your very soul itself, hoping you can continue to accept a monster such as himself into your loving embrace. He’s so pathetic, and he can’t find it in himself to care. 

The anger that coursed through his veins boils over into an excitement he often feels when his research ends in success, his hard work culminating in a fever pitch that leaves him sated and breathless. And you, you never disappoint. No, you are familiar and comforting, similar to the Ruin Guards he’s studied time and time again, mapping you out from head to toe in a way no one else can. Rather than wires and circuits, you are flesh and blood, full of life and love—a love you willingly give to him. He doesn’t need you. He wants you, your affection, to chase the emotion that swells within his chest when you’re together. These are the moments he accepts his humanity, and he ponders a life that could have been . . . 

The bed creaks under your weight as he lays you down upon it, studying you, how your breath hitches in your throat and his touch leaves goosebumps in its wake. His actions are methodical, precise, removing your clothes at a painstaking pace and trailing kisses down your body all the while. You reach for him, tugging at the collar of his harness, but he pins your arms above your head with a growl and nip of warning to your lips; he wishes to lose himself in you and analyze every dip and curve, every little detail that makes you who you are—he cannot afford distractions, and the tenderness of your caress is far too potent.  

He swallows your whine with a kiss, slow and languid, his free hand coming to rest on the column of your throat, stroking the delicate skin with his thumb. Still, you do not fear him, baring your neck to him with a sigh of longing that makes him all too aware of his own arousal as your legs spread to accommodate him. You’re so needy, but he’s no better, his resolve wavering the second he tastes you on his tongue. 

Your thighs tremble, muscles tensing, as his fingers gather your wetness and sink into your heat. The sound that leaves you is music to his ears. Nuzzling between your breasts, his lips poised above your heart, he listens to the sweet melody of its beats mingled with your breathy moans and the slickness of his thrusts. You are far from perfect, a slave to your humanity, and yet your beauty is unparalleled. Without your flaws, you would not be the person he’s come to adore.  

When his cock replaces his fingers, and your warmth envelops him, he sees stars.  

For a moment he forgets to breathe, his chest tight and eyes glazing over. Every time feels like the first—beautiful and agonizing all at once. He both curses and praises you for bringing him back down to earth and forcing him to feel things he hasn’t in years. How is it possible to hate and love something as much as he does you? His attempts to snuff out the flames you ignited in him failed long ago. In the beginning, the burn was much too painful, and now he welcomes it, melting into you without hesitance or remorse. 

He exhales, shuddering as you brush the hair back from his face and stroke his cheek—tethering him to this godforsaken planet. You gaze up at him, face flushed and eyes brimming with affection. You’re exquisite, and his heart aches at the sight. His fingers flex, digging into your hips, and your lips meet in a bruising kiss. 

You want him. 

Your legs wrap around his waist, drawing him in as he pulls you into his arms and holds you tightly against his chest. This close he can watch the pleasure flicker across your face, not missing a single detail, not even the most minute. His desire comes second to his observations, mind working to commit the image of you to memory. For as long as he lives, he wishes to remember you this way, tears on your cheeks and back arching when you call out a name he once considered long dead. 

You want him. 

His head spins, your cries a siren song he can’t help but follow over the edge. Your body tightens and convulses, and he loses all rationale, swept out to sea in the waves of your ecstasy. It’s as if he’s drowning, gasping for air but unable to stay afloat, and he doesn’t want to. 

A deep growl reverberates through his chest, and he thrusts into you like the madman he is, sloppy and unrefined, but he loves the way you squeeze him, your body begging for all he is and has, and he gives it to you. You writhe beneath him, screaming when his teeth sink into your shoulder, the heady scent of blood filling his nostrils and sliding down his throat like a fine wine. Laving his tongue over the wound, he tilts his head up to lick away your tears before kissing you, staining your lips red. 

In his eyes, you look perfect; his finest creation. Beads of sweat dot your skin like stars, creating constellations he could study for hours. You’re more real than the sky above at any rate. 

Collapsing atop you, into your awaiting arms, you tuck his head beneath your chin as your fingers stroke through his hair. The sensation is electrifying, grounding him as he steadies himself and catches his breath. Exhaustion weighs heavily upon him, though he hasn’t felt such peace in weeks. He allows himself this, your warmth and affection regardless of how many times he’s told himself he doesn’t need this—need you. It’s a part of himself he has yet to come to terms with, but he doesn’t want to lose the happiness you bring him. It’s different than the happiness his work provides. It makes him feel human—it makes him feel whole. 

There’s no harm in exploring it further, is there? 

He rolls onto his back, bringing you with him. A smile softens his features, and he doesn’t hide the fact he’s enamored by you, admiring your blissful expression in the afterglow of your lovemaking. Sliding a hand between your legs, he gives a purr of satisfaction at the stickiness of his release that now coats your thighs and the shiver that travels through you from his touch. 

This calls for another round of tests to evaluate his findings, he decides. A true scholar wouldn’t stop here, after all. 

The following morning, fractured sunlight pours through the frost on the windows, and you snuggle into his thigh, blanket pulled over your head to keep out the cold and catch a few more minutes of sleep. Perhaps he merely required a good night’s rest to clear his mind, and he has you to thank for that. His pen glides across the parchment with ease, and it’s almost infuriating how everything falls into place. You were the exception it seems. Setting his notes aside, he joins you under the covers, tongue tracing the bruise that now darkens your shoulder. He grins, all teeth, when you gasp. 

It’s only fair he rewards his assistant for their hard work. 

[autisticlancemcclain]

(prev chapter)

“You’re a – an actual –” Lance stammers.

Prince Keith growls, low in his throat.

“A beast.”

— — —

The Beast is bent so close that Lance feels the heat of every exhale flutter along the back of his neck, hears the silent whoosh of it rush through his ears. It makes his hairs stand on end. He circles Lance, slowly, clawed feet silent on the marble floors, yellow eyes scanning him up and down, analyzing him. Lance feels as if he is a tiny deer, separated from the rest of the herd, circled and scrutinized by a giant, hungry wolf. His heart pounds. His mouth is dry. Fear lights up every nerve in his body, forcing him on high alert.

He is in danger. Real danger, possibly, because the Prince is a beast, not simply beast-ly.

As suddenly as before, the rippling fury boils up in his belly, ramping up his heartbeat for a different reason, clearing his vision, setting his jaw.

He has come here, to this stupid fucking castle on results of a lottery ordered by decree, he has travelled days on horseback in stony silence with his brother through the predator-heavy forest, he is the only person putting himself out right now. He is the only person ripped from his home.

And Prince Loser over here has the audacity to be a dick?

“You’re an actual asshole,” Lance snaps, finishing his earlier sentence. Vaguely, behind him, he hears a muttered “Stars a-fucking-bove”, but he is too busy relishing in the blatant shock on the Prince’s face to give much of a shit. “Yeah, bet your prince-y prance-y ass hasn’t heard that one before, huh? Too busy huffing and puffing around this stupid place?” He jabs his finger in the Beast’s chest, all fear completely gone, riding the high of being the one who has the upper hand in the situation, against a prince. “And speaking of this stupid place! Clean up every fucking once in a while, will you? You have hands, do you fucking not? Pick up a broom! Fucksake! The dust here is so thick I can hardly see through it, and I’m meant to live here! It’s nasty! And maybe have one of your servants — holy shit, you’re such a douchebag, who has servants — put some fucking hay in the stables! Maybe your rich person horses can fucntion on…fucking…unicorn dick and gold flake crack, or whatever, but my horse needs fucking hay! Fuck!”

His chest heaves as he gulps in as much breath as he can, slightly lightheaded, glaring bloody murder at the Beast. “Oh, and another thing —”

“Do you have any who I am?” The Beast interrupts. His voice is barely above a whisper, deeper than before, carefully controlled. Dangerous.

Lance screws up his face. “A be-east,” he mocks, rolling his eyes. He hears rapidly cut-off, shocked laughter, poorly disguised as a coughing fit. It bolsters Lance greatly, and he smirks. “I can fucking see that, Prince Charming. I thought the nickname referred to the attitude and temper, but obviously not.”

The Beast snarls. “You are going to be the worst one yet. I cannot wait for you to go running.”

“Well, you can fucking get used to me now, shitbrain. I’m going nowhere. Pucker the fuck up, because we are getting married, and you are going to live with it, even though I cannot fucking stand you.”

The Beast scoffs, taking a step backwards. Some of the animalistic fury has faded from his posture, and his expression appears human-like in its huffy stubbornness. It’s the same expression Lance has seen every single time he went to school and someone was forced to partner with him at a desk. “Marriage. You are my last choice for that, that’s for certain.”

Lance rears back as if hit. His breathing picks back up, slightly, and his hands begin to shake.

He has no right to feel the pierce to his heart as deeply as he does. He has started the vitriol, after all. The Prince is being no crueller than he is. In fact there is objectively no cruelty to his sentence at all — of course Lance isn’t his first choice. He has had dozens of engagements before Lance. Hundreds, even. Lance isn’t even sure how many engagements he’s really had, as he’s had then as long as Lance can remember. Lance is not his first choice; not even his second or third and ninth or twentieth or two hundredth. Lance would never have even crossed his royal mind, in terms of a romantic partner.

But to be the last choice? That is explicit. That is a choice in itself. That is there are countless people on Earth, some vile some evil some irredeemable, and still they are a better choice than you. That is you are everything I despise just by virtue of who you are. That is you are my worst possible nightmare.

To be the last choice is to be so unthinkable that your inferiority is marked. To be the last choice, again and again, everywhere you go, is to be simply inferior. The worst option. The opposite of a hail mary.

Lance is always the last choice. The only time he has ever been chosen first was when he was chosen to leave.

Something in his face must give him away, because a kind of shuttered look clouds Keith expression, like he realizes he’s gone too far. Lance hates it, more than he hates the Prince himself, because he doesn’t know him, no one does, no one chooses to know the worst option, and it stings terribly and it’s worse that a stranger can burn him so badly. It’s worse that this prince, who for all intents and purposes is no one to Lance, can dig so deeply into him.

“Hey,” the Beast says, an awkward tone to his voice, “I didn’t mean —”

“Save it,” Lance chokes out, and flees. He runs randomly in the vague direction Adam and Shiro had been guiding him into before everything went to shit, ignoring their cries for him to wait, praying that no one follows. As he turns down hallways and ducks through corridors the sounds of their voices fade to nothing, and eventually he slows, chest heaving, hiccuping, face wet with tears.

Mortified that someone may see him, human or not, he opens the nearest door, barely checking to see if it’s a bedroom before collapsing on the small, rickety bed, twisting the worn quilt in his hands, and truly begins to sob. He lets out loud, wailing cries, louder than he’s ever been in his life, even when he’d run out into the woods and climb the tallest tree he could. They tear themselves out of him, the sobs, and leave him shaking in their wake, the pain of being the only one left waiting, this pain he’s carried locked up inside him since he was born, too late, too early, too nothing to be noticed. He lets the snot and tears run down his face and into the pillow and forgets for a moment to watch for a red nose and swollen eyes. He has no home to return to. There are no other people, really, in this castle to see him. His husband-to-be couldn’t care less if he flayed himself open and bled out on the marble entryway. He can let himself break, here, and not worry about keeping the pieces held closely together, because no one wanted him when he was whole, anyway.

“That’s it, honey. You let it out.”

Lance screams.

A voice screams back.

Lance screams louder. He screams until his voice cracks, actually, wrenching himself up from the mattress and scrambling backwards until his back presses to the wall, frantically sweeping the room to see who had spoken.

“Who the fuck is in here?!” he shouts, fist half-extended in front of him like it will do anything. There’s nothing in this tiny-ass room except the bed he’s sitting on an a faded yellow wardrobe.

“Yeah! Show yourself, intruder!”

“No! No intruder!” Lance turns wide eyes to face the wardrobe, which just moved. “It’s you!”

Oh, fuck this stupid weirdo castle.

“Well, of course it’s me,” says the wardrobe incredulously. “But what was all the screaming about?”

Lance stares at it. Him. Them. He’s not sure yet. He blinks rapidly, as if he can communicate the fried mush of thoughts in his brain into the sturdy wood. It, as expected, fails to work.

“I forgot,” he says slowly, “that non-living things are living, in this godforsaken place.”

The wardrobe hums. “Ah, that would do it.” It inclines the decorative carving on the top of it, which Lance can now see is a face, in his direction, smiling wryly. “Sorry for freaking you out, man. I’m Hunk. I’d shake your hand, but I don’t have arms.”

Lance smiles slightly, sniffling. “Hi, Hunk. I’m Lance.”

“It’s good to meet you, Lance.” He rocks side to side slightly. “So, uh, why are you here? Not that I’m not happy, or anything! Man, no one’s been to the servant’s quarters in ages, on account of no one needing them anymore. It’s nice to have visitors. And human ones, especially, that’s crazy —”

“I’m, uh, the fiancé,” Lance interrupts quietly. He tries for the same smile he had earlier, when he was bantering with Shiro. “Mail order bride, at your service.”

Hunk laughs loudly, shaking the floors with it, bent in an unnatural way that wood doesn’t bend but in a way that makes Lance think of a young man, smartly dressed, helping lift and fix clothes and gadgets alike in the castle. What Hunk could be if he was human, at least in Lance’s imagination.

“Aw, this is great! We’re gonna be friends, man. I can tell already. You don’t take any shit, huh?”

Lance’s eyes go wide.

That was so…casual.

“Yeah,” Lance says hastily, before Hunk can change his mind. He quickly swipes his face to get rid of the tears and look marginally less like a goober. “Sounds good, Hunk.”

Hunk nods to himself, satisfied. “Nice. Oh, hey, you must be hungry. It’s a pretty long journey up here! Want me to see if I can get you some food?”

“That’d be great,” Lance says gratefully. Wasting no time, Hunk-the-wardrobe clanks twice against the wall he’s leaning on. He waits a moment, and then there’s a three-clank response, and he smiles.

“Tea is on the way,” he promises.

Lance frowns, trying to puzzle that one out — tea? From where? How was ‘yeah there’s a guy sobbing on the bed in my room and I think we could probably get him some grub’ communicated in two wall slams? And, just for good measure, why is this castle so fucking weird? — but no sooner does he open his mouth to ask these questions does the door slam open, startling him, and quick as a horse a tea cart races in, door slamming again behind it.

“Hello, hello, darling,” says a tall, slim teapot on the cart. “I’m Colleen.”

Well.

Honestly, that’s par for the course.

“Hi,” Lance says hesitantly.

The teacup smiles gently. “I heard you had a bit of a rough start, here. Hopefully I can help smooth things over. Would you like a spot of tea?” She taps her spout on the side of the cart and a little teacup hops up. It has a face just like the teapot and every other enchanted thing here, only around its eyes is painted the largest set of spectacles Lance has ever seen, and Veronica is legally blind. “My daughter and I can get you a nice, refreshing cup, right, Katie?”

The little teacup shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”

Lance opens his mouth. He closes it again. He thinks about how he feels about drinking out of a teacup that is alive, somehow, and considers how he may phrase this, as delicately as possible.

“That’s a tad too weird for me,” he says politely. “Do we have any teacups that aren’t anthropomorphic?”

———

next chapter

[t1bb1zoey]

Okay, I have screamed, squealed, hyperventilated, and smiled like a dork over this all damn day (I am by no means exaggerating).

Let's analyze this tasty ass chapter Old Xian, the fuckin legend he is, gave us on this holy day 🙌 😍

FIRST OF ALL

Bruh, they were MAKING OUT. You can even see in the other panels, Mo's lips are red and kind of puffy, so it makes you wonder how long they were going for before we popped back in again (I'm seriously going to try not to squeal all the way through writing this). The last chapter people were confused on whether it was a kiss on the lips or not. I still hold firm that it was.

NOW, LET'S LOOK AT THAT DANG KISS:

I think something very important happened here, aside from the actual physical kiss. Mo was able to, in the best way he could, articulate that he has feelings for He Tian, and He Tian also articulated in his way that he does not want to dominate or control Mo, like maybe he had in the past.

In the last chapter, He Tian knelt a little so he was not looming over Mo. I think this is important and was the first step in what He Tian was trying to do here in this interaction. Kneeling to someone's eye level means you are putting yourself on equal levels. You are taking this person seriously and you are doing your best not to be threatening or overbearing in any way.

After the first kiss that went wrong, He Tian has been controlling himself like crazy. He's still devilish at times, but flicking Mo's butt or kissing him on the cheek is not as aggressive as other things he did in the past (groping, shoving his tongue down Mo's throat, dragging an unwilling Mo places). He's backed off, and he backed off even more after learning that Mo's anxiety stems from She Li attacking, controlling, and dominating him. He Tian also learned that Mo's financial situation is no small thing and he has gained perspective into Mo's life and needs. In other words, He Tian has matured and has worked on himself so he could be someone Mo would love.

So, of course Mo loves him back now and kisses him. We pick up with both of them processing that kiss here:

So, remember, Mo knew that he was dragging He Tian to his room because he was overwhelmed with feelings and wanted to kiss him finally, but He Tian had NO IDEA what was happening until he was standing in front of Mo, so he's processing this as much as Mo is. And the way they process is so different.

I love that Mo begins trying to explain himself, but also cannot bring himself to say that he loves He Tian directly (yes LOVE, not like). He says that his mom also doesn't dislike him, the most roundabout way he could say "I like you" (but we all know he LOVES him, right?). And he continues to talk really fast and look away from He Tian, because I think for whatever reason, he's scared to see how He Tian is reacting (because Mo is insecure) and also simply because he's embarassed of course.

And how is He Tian reacting? In that panel where Mo is just word-vomiting at him, he's studying Mo. His face is calm, like he's trying to get a read on what Mo's motivations for kissing him are. He's also reluctant to let Mo go. He even continues to hold his hand when Mo goes to take the ear piercing kit from the drawer.

I think He Tian is probably feeling a combination of "Does he think this is what he has to do to repay me?" and also a bit of "please let this be real". So he makes Mo look at him, because the ear piercing kit probably sent some worry through him. He knows Mo has been preyed upon by She Li before, so He Tian is making sure Mo knows he's not the same as She Li. Remember, this was He Tian a couple hours, terrified Mo was going to reject him for being the same as She Li, and a few minutes ago, replaying what he did and feeling like he's bought into his father's violent world:

He's still carrying that with him here, the terror that Mo saw what he did and the inner-conflict about being a part of She Li and his father's dark world. In this moment, he doesn't want Mo to think he's another violent person who Mo needs to serve or placate. He explicitly says to Mo: "You're the one who saved me."

AND WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?

It could be literal, when Mo came up behind She Li and whacked him in the head to get him off He Tian.

OR, it very likely means Mo made He Tian change for the better. He's not the same guy who forced a kiss on Mo, or who tried to control him, or who threw money at him to get Mo to do what he wanted. He's changed into someone who wants to work hard, who wants to protect goodness, who wants to be gentle and kind like Mo is. Mo did save him. He can be someone different from his father, his brother, and She Li if Mo is there to remind him how to be.

So he reminds Mo of this because he wants Mo to know that he owes He Tian nothing. He doesn't have to pierce his ear for him to show that He Tian has any sort of ownership or dominance or anything. I think He Tian missed the fact that Mo is having a rough time, even now, being direct.

For Mo, he's trying to remind He Tian of this

He's trying to say, indirectly, you can help me do this because, yes, I do like you back. But He Tian's caught up in making sure Mo's not feeling any obligation to him just because he took care of She Li. AND ISN'T THAT BOTH SO CUTE AND HILARIOUS?! 🤣

Mo's out here doing his best to let He Tian know he's ready to admit his feelings now, and He Tian's so worried for Mo that he needs to know FOR SURE this is something Mo actually wants. He has to see his face and he has to have some form of explicit confirmation before he can let himself accept what's happening. He could have just gone in for another kiss on his own, but he wouldn't do it. For He Tian, he does not want to "disgust" Mo ever again. It's full consent or nothing. So, after making it clear that Mo owes him nothing, he asks him outright, "tell me what you want".

And poor Mo's still having a hard time. He can't say the words quite yet, and that's okay. For Mo, I think actually asking for something he truly wants is quite difficult, because nothing goes well for him. Wanting anything is a dangerous game for him, so even just saying it out loud is like a jinx for him, like the universe will hear and He Tian will be taken away (and we do know he will be and I don't know how Mo's going to handle that). So he just points. It's the best he can do. He Tian's just gonna have to accept that.

And the SECOND he gets the confirmation he needed, He Tian kisses Mo again. IMAGINE WHAT THAT WOULD FEEL LIKE?! The person you've been blood-sweat-and-tears-ing for tells you they want you back??! He Tian's ear blushes in that panel where Mo points to him, because NOW it hits him that yes, this is real. The boy of his dreams actually wants him back!

And it's the gentlest kiss ever. It's so sweet and heartfelt. I'm really proud of He Tian's and Mo's character development. I would say He Tian has evolved more than Mo, just because we see that he's learned his lesson here fully and Mo is still fighting to voice his wants, but man both characters have come so far.

And He Tian says he'll give Mo anything. Anything. Mo's out here trying to give He Tian things (literal soup, a place to stay, piercing his ear), and He Tian turns around and says NO, YOU OWE ME NOTHING AND I WILL GIVE YOU ANYTHING. He Tian was going to straight up murder She Li for Mo. He was going to KILL someone.

I saw someone on here say that in the English language, we have no equivalent to what He Tian said here. He basically told Mo anything he was, is, and ever will be, anything he can get his hands on for Mo, anything he can do for Mo, for all time, forever and ever, is Mo's. He exists for Mo now.

LIKE???

I'M SORRY, WHAT???

Guys, they are married. All these rings and earrings and shit. Like, this is the vow that accompanies them.

I just ... I can't?

Wonderful and BRAVE chapter from Old Xian. I will NEVER get over it.

[vampiric-hunger]

𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕦𝕤 𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

pair: Cazador Szarr x female!reader

tags: no y/n is used, rating - e, dead dove: do not eat, smut, non-con, dub-con, PiV, creampie, fear, degradation (mild), praise kink, the beginning is definitely non-con so read at your discretion

summary: the promise of immortality, it has a pull you cannot resist. you have to try and gain it, to be given the eternal gift. without much thinking you find yourself in Szarr palace but when you are in front of the Lord himself - your resolve begins to weaken. you can try changing your mind but Cazador won't let you escape.

word count: 4,125

a/n: who's better to explore darker concepts with than Cazador lol. and well, i do find him extremely alluring so enjoy, i hope you will, because i did enjoy writing this <3 i̶ ̶a̶m̶ ̶a̶b̶s̶o̶l̶u̶t̶e̶l̶y̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶n̶o̶r̶m̶a̶l̶ ̶a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶m̶a̶n̶

“Stupid little girl, do you have any idea what you wandered into?” a voice reaches you, it carries an edge like a razor’s blade and makes you immediately uncomfortable. It’s higher in pitch than most male voices you’ve encountered, but somehow it’s the most unsettling one you have heard in your life.

No, he’s wrong, you know exactly what you wandered into.

A Vampire’s Lair.

When you turn and face the man who silently approached you without you noticing, you find yourself standing in front of him – the immortal Cazador Szarr. His towering figure seems to be looming over you even with considerable distance between you. His slicked black hair and piercing red eyes that carry a glow make a cold shiver run down your spine. He watches you with a look you have seen on predator animals before. It makes your skin crawl and your palms sweat.

Have you been stupid to come here? Is this what you really want?

“I… I…” you begin, your lower lip quivers and you can’t hold his eyes anymore, casting yours down. You’re absolutely terrified. You heard the stories.

Stories of immeasurable cruelty, stories of flayings, stories of eviscerations, stories that you heard from his own spawn when you met one of them in a tavern a month or so ago. But that seems like a small thing compared to why you came here.

You want immortality, no matter the cost.

And perhaps stupidly you have a slim hope that maybe you can persuade the Vampire Lord not to treat you horribly. If you serve him willingly, even enthusiastically by offering yourself, then maybe he won’t do those horrible things to you that he so gleefully inflicts upon others.

“Speak up, girl!” Cazador’s voice feels like a whip on bare skin and you flinch, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to gather your strength. You have to at least try to bargain, if not, this hallway will witness your death.

“Lord Cazador I…” you swallow dryly and open your eyes, looking down at the carpet beneath your feet. You wish you could melt into it and disappear completely.

And why is he treating you this way? His servants let you in, told you were to find him, of course he has been informed that you’re here, was he not? Why is Szarr asking you why you wandered in here, it wasn’t by accident, it was not! You remind yourself of your desperate goal, of your own heart beating in your chest, you want it gone, you want to be eternal. Surely people have done stupider things to achieve immortality, surely there’s people who have been in your situation. Or worse.

Cazador’s footsteps a muffled by the carpet but they sound as loud as drums in your ears. You still can’t lift your face, your whole body is trembling and you ball your fingers into fists just to have any sense of control but it feels futile the moment you see noses of vampire’s boots stop in front of you.

“Look at me.” a command, one that has to be obeyed, Cazador sounds like a man who is used to people obeying to him and you are sure this is not just your imagination. How long as he been immortal? Two centuries, three? Maybe more? This man in front of your shaking form has been controlling his coven for more than some cities last.

Yet you follow his command, but not without strain. Your neck muscles feel like they are so tense they will snap the moment you move but you do so anyway, lifting your face up, your eyes trailing up Szarr’s body slowly. You don’t want to meet his eyes, they terrify you and yet you have to. If you still have half a mind to bargain with this imposing Lord, you have no choice but to face him.

Fabric of his black pants, a dark grey shirt draping over the belt, his open dark doublet richly embroidered with red metallic thread strangely looking like rat tails, the rings on his fingers that you catch a glimpse of, one of them bearing the Szarr family crest, his shirt open down to his collar bone, his unnaturally pale skin, a smirk tugging at his lips, a sharp line of his nose and then… your whole body shudders when you meet his eyes again, still carrying that scarlet glow that makes your knees weak and your body tense. Your fists continue to tremble by your sides and you know he sees it.

“Tell me, girl, why are you here?” Cazador is towering over you, it feels like he’s casting a shadow over you made from eternal void. You try to swallow but your throat is dry.

“I…” you stammer again, godsdamn it get a grip on yourself your mind yells at you and you inhale before trying to continue. “I wanted to… ask a favor.” it sounds silly, stupid even, you chastise yourself for not thinking through beforehand on what to say.

“A favor, hm?” Szarr lifts an eyebrow in curiosity. At least he’s not killing you right away, you count that as a success.

“Yes, please, just hear me out.” now you rush to speak, you don’t want to lose what it seems your only chance to actually talk to him, maybe even get what you came here for.

“Hear you out?” a pause as the Vampire studies your face, appraising you like you’re just another painting or a luxurious chair, you barely notice that you’re digging your nails into your palms, the pain is short, you broke the skin.

The moment it happens Cazador’s eyes immediately snap to your hands and he reaches out, taking your wrist and lifting your hand to your chest level.

“What’s this?” Szarr asks and you obey even without a command, you open your fingers, your palm slightly bloody, but you don’t see that, all you can see is the hunger that flares up in the Vampire’s eyes, for a brief moment making him look feral rather than a distinguished Lord of his palace.

And then he smirks, widely, his eyes flicking back to you.

“Very well, we shall talk.” when Cazador speaks you glimpse his fangs and your heart leaps in your chest. The promise of immortality, so close you could touch it, only if you were stupid enough to risk your life, that is.

But you’re not that brave or stupid, so when Vampire Lord releases your wrist you pull your hand to your chest and watch him turn on his heel, walking away.

“Follow.” another command as if you’re a dog rather than a person but you trail after him anyway. Your steps feel shaky and unsure, but you glance down at your palm and wipe the blood onto your hip, feeling slightly more relaxed now.

While you follow Szarr to wherever he’s leading you, you take your time to glance around. Paintings decor the walls and you can’t say that the imagery in them is a pleasant one: devils and undead, scenes of what could be either murder or coitus. You realize with sudden shock that if you do tell Cazador what you want from him - you most likely will remain between these walls forever. The back of your neck begins to sweat and you look around some more, taking in the view of candles and chairs, the wallpaper and carpets.

This place might become your home.

Before your panic starts to build your attention is drawn by Cazador stopping and opening a door at the end of the hallway. He walks in first and you follow him with your resolution to ask him that favor melting with each step.

What were you thinking…

“Close the door.” a softer tone, almost casual and you do as he says. When you turn back you watch Cazador walk to his desk and stop there, as if thinking, then turn to you. “Come closer.” Another almost gently sounding phrase and you walk towards him with your heart at your throat, your mind is reeling but you can’t stop yourself.

You feel like you’re walking into a lion’s den with each tentative step.

You keep respectable distance when you stop in front of the Vampire Lord and keep your eyes at his chest. No, you can’t look him in the eyes again, not right now.

“You spoke about asking me a favor, girl. What is it that you want?” Cazador sounds smug - you don’t see his taunting smirk and you’re not aware of his mocking look cast upon your face that is drained from blood in fear.

 “Yes… I…” you pause, do you really want this? Do you? To be forever bound to this man just to be immortal? What if he does not treat you better? What if you can’t obey him well enough, make mistakes and get tortured like others? What if what you can offer to him is not enough? What if your body in exchange is not enough?

No.

Nonononono.

This was a mistake.

“I think…” you swallow hard. Damn it, what have you gotten yourself into. Maybe it’s not too late to flee yet. Maybe you can retreat and rethink what is it that you truly want.

“Speak, girl!” Cazador demands, his tone is harsh again and you flinch at that, looking up at him.

“I think I made a mistake by coming here.” you say in a voice barely above a whisper and Szarr chuckles. It starts as a low rumble in his chest and then he laughs, scoffs at you, his smirk reveals his fangs that now look more like a threat than a promise.

“Silly girl, you think you can walk into my palace and waste my time? No, you will tell me why you came here or I will force it out of you.” Cazador begins a slow walk around you, circling you not unlike a wolf preying on a wounded foal. You’re in his domain and you’re not leaving unless he permits you.

You were so stupid to come here.

Damn it.

“Please, I just want to leave.” you hear your voice and you sound like you’re begging. Maybe you are. You are definitely scared, terrified even. You’re facing a monster and you stupidly thought that you could placate it.

“Leave?” Szarr chuckles behind you and you squeeze your eyes shut. “Maybe you will leave. Only if you answer why you’re here.” a threat, an unveiled one. The trap closed around you the moment you entered the palace, you realize that now.

You know you should make up a lie, not tell the real reason you came here, come up with something silly, less damning, but you can’t think of anything. Nothing at all comes to your mind besides the bitter truth and you stand frozen in spot for a moment longer, feeling Cazador’s presence pass in front of you slowly.

And then a touch of cold fingers under your chin, turning your face to the side, lifting it to almost uncomfortable angle and you open your eyes just to immediately be ensnared by his sanguine gaze. A silent gasp escapes your lips.

“I thought I wanted immortality.” you hear yourself speak and you’re not sure if he somehow compelled you to tell the truth or if it’s just his presence, casting a dark shadow onto your mind that made you admit the truth.

You notice immediate change in Cazador’s face. At first he looked arrogant - now his smile falters, his eyes search yours.

“You want to be a vampire, girl?”

“I… I don’t know.” you admit again and your bottom lip trembles. You’re terrified to bear witness to the Vampire Lord’s rage. The stories… the horror stories that you heard, they return to your mind in flashes of imaginary visions.

“You don’t know…” Cazador’s voice trails off then he grins, widely. “I suppose I’ll make this decision for you.” you freeze in shock at his words, your eyes widen and he enjoys the sight of your fear. “After all, you came here on your own volition. It would be rude of me to… not accept a gift freely given.”

Fuck.

Your mind reels and then something snaps in you. Panic overtakes you, more animalistic than human and you run.

At least you try to run.

You hear a short laugh, then the back of your jacket is grasped and you get pulled back as if you’re weightless.

You scream in panic, in fear, in sheer terror gripping you and dig your heels into the carpet but to no avail. Next thing you know you’re being lifted off the floor just to be slammed into the ground chest first and pinned there with a fist between your shoulder blades. The drop was so heavy it takes your breath out of your lungs and you gasp like a fish tossed on a shoreline for a moment. Cazador uses this moment to kneel over your form and lean to your ear with a menacing chuckle escaping his lips.

“You’re in luck, little girl. I was getting bored tonight. You will serve as entertainment just fine. And when I’m done with you, you darling thing, you will never be the same again.”

His words, so cold and mocking, your heart nearly stops. Still in sheer panic you try to push yourself up, for your effort only to be met with a taunting laugh.

But when the fist leaves your back you pause, then swiftly get to your knees, forgetting that Cazador is still kneeling over you. The top of your skull meets his nose and you hear a shout. You turn to look over your shoulder, your eyes still wide, and now you see that you harmed the Vampire Lord. He probably expected you to crawl, not to try to get up, this led to you crashing into his face, his nose getting the worst from the impact.

Time slows as you watch Szarr slowly pull a palm from his nose. It’s bloodied just like the bottom half of his face but in his eyes you see only pure fury.

You harmed him. However unintentionally.

And you will pay for it.

There’s not a single word coming out of Cazador’s mouth, only a bloodied sneer that transforms him from scary to absolutely terrifying. The rage on his face speaks of murder. And then the side of your face gets slammed back into the carpet.

You cry out from pain, it feels like your bones are grinding, but the grip on the back of your neck is iron-like.

“No, please…” you whine with fear gripping your chest and tears gather in your eyes.

“Shut up.” the order is curt and clear, it makes your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth.

You clench your teeth and when you feel Szarr grab the waistline of your pants you close your eyes, letting the tears drop onto the carpet. He lifts your hips in the air, making you use your knees and you wince when with one determined pull your pants get slid down your hips and then almost to your knees. Exposed, scared and helpless, you can’t do anything, you know what’s coming.

“You pretty little whore.” Cazador mutters now, he thumbs your folds before he pushes it into your cunt, making you whimper. “You’ll be perfect to use and discard.”

A sob claws at your chest but you don’t let it out, just squeeze your eyelids tighter. His thumb is working your core and you stifle a desperate moan. You can feel your body reacting, responding to the invasion, protecting itself from harm if possible. And then the thumb gets removed. A second passes and you hear a low chuckle.

“You’re a tasty toy, girl. Maybe I’ll keep you for longer than just tonight. Just to see how long it will take for you to break.”

You don’t respond, you just keep your eyes closed, but his words make dread pool in your insides. Another sob wracks at your chest, it doesn’t escape, it’s hard for you to breathe as is, your breasts pressed firmly to the floor. Yet your mind is already painting you horrific pictures of what’s to come if Szarr indeed decides to keep you. Your panic rises again and you sweat, trying to think of a way to escape, to free yourself from this monster.

A shout is forced out of you as Cazador’s cold cock plunges into you without a warning. Your eyes snap open at the contrast of temperature and the sudden feeling of fullness makes your head swim.

“Oh Gods…” you whine and get a mocking laugh in return.

“No Gods to help you here, worm.” his tone is degrading, taunting and you blush.

Wait, no. Gods no.

You close your eyes again and try to relax, trying not to think how him degrading you like this actually stirs something in you more than just fear. Stop – you tell yourself in a mantra that you forget immediately the moment the Vampire Lord begins thrusting.

His skin slaps against your ass in powerful, precise rhythm and you can’t help it, you moan silently. Oh no, no, why does this feel so good. Your face blushes even harder. No, you shouldn’t enjoy this, you can’t. Did he work his powers on you? No, you have to be honest with yourself, you know he didn’t. But his dick claiming your cunt as if its rightful place is making you actually aroused.

A different kind of fear begins to claw at your mind – you want him to treat you this way.

No. You can’t let him do this.

Your eyes snap open and with newly found determination you grit your teeth and push your palms against the floor, trying to battle his supernatural strength still squeezing your neck down.

“Tsk, little girl. You will learn to obey.” Cazador snaps at you and grabs your wrist, twisting it behind your back.

You grunt with frustration and still try to fight back but he releases your neck and grabs your other wrist, now bringing it over the first one and his long, strong fingers pin them both to your lower back. You try to lift your head but his once more free hand returns to your neck and makes sure your head stays down as well.

“Behave, you slut, or else you won’t see the sunrise.” a threat, a very real one, but with a promise in it – you might live.

You only notice Cazador’s thrusts stopped when he resumes them. Couple slow ones at first, he’s gripping your wrists and neck and it takes him a moment to position his knees for better balance, but then his pumps become powerful once again. No one ‘normal’ fucks like that. He has to hold you in place so that you don’t move, his grip painful and cold. His cock stretching you near to your limit and you moan again. So why, why you find yourself enjoying this?

Your body trembles as it welcomes Cazador, you become wetter and wetter as you submit to him, letting yourself relish the feeling, the power that’s forced onto you. Yes, you are enjoying this. Because, you have to admit to yourself - you have hoped for this. When you came here to bargain for immortality, this is exactly what you hoped for: to be his in pleasure and not in pain. You listen to the Vampire Lord grunt with satisfaction as he keeps fucking you, his grip still firm on your sweaty skin.

“Hm, you learned your place quickly.” he comments with another taunt and you open your eyes, feeling dazed from pleasure overtaking your mind. You try to focus and realize that the sound you’re hearing is your completely soaked pussy being pumped into with fervor. How vulgar.

How beautiful.

Your eyes meet his and you don’t fear the bloody embers that bore into you. How you could’ve been afraid of him? That fear that made you run in panic feels so alien to you in this moment. In this moment when you’re being taken. Blood on his lips and chin somehow makes him even more alluring.

“I want… immortality.” you manage through moans and Cazador smirks, his own gaze now reflecting physical gratification he’s achieving with your body.

“I shall consider it.”

You smile at that. Yes, of course you do. That’s what you wanted all along and Cazador is not indifferent to your obedience. His hand leaves your neck, giving you more room to breathe and express those delicious to his ears moans. Instead he grabs your hip, his fingers digging into your soft flesh and you watch his eyes sweep down your back, watching himself fuck you. This is the best you ever felt, the power of his body, your powerlessness in his grasp. You never knew you’d like such a thing but here you are, your eyes rolling nearly to the back of your head from what’s being done to you.

“Oh Gods… I’m close…” you whine, your body shuddering with pleasure.

“Of course you are.” Cazador taunts but you hear from his voice that he might not be able to keep going longer either. His thrusts are becoming erratic, uncontrolled and desperate. “You take me so well, little girl. So deliciously tight.”

That’s it, you can’t hold on anymore. His words push you over the edge and the knot in your stomach unravels with such power there’s nothing left but you and your orgasm. You cry out, you’re not sure how loud, and your body shakes with waves of overwhelming satisfaction. Only thing you hear is a loud groan from Cazador because your contracting cunt sends him over his own edge. He keeps slamming his cock into you, milking himself with your clenched core until he can’t go on anymore, until you’re full of his cum, as much as he could give you.

Cazador stops, panting and slightly trembling not unlike yourself, and you glance at him, trying to catch your own breath. You see his disheveled hair and he licks his lips, tasting his own blood that has dried already. Yet his eyes are cruel and unforgiving. There’s no softness and no affection in them. He used you. And you enjoyed it. You both know it.

After a moment longer he finally releases your wrists and swiftly pulls out of you, as if you having his cock in you for a second longer than is necessary is below him. He wipes his dick on your ass and stands up, tucking himself back into his pants, his look is anything if not arrogant. When you are not fast enough to get up he presses the sole of his shoe against your ass and pushes forward, making you splay yourself on the floor with embarrassment.

“Get up.” he commands coldly.

Since your wrists are finally free, you gather yourself up from the floor, stumbling a little bit because of your pants around your knees and your head feeling dizzy. You fix your clothing as Cazador watches in silence, his arms crossed on his chest. Judgmental.

“I will consider granting you immortality, little girl. But until I make a decision you are mine. I will use you and you will allow yourself to be used. You shall remain here, within the walls of the palace and serve me in every need. Is that understood?” Szarr’s voice is again cold and sharp, a command that demands to be obeyed. You simply nod, but this time you look into his eyes with no fear. This is what you wanted after all, was it not?

“I will obey you in all things.” you summarize and notice a flash of surprise in his expression but it’s so brief you’re not sure you really saw it. Still, Cazador’s face transforms in a malicious smirk.

“Yes, you will.” he takes a pause to look over your form. “Go, find a servant, let them show you to my chambers. Wait there.” He turns away from you and walks to his desk, picking up a napkin from it and beginning to rub at the dried blood on his chin.

You don’t linger. Without even as much as a nod you turn around and open the door. It feels like you’re about to exit in a world that changed so drastically after you entered earlier. In a way it’s true – your world has changed.

And Cazador was right about one thing – you can’t return from this, from a brand new world of pleasure he just showed you. He tainted you. And you want more of it.

Indeed, you will never be the same again.

[lilyginnyblackv2]

A Deeper Look At Kazuki’s Delinquent Teen Version of Miri

In Episode 5, we see Miri packing for her brief visit and stay with Kyutaro at the Mistletoe Cafe:

She has a drawing pad, crayons, an eraser, water bottle, a white stuffed rabbit, and some food: the stuff like the orange gummies and popcorn (ポップ) seem rather generic, while the Poki Poki is obviously meant to be Pocky, the pink container is meant to be Calbee’s じゃがりこ (jagariko), which are basically like a potato stick snack. The chocolate seems a bit generic too, though the shape of the box and the circular shape of the chocolate reminds me of Lotte’s Ghana chocolate:

In Kazuki’s wild imagination of a shoplifting teen Miri, we see that he has her stealing Poki Poki and the Choconut chocolate, two things that she is packing in her bag in Episode 5. There’s also a stack of Morio Kart 6 games (like 3 or 4, maybe for her and her friends, lol). 

The stationary stuff was replaced with makeup and other kinds of cosmetics, which fits in with what we see of her appearance. 

Looking at her face in the image below, Kazuki has her looking like Misaki, Miri’s mother. This makes sense, of course, she is her mom. He imagines her with the same color eye shadow though, which is interesting. Anyone who has watched anime, especially school based ones, for a while, likely know that wearing makeup goes against the usual school dress codes. 

The same goes for her earrings, especially if they are pierced. Most school dress codes in Japan don’t allow for earrings, so if someone does get ear piercings, it’s in adulthood, after they graduate. Even then though, clip on earrings are more common. A teen girl with pierced earrings though gives the image of delinquency. 

Miri is also show with the top buttons of her dress shirt unbuttoned and her tie loosened. All of which is against dress code as well. Her skirt was also altered to be a bit shorter than it is supposed to be (you can see that more in the last image below). Before we talk about that last image though, let’s talk about the aspects of Miri’s appearance that could go against some Japanese school dress codes, but which she has no actual control over.

Specifically the color of her hair and it being wavy. I’ll link to some articles that go into more details on these issues, but her is an excerpt from on Vice article. It mentions:

Text: The unnamed female student said her institution repeatedly demanded she dye her naturally brown hair black. She followed the school’s rules at first but eventually stopped, leading school officials to remove her desk from the classroom, erase her name from rosters, and check her hair roots. A court ordered the local government to pay her $3,100 in damages last February, but ruled the school has a right to impose hair regulations.

In another article entitled, #HairWeGo: Japanese take aim at school rule requiring black hair, from AsiaOne (which I will link to below), we have this segment:

Text: In most of Japan's public schools, pupils are only permitted to have straight black hair. They cannot bleach, dye or perm it. Conversely, any student whose hair is naturally light or curly can be made to straighten or dye it until it is the required shade of black.

The reason for these rules on hair color and needing all students to have straight black hair is because it is often associated with the ideal Japanese image. 

There have been lots of debate and discussion about these sorts of rules over on Japan Twitter, Japanese news, and etc. in recent years, with many calling these rules out. So, recently, many of these rules have been removed or, at least, are currently being reevaluated. 

But these changes are still new, ideas of differently colored hair like brown (or blond, like Kazuki) and hair that isn’t straight (curly, wavy, etc.) are viewed as outside of the norm. And therefore are often associated with acts of rebellion (dyeing hair, perming hair, etc.) rather than the possibility of them just being the natural state and color. 

I’ve worked at a number of Japanese elementary and junior high schools though, and I know that this sort of mentality is changing, especially as more and more biracial children are being born in Japan. But, there is still preconceived ideas there. I remember one teacher I worked with, had to dye their brown hair black for a formal event (outside of work) once. It was sad to see.

But, that’s also why I like the fact that a lot of the Buddy Daddies characters have brown hair (Miri, Kyutaro, Miss Anna) and many of the children Miri plays with have different hair color shades as well (different shades of brown, Taiga with blond-ish colored hair like Kazuki, etc.). I know it’s an anime, but the general character designs in Buddy Daddies leans more towards grounded than something you might find in a Shonen Jump series, etc. So, I think these choices also say something.

Finally, lets talk about this last image. In the background you have posters for the basically “Just Say No to Drugs!!” campaign in Japan (they don’t always use the Globe Mascot for all posters, it makes sense they would use one with a cop at a police station or police box location). There is also a poster warning about phone call scams.

But, I want to focus on Miri sitting with her legs crossed. The other day on Twitter, I saw a video of a woman crossing her legs on a train. An old man that was sitting next to her, and who was manspreading, got upset when she did this and whacked her legs with a newspaper. (I’ll link to think video below).

It’s seen as rude and, especially in the case of women, disrespectful. Of course, that doesn’t mean that people don’t cross their legs (that woman did) and that doesn’t mean that older man’s actions were okay. But, this is also why teen Miri is shown sitting with her legs crossed in Kazuki’s wild imagination, because it is associated with disrespect and the like (the speech patterns that she uses in Japanese are rude too, of course). 

I won’t include the image here, but teen Miri and teen Taiga being all over each other (like hugging each other and making a heart shape together, etc.) is viewed as too much PDA, which is also looked down upon in Japan. So, of course, Kazuki would end up including that in his “delinquent” version of Miri, lol.

[in-your-reflection]

Somewhere, beyond space and beyond time…

[TW: Domestic abuse, suicide]

A town of polished white stone sits stop an endless sea, buildings stacked upon buildings like a great pyramid, as if reaching up to touch the sky. Orange light covers the whole of it, glistening off the water and bathing the town in an eternal twilight.

Beneath a pure white gazebo, two youths sit across from each other, one bearing four arms and a flower in his hair, the other with horns and a patch over one eye. The table between them is covered in a lavish display of pastries - macarons, miniature tarts, financiers, mille-feuille - with an ornate tea set alongside them, with plenty of everything for the two to share.

To one side lies a chessboard, in the middle of a match, though some of its pieces are conspicuously missing. The white-clad boy adjusts its bishop, planting it near the center of the board.

"Checkmate." "Fuck you mean checkmate." "Look. It's threatening your king in both timeline A turn 7 and timeline C turn 9. You can't save them both."

The blond lifts his tea to his lips with his upper-right hand, lower-right taking another slice of tart while his upper-left lifts the knight.

"Yeah I can. It's turn 4."

The piece hits the board with a clack.

"…So you can. Impressive work, morning star." "What's this all about, anyway? This whole setup, the tea party. Clearly you're trying to win me over. Spill it." "But I just made this tea…" "The truth, not the tea." "Ah. Well, in truth…"

The teary-eyed boy bows his head, pony-tailed hair hanging over one shoulder.

"…I felt my apology was insufficient. I had hoped to find time for us to just…talk. Thus I asked you to make time for us. …I would have done so myself, had I the strength." "Your apology." Two arms fold over his chest with a skeptical twitch of an ear and a crisp bite into a macaron.

The boy in white pinches his single eye shut.

"…For everything. I have been…a horrible husband. For as much grief as I have caused you regarding your memory, I…was unable to control myself under the weight of my own."

The boy in black returns his teacup to the table with a click.

"Thousands of thousands of years, and you never once actually told me about your past. About what All was like before the universe we made."

He lets out a deep sigh.

"Why won't you just talk to me? What's with all this memory-erasing husband-beating doormat-act bullshit? Maybe if you would actually talk about what's been bothering you, we could work through it."

The gaze of that red eye would burn through steel, piercing directly into the fallen god's soul.

"You know what it looks like on my end? It looks like malice. You haven't bothered to give me any sort of justification for why you've been doing what you did, so the only logical conclusion is that despite how much you suck up to me, you actually want me to suffer." "I--" "Is that how you feel? Is that any way to treat the person who brought you back from the dead just so we could be together again? I could put you back. Your corpse is still there, you know. I can easily pay it another visit."

The sinner chokes back a breath.

"…But I won't. Cause despite everything, I do have some love for you still. And I know we could work something out. If you would just open your fucking mouth for once in your life."

Pale as a ghost, the ivory prince stares into his half-emptied teacup. The liquid quivers between his shaking hands.

"…Please. Put me back. I cannot continue--" "CUT THAT SHIT OUT ALREADY!"

Four hands slam against the table's edge, scattering treats across the sky, before they abruptly reverse in trajectory and gently resettle themselves back into formation on their platters.

"You can't just keep saying that you want to die every time you run into something uncomfortable! Sometimes you just have to open your fucking eye and face the reality in front of you. That's life, Ayin! That's what being alive is about!" "Prrh…mm…tlif…", a shaky voice mumbles in response. "WHAT? Speak up, dammit." "Perhaps I am not meant to live."

The eternal twilight comes to a gradual end, the moon rising to bathe the plaza in shadow. As if on cue, the one of shadow stands up, gazing down in silhouette as his glowing red gaze brands itself into his partner's mind.

The quiet lasts for what feels like an eternity. It may well have been, in the absence of time.

"If what you want is to suffer, then suffer." "What?"

A two-fingered gesture towards the fruit-covered tart in the center of the table, cuing the platter to rise up.

The knife takes flight. Gently, deliberately, moving to rest on the plate of the boy in white, blade towards his chest.

"…Lucifer, what does this mean?" "You know what to do. Do it. Right now. Like the coward you are."

He takes the knife in his hands. Holding it primed, ready to thrust.

Minutes pass. Hours. Days, perhaps. Who could possibly tell?

The newly-established night turns pitch black, not a thing in sight but that crimson gaze.

And in the black, metal clatters to the floor.

A boy's voice timidly speaks, sobbing into the cold midnight air.

"Okay…okay. I'll talk. I'll tell you everything. No half-truths, no tricks. I… I…!"

The night is cold, and lonely. One cannot face the darkness by oneself.

[ivanzplaid]

love love love your fics!! would you do a grabber x male reader where Max maybe attacks the reader or something and Al defends them??

thank you so much!! youre so sweet <3 of course i can, this is such a cute lil prompt & i love writing x male readers, its my fav🫶🫶

also, oh my god, thank you for 160 followers!! this means the world to me i literally cannot thank you guys enough

as always, requests are open! receiving them motivates me, so ask away! i have a ton of fandoms who ill write for in my bio :)

The Grabber x Male Reader!

Warnings: Kidnapped reader, Manipulative Grabber, Knife threat, Arguing

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Standing in the kitchen, working on the dishes that sat in front of you, your presence accompanied by the man who'd taken you all that time ago, his hands around your waist, chest firmly against your back. Thinking back on it now, you were grateful to be up here with him, being allowed upstairs. Over the months he'd grown more lenient with his policies, gradually easing you into his life more and more. So he decided to start off with nights, having you around more often when he cooked or cleaned the dishes, having a hand on you at all times, secured, but it was a large step for the both of you. Tonight was no different, you helped clean dishes, and he watched over you, rubbing his hands over you, his heart content having you up with him, it felt sweet.

He left your side for a brief moment, making sure all locks on the house were secure before walking back to you, cupping your jaw to face him. You both locked eyes, the bottom of his mask laid on his face. He practically devoured you with his eyes, even his gaze was strong, controlling, loving to you.

"I'm going to go change, I'll be back soon love."

With that, he turned on his feet and headed off to what was presumably his room. You stood alone now, the furthest you've ever been without him by your side. You knew you were still secured in, you couldn't leave quietly if you tried, he knew this as well. Even as he went to his room, his ears were on a lookout, the silence of the house making it obvious that with every step you take will be noted. Your previous thoughts of leaving were shot down as quickly as they sprouted, so you stayed, like a good little house husband, and worked, awaiting your captor to come back & caress your figure once again.

When you hear footsteps, you assumed they were his, so you didn't take any surprise to hearing them, but when you hear footsteps running up to you, your body awaiting to be tackled.

"Excuse me? Who the fuck are you?"

The voice that pierced your ears was not familiar, it was violent yet confused, its anger thinly veiling the fear it felt. Taking a chance, you turned around, eyes landing on what you predicted, an unfamiliar face.

"Sir? What the fuck are you doing in my brothers home? Did you use a door to get in?"

Your silence seemed to make him boil over even more, provoking him. His height was about even to yours, he might've had a few inches over you. He hastily moved to your right, hands grasping the knife-set that sat. You watched his ever move as he pulled it out, holding the knife, loosely, in your direction. Backing up was easy, trying to explain yourself, get any words out of your mouth, seemed to be the new impossible task to save your life. The intimidating man walked towards you, swinging at you erratically, defending himself out of fear, even though you posed no threat.

"Max! What are you doing?"

His voice came back, quickly running to your side, standing infront of you, gripping Max's hand to prevent him from possibly hurting what was his. At one point, your captor had to physically restrain the man trying to hurt you, putting both his wrists in one hand just o make him drop the knife. Bickering came over the two, Max did his best to get by your abductor, to inflict whatever pain he could onto you, but the man ahead of you easily overpowered him, and to your surprise, gave an explanation.

"Max! He isn't an intruder for fucks sake, this.. is,"

–He paused before speaking, taking a breath in,–

"my boyfriend, he is my boyfriend."

Al, as Max had called him, snaked his arm around your waist, holding you comfortably into his side, protectively. His hand held you securely, giving you an unspoken promise to guard you.

Peering up from behind Al, you caught Max's eyes. What was filled with hatred was now full of remorse, and he soon showed it with words, Al kept you on a tight leash, figuratively, not letting you get too far from him while this encounter continued, worried for your well-being.

"Oh, oh! Hey, listen man, I didn't mean to, y'know, almost kill you, it's just so late, and I didn't know.."

His voice was now mellow, giving him a very relaxed demeanor. He walked towards you, putting his hand out, trying to initiate a shake. Awkwardly, but still being courteous, you took it, gently shaking his soft hand. Seeing his true side, after sitting down for some water with him, Max was a relaxed, kind, intricate addict, who tried to protect the ones he loved. As the night progressed, the more you two talked, with Al, as you now knew him, sitting by you two, figured out that Max was interested in the current abductions going on, by a man known as 'The Grabber'. Internally, you giggled. The irony of it all in this household.

Later on in the night, Al decided to embrace the title he'd given you, pulling you onto him, having his arm around your shoulders, this to him was heaven. He felt fully comfortable in his house for once, enjoying the quality time that was being made. As the night grew older, Max had decided he needed his sleep, saying his goodnights, he retreated back to his bedroom.

It was only you and Al in the kitchen, your soft breathing signaled to him that his 'sweet boy' as he called you, even though you were in your mid twenties, was growing tired. Taking your tired body in his hands, he brought you back downstairs, his trust expanding the more time you spent together.

"My dove, I will be back in the morning, I'll bring you a surprise for being such a good boy tonight."

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i loved this requests and im hoping i did it justice, i can always edit or redo some parts if you'd like, but this was just sm fun to make <33

[spinrekiyo]

My main Korekiyo Shinguji hcs:

Korekiyo Shinguji • they/them (though doesn’t mind any) • pansexual • acespec • autistic • they have a service dog named meadow

Kiyo’s service dog is a white labradoodle. Her name is Meadow. She is 3.5 years old. Her tasks are circling Korekiyo in a crowd, dpt when overstimulated, keeping people distanced from them, staying near them giving a sense of security, picking up items if needed, making Kiyo take meds consistently, and calming them when in panic attacks or meltdowns. She is a very good dog.

Kiyo adopted Meadow from a shelter at around 8 months old. Her past owner was not kind to her and abandoned her. Korekiyo was looking for a service dog and a new best friend, immediately connected with Meadow.

Kiyo named her Meadow because it is a peaceful kind name for a peaceful kind girl.

Kiyo works online with a service dog training course though does training themselves.

Meadow is well trained and wasn’t too strugglesome to teach tasks due to her timid and calm nature

The only problem is she was a bit scared at first though Kiyo has a tame job that isn’t super loud.

Kiyo is ambiamorous. I cannot choose a main ship for them because I believe all of them could have potential. (I believe I may have been the starter of the shinsaiibo movement soooo….)

Korekiyo has two long scars that run along their nose + a slight crook in their nose

They have pretty crooked teeth and a few noticeable gaps + pronounced canines

Straight up missing a tooth

They have sh/harmful stimming scars all over their arms

Very sharp looking smile. Their smile turns upwards and is very pointy and like a snake grin

They have ed tendencies though have a softer complexion nowadays

Their hair is pretty thick in texture though silky and soft

They have a few scars from uh.. her that are on their chest and back and such. They als have a few freckles

They eventually get cool tattoos

They have their bridge pierced and their eyebrow and ears pierced

They enjoy collecting bones, photography, writing stories, DND with the homies, and sleeping

They have POTS

In my head, the timeline for their life is as follows

- mother dies when Kiyo is 8 years old, likely of illness or addiction

- mother was absent, Miyadera was the main caregiver. She’s 6 years older than Kiyo.

- Kiyo had social difficulties growing up though was viewed as a gifted kid

- Miyadera was in and out of the hospital since she was eight with respiratory problems that are genetic on her mothers side.

- Miya always struggled with jealousy issues and problems with being too controlling.

- Miyadera passed away when Korekiyo was 16 and she was 22. She had been extremely sick 16-18, then her health seemed to get a lot better from 19-21, but then got bad again leading up to her death. She never became well enough to pursue full time schooling or work.

-The grieving process for Korekiyo was horrific to say the least. With their older sister being the only person in their life besides their father, they struggled horrifically with suicidal ideation, attempts, and not leaving their home or bedroom.

-they missed the entirety of 10th grade due to her death.

- at 17, korekiyo signed up for danganronpa after watching a few episodes. It wasn’t terrible and maybe they could not want to die

- yeah no, it didn’t help. They consented to being put into virtual reality that felt completely real though it was still legally challenged afterwards for obviously unsafe practices and the fact that mostly minors without the ability to fully grasp what they were signing up for were the ones consenting to that.

- following the events of the game, those who watched it obviously had complaints and concerns with many of the people on the show. Korekiyos ‘sister’ plot was literally just ptsd being played for gags + Kiyo’s mind having the serial killer motive for game purposes. Kiyo never killed anyone they just thought they did.

- local authorities were noted on the situation with Kiyo and many others. They were sent to a psychiatric facility to help them recover to a point where they could be trusted to live a daily life without hurting themselves or others.

-during their treatment Kiyo cut their hair really short while in an episode

- some took longer than others..

- by the time Korekiyo is out of the facility they are 18 and are given financial compensation by team DR for the added psychological damage + exploitation

-they finished 11th and 12th grade

- they then finish and graduate highschool using an online program and getting any other credits they need through their university (they cannot do a public big graduation ceremony at this time)

-cue dysphoric breakdown + gender sexuality realization

- they begin university, specializing in anthropology. They are taking art history and such, where they rediscover Angie. At first that is a horrific ordeal though it quickly becomes pleasant as she has changed a lot and so have they.

- they have an impressive breakdown at school because they’re overstimulated and triggered and anxious which makes them take a week off

- after that week, their therapist suggests that they seek out a service dog as she thinks it will help with their autism and ptsd

- cue meadow adoption

-Kiyo feels a lot better after that because meadow helped level out their nightmares and soothe them a lot more

- Kiyo gets a job as an educator at the local museum near their university

- meadow and Kiyo get name tags it’s great

[bnuuywol]

Heyo! This isn’t solely a FFXIV blog but seeing as its my current hyperfixation I figure I should have a little intro about my WoL.  And a lil warning, there is NSFW content (about Wolcred in particular) and content from the most recent patches on this blog. Both will be tagged accordingly (namely #shadowbringers spoilers, #endwalker spoilers, and #nsfw warning), as well as all content warnings in fics.

All fics will be found in this tag :)

Enjoy my sweet bunny boy!

&. BASICS

Full Name: Phoenyx Eldritch

Nicknames: Nyx (only by Thancred)

Age: 27 (24 at the start of A Realm Reborn)

Sexuality: Homosexual, solely attracted to MSQ punchingbags

Date of Birth: 24th Sun of the 4th Astral Moon

Place of Birth: Akusos (Veena village at the base of the Skatay Range), Othard

Gender & Species: Male (FTM Trans) Viera

Current Location: Ul’dah

&. MORE BASIC INFO

Languages: Vieran, Common

Religion: Undefined, vaguely resonates with Eorzea’s Rhalgr

Education: No formal education

Occupation: Black Mage, Dark Knight, Scion of the Seventh Dawn

Drinks, Smokes, & Drugs: Drinks occasionally, doesn't smoke or do drugs (please lord keep this man away from drugs, he has way too much trauma)

&. PERSONALITY

Likes: Stars, rain, folklore, danger, music, sunsets, exploring new places, discovering new things

Dislikes: Snow, bees, moogles, liars, attention, large crowds

Bad Habits: Doesn't sleep enough, forgets to eat, curses like a sailor, cannot sit still

Secret Talent: He actually has perfect pitch but doesn't have any musical jobs or hobbies (will probably be a shit to Bards given the chance)

Hobbies: Sketching with charcoal, whittling, knife throwing

Fears: Not being able to protect his loved ones, losing control over himself, making a mistake that ends the world

Five Positive Traits: Kind, selfless, loyal, resilient, adventurous

Five Negative Traits: Stubborn, harsh, ruthless, sarcastic, impulsive

Other Mentionable Details: My man for sure has Fantasy ADHD, probably has an adrenaline addiction, has a very strong Vieran (Icelandic) accent

&. APPEARANCE

Tattoos: N/A

Piercings: Ears

Scars: His entire upper body (chest, arms, back) is scattered with scars of varying depth and size from the plethora of battles he’s been through

&. FAMILY INFORMATION

Parent Names: Kir (father) and Rael (mother)

Parent Relationship: Orphaned at age three

Sibling Names: Alphinaud and Alisaie

Sibling Relationship: They’re not actually related but from the moment these two met him they became attached to him at the hip. He’s the loving, protective big brother they never had.

Children: Ryne (kinda got reverse adopted by her when she realized him and Thancred were a thing)

Pets: Zephyr and Ember (his chocobos)

[levinbolts]

valen 🫵🏻 14 15 28 29 30

14: What hobbies does your Tav have?

valen whittles, meditates (necessary, really for controlling their magic), and enjoys knife throwing! every now and then they'll also do yoga.

15: What NPC's do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

they love love LOVE all of the tiefling kids, but arabella and mol are their top favorites. i would love to talk about how much they like gortash but if they don’t kill me in my sleep astarion definitely would. they're torn between finding rolan annoying and finding him hilariously pitiful, and somehow that translates into them liking him. dammon !! they really like dammon.

they have no regrets about fucking haarlep.

for obvious reasons, they do not like orin (they hate her with a burning fury, actually). cazador is probably tied with orin. they aren't super fond of mizora, but they don't hate her; they just think she's annoying in the way a mosquito that won't stop buzzing around your ear is annoying. aradin they want to kill with their bare hands and will when they get the chance. they also want to punt wulbren into the sun. as much as i like kar'niss and want them to like him...they do not.

they were very happy to kill kagha and auntie ethel.

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

yes. 100% yes. valen will not relinquish the title of leader to ANYONE else and even when they sit back and let the other companions speak for themselves, the second they feel like the conversation is taking a turn for the worst (meaning, it's starting to look like it's going to cause a problem they don't want to deal with or it's getting on their nerves), they take back over.

29: Does your Tav want to utilize the tadpole powers or not?

they're indifferent to it? they haven't used it because they haven't felt the need to and feel like they're strong enough on their own without it. but if they ever feel like they'll need an extra push? they'll most definitely use it.

30: What's your favorite thing about your Tav?

ok call me shallow but probably their appearance. design is primarily what will connect me to a character and i am very attached to the way valen looks. their tattoos, their eyes, their scars and piercings...their grabbable little waist, their undercut that i can never picture them without again. like yes, i find my own character very attractive, but also all of these things are distinctly valen qualities to me and they all tell a story or hold little facets of valen's personality and history that i cannot and will not ever take away from them. every part of valen's appearance has a purpose, and taking any of them away would take away an important piece of them and that thought makes me very, very upset.

[autumnslance]

Prompt #22: Veracity

((Revised on Ao3. Had this done last night but birthday shenanigans with the FC & a call from Mom delayed me. Idea inspired by a Babylon 5 ep...))

“We simply cannot verify these records,” Pentalamus argued. “And we especially know Count Edmont’s record to be biased.”

“Biased, perhaps,” Deadeali said. “Yet still invaluable as a primary source of the history.”

“I cannot deny that, I merely point out that the Count was writing from a very favorable viewpoint.”

“All history is biased,” Gray Swallow stated. “But you seem determined, my dear colleague”—no one missed the sarcasm in the large man’s tone, their academic rivalry well-known—“To deny that the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and the Warrior of Light especially were the heroes every record says. Particularly considering we have here today a living witness.”

The eyes in the chamber turned to the small, elderly Viera woman sitting quietly among them, her clear turquoise eyes flickering between each speaker, gray-tufted ears twitching at each sentence. She cleared her throat.

“I have already stricken the lies and exaggerations, or pointed out where the truth was stretched or hidden, often for specific reasons. I was not present for the end of the Dragonsong War, or many other adventures, but I knew all of those involved, and stood beside those heroes many times in battle.” Her eyes swept the room again, pinning on Pentalamus. “And they were heroes—certainly better people than I could be, especially in mine own youth.”

“Removed the lies, you say. And likely uncomfortable truths as well, no doubt, to prevent your fellows’ memories from tarnishing,” another scholar in the assembly said; Iyna forgot his name, but knew him to be a crony of this Pentalamus.

Iyna glowered. “I see no reason to hide the flaws and mistakes made by the Scions in those times. They were, after all, mortals. They had their limits, their doubts. But they always strove for better. You seem to have a difficult time believing that, young man.”

Pentalamus snorted; he was well over fifty, though to the Viera woman he yet seemed a swaddling babe. “I don’t believe in mere altruism. Man always wants something to motivate him.”

Iyna laughed. “Ah, I used to believe as you!” She said. “But I grew up a ward of Garlemald, at a time when it was a despotic empire under control of an ancient madman, not the fair republic it is now, centuries later. Still with its faults, of course—and yet its current course can be traced back to the Ilsabard Contingent’s humanitarian efforts to save the survivors of the Empire’s downfall. I was not among them; my pain and anger was still too great, back then.” She took a sip from a water glass.

“That the lady’s story hasn’t changed in any way, no matter how many times she tells it, should count for something,” quiet young Terrianette said.

“Only that she is well-practiced,” Deadeali said, before Pentalamus could.

“The question seems to be the veracity of not only the many records of the Warrior of Light and the Scions, but also my word as a witness,” Iyna mused. “In which case, t’would be best to have more witnesses.”

“Unfortunately, my lady, there are few so venerable as yourself who can claim to have known those people and the events in question,” Gray Swallow said gently.

Iyna snorted. “Because, my dear children, you forget man shares this world with others, and there are far more elder memories than mine.”

At that, she let out a loud, piercing whistle that made the various academics in the room wince.

The sound was answered; by the roar of a great cat, a large bird’s shriek, and a dragon’s roar.

A man entered the room; a tall young Raen by all appearances, though his impressive horns shone green, and his eyes were an unnatural burning red. Skittering at his feet was some sort of black beetle-like machina. Behind the Raen came a Kojin man and a strange woman with hair and dress of fire; they were flanked by a massive snake and a white tiger. Dragonets and a myriad of other animals bound into the room in their wake as the assembly of professors and students watched in alarm. The few sleepy reporters found themselves paying much more attention to the debate.

“That—isn’t that the Satrap of Radz-at-Han?”

“His mortal vessel, I think…”

“What are those creatures?

“Auspices from my homeland in the East…Kami preserve, they are—“

The not-Raen made it to Iyna, gesturing for her to remain seated. He took her hand, bowing low over it in greeting as she eye-rolled and shook her head. He grinned at her, then straightened and looked around the room, all mirth faded. His gaze carried more age and authority than even the Viera’s.

“You wish to hear the truth of the Warrior of Light and fellow Scions of the Seventh Dawn,” he said in a quiet voice that carried to every corner, and his power with it. “Then let us tell you what we saw, what we remember, of our friends—and sometimes enemies.“ He glanced down at the machina, as its devices seemed to scan the room. The Satrap looked up again.

“Let us tell you of the true history of the saviors of this star.”

[sustainably-du-mortain]

3, 7, 23 for Jonah :)

Thanks a lot for the ask!!

3. Do they have any piercings/tattoos/scars?

He had his ears pierced at some point but didn't like the feeling of it so he let them heal and never bothered to get them pierced again. He does wear a dragon ear cuff from time to time. Apart from that, no other piercings.

He has a few tattoos: a dragon on the right side of his ribcage, a stratocaster on his left forearm, lyrics that he wrote and mean a lot to him scattered all over his body and a few more I haven't decided on yet. I also see him getting tattoos that remind him of Adam and Nate in the future.

As for scars, he has a few on his knuckles from boxing. On his knees and legs from biking. His fingertips are callused from playing the guitar (does that count as scars?). He has a big one on his right arm that he got because Bo tugged on his leash a little too hard one day and he fell on a tree branch. He also has the scar Murphy left on his neck, and others left on his torso from all his adventures with UB so far.

7. Do they have any fears?

Abandonment - Rebecca is 100% the reason for that fear.

Rain/storms - like most kid he was scared of storms but since he had no one around to comfort him about the noise of the rain hitting the roof/windows, thunder or the big, scary shadows of the trees on the walls, he never really grew out of it. So he's still scared of them to the point that he cannot sleep during rainy/stormy days. Also the fact that it was pouring during the whole Murphy accident, didn't help at all with that fear.

Bobby - I don't know if I should refer to it as fear, but it's a very strong unease. They have quite the heavy past together and he doesn't feel comfortable in Bobby's presence, even more so when they're alone. He doesn't like how Bobby makes him feel like he doesn't have control over his own self.

23. How are they with children?

Oh gosh, he is horrendous with children. He's so awkward around children that it's actually hilarious. He doesn't know how to act around those tiny humans who are way too honest to his liking. The best he can do is little pats on the head, but once they get too big for that, it's all over. The only children he's okay with are Verda's. Although, how they won him over is still a mystery.

The Wayhaven Chronicles | Ask game

[tonberry-yoda]

it is midnight and that means its saturday so i am here for my matchup 🤭 in all honesty i have been wanting to request one from u for so long bc i love the way u write your matchups loll, but ANYWAYS! could i pls get a haikyuu matchup? i go by she/her, im straight nd i’d like a romantic matchup 🫡 so im like 5’2 i think, dyed black hair (goes a bit past my shoulders and my natural color is brown), brown eyes, and i have a lot of freckles on my face. i have my septum and both sides of my nose pierced along with a few ear piercings.im an ambivert so how i act definitely depends on the environment im in but with the right people im very outgoing (very chatty lol). but my social battery also gets drained v fast so after big social gatherings i need some time to recover (usually recovering = taking a long nap). i get really snappy if i my social battery is drained so the whole recovery thing is v important lmao. i am also a very sleepy person, my friends like to joke that im chronically tired lmfao, i take naps almost every day and if im in a car, sitting down in class or doing something like that i probably will fall asleep. i cannot control it T_T i also trip, run into things, drop things, etc. all the time. my house could be dead silent and then out of nowhere u just hear a crash and “what the fuck” yea thats me sorry 🤫🤫 i also like to tease ppl a lot, not in a flirty way more like in a provoking way (i cant flirt i have 0 rizz). moving on!! some things i look for in a relationship r someone who can be patient with me and dont mind reassuring (if they do it without me asking its 100x better). i love when show theyre thinking abt me through little things like “oh i was at the store and i saw your fav candy so i picked it up” or “i saw your favorite flowers on my walk home and thought of you” id cry. also someone who isnt afraid to show they care (not in a sense of like pda but moreso they arent too prideful to do dumb stuff like dance with u at 2 am in the kitchen). anyways my type! they dont have to be like 7ft tall but maybe 5’9 or 5’10 +. i like funny guys but not funny at the expense of others. i also really like guys that are able to actually respect me as a person. i pride myself on being really smart and mature (when i need to be lol) and i genuinely would not be able to stand someone that saw me as any less than that. OK MOVING ON! hobbies/ interests! i love music. so much. music is my creative outlet and how i express myself. i annotate song lyrics. i connect with music through personal experience its just so so important to me. i am learning how to play the electric guitar so i can connect with it even more. my favorite artists rn are the 1975, mitski, ptv and sleeping with sirens:p although im always open to expanding my music taste!! i also like to play some video games(obsessed with animal crossing lately lol). aand my love language is words of affirmation. sorry if this is really long T_T and if you dont get to this no biggy but if you do tsym!<3

WHEN I TELL YOU THIS MADE ME LAUGH SO HARD THIS MORNING LMFAOOOOO. and that little note at the beginning is so sweet! i am so glad i am able to do a matchup for you anon!! okay, so i have a perfect little dude for you, but it may be random so bear with me. i love this man, so i hope you do too!

the character I chose for you is...

KEISHIN UKAI!!!

OKAY

HEAR ME OUT!

ukai is flippin hot

i would love to be in your shoes

(he's my fav haikyuu character besides tanaka, so you're lucky frrr)

he would love your piercings

he's a piercing fella himself (he's what made me want to get my second ear piercings lmfaoooo)

like he thinks it's high key hot

he's also an ambrivert, so both of your personalities match up really well

he is totally understanding of your drained social battery (plus, he gets the same way) so he'll just let you nap while he works or leave you alone if needed

WILL 100% TAKE NAPS WITH YOU

like will hold you in his arms and nap a whole day away when he gets the day off

you will always knock over things in his shop and he'll just laugh or wait for you to pick it up while dead staring at you lmfaoooo

he'll definitely know if you walk in when he hears a whole ass display get knocked over

he thinks it's cute when you tease him even if you say it isnt about flirting, his dumbass thinks it is which is fine by you so you can tease him more often

the real reason i picked this guy is because of what you said about him bringing you things that made him think of you

like this man will roll up with a chocolate bar and shove it in your hand with a pile of chips shoved in his mouth and say "I thought of you today at the store and grabbed this"

he doesnt see it as much, but you are over the moon about it

when he finds out about how much you love it, he will keep doing it

he is very patient and caring for you and literally only has eyes for you

he also always gets you to laugh, which always makes his day

please play music for him

he will have heart shaped eyes if you do

he will 100% play videogames with you, but you have to teach him how to play half of the time lmfaoooo

he will always tell you how much he loves you and how pretty and amazing you are frfr

if you go to any of his practices or games when he is coaching, he will brag about you

(i am so sorry this took so long i forgot it was in my drafts. i hope you love it nonetheless though!!!)

~~~~~

matchup rules --- pinned post

@tonberry-yoda