#fanfiction commission

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

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TRIGGER WARNING: skin picking/dermatillomania.

[Please read while listening to this.]

Swan Lake wouldn't exist without its complexities. The intense pressure put on a prima ballerina to perform two entirely distinct roles with perfection. Odette, the graceful beauty, as pure as her white wing. Her softness, her vulnerability. The cursed, sorrow as her undercurrent. Odile, the Black Swan—everything Odette is not: sensual, cunning, sharp, and determined in her selfish way. The sinister doppelganger.

A tale of duality. It is this very aspect that makes it one of the most celebrated classics of all time.

The final chords of the coda sounded as you paused in your final pose, chest heaving in labored breaths. Beads of sweat dripped from your jawline to your neck before dyeing your gray leotard dark.

Henri's sharp clap echoes through the studio, snapping you to straighten your posture. You turn to him once more, hoping this time to see approval on his face. However, his forehead is still furrowed, lips are pressed thinly, remaining silent. His dissatisfaction is palpable as he gently shakes his head. You feel your chest tighten.

“Non, it is not Black Swan enough,” he said, waving his hands in the air to emphasize his point. “Where is the bite, the seduction? You dance her as you would Odette – too soft, too pure. We are talking about the evil twin here!”

Under his tone was impatience, a hint that his reins were starting to come loose. The pressure in the room had been building steadily over the past few weeks; everyone was nearing their breaking point. Only two weeks and a month until production week, and production week meant one week before the big day. The entire company was walking on eggshells. Your new problem of not being able to unlock the Black Swan had become a cherry bursting atop the weight of it all.

“Should we run through it again?” Jacob asked.

Henri’s scowl deepens. “Do you see the time? No use staying if you’ll only repeat the same error.”

Your stomach twists as Henri dismisses everyone with a sharp gesture. With heavy feet, you follow the others as they disperse to their belongings, preparing to leave the studio. But instead of closing your duffel bag, you follow your hesitation and move your feet in Henri's direction.

“Henri?” you interrupt his conversation with the coaches. He whirls to face you, and you continue: “Please, let me try again. I’ll try to do better—”

Henri stops you with a firm index finger. “No, I do not want to hear it again. There is nothing more to be done tonight, so just go.”

 The dismissal he gives you stings like a slap, and you bite your tongue to keep the tears from forming in your eyes. Henri turns back to the conversation he abandoned, his back to you, indicating he doesn’t want to be interrupted again. You hang your head low, heading for your duffel bag and vacating the studio like the other dancers did.

Pushing the heavy door, the cold night wind penetrates your bones despite the coat. Just as you were about to follow your usual route to the subway, your gaze is drawn to the unusual sight of a silhouette in front. A lone figure stands by a dark car parked at the curb, back turned as he exhales smoke into the air. His tall, broad shoulders stir recognition in your head. Before you can think further, the name spills from your mouth slickly.

“Simon?”

At the sound, he turns, cigarette dangling between thick fingers. He locks his burning gaze on you. You watch as he takes another drag of the cigarette before tossing it to the ground and grinding it beneath his boot.

“Sent you a text, didn’t I?” His hoarse voice replies.

Hearing that, you quickly reach into your coat pocket, your fingers closing around the cool metal. You pull it out with trembling hands. The screen lights up, and sure enough, a notification appears: “Back in town.” One hour ago.

“God, I’m—I’m really sorry,” you wince. “I must’ve missed it during practice.”

Simon remained silent, his expression hidden behind his black medical mask, studying you intently for a moment. You said nothing, used to the prolonged stares by now. 

Nodding to his waiting car, he said gruffly, "C'mon then, I'll give you a lift home."

At his invitation, your chest warmed as a smile spread across your tired face. You nodded, stepping into his car as Simon held the door open for you. He waited patiently as you slipped into the passenger seat.

The scent of leather mixed with the strong scent of tobacco surrounds you, so quintessentially Simon. Your eyes take in the crumpled receipts of groceries discarded carelessly in the empty cupholder and the faint scratches on the dashboard. In his rear view mirror, a skull charm dangling, and for some reason, you smile at it. It’s so Simon, but you wouldn’t guess he cared about such small details.

Simon enters on the driver’s side, filling the seat completely. As the engine rumbles to life, you try to lean back in the seat, dissolving that tension that’s been building since the practice started.

The car pulls away from the curb, along with the crackle of the radio.

The rain falls heavily outside as predicted, providing a soothing backdrop to the sound of the television hosting a rugby match. Both your coats are hung up, their presence creating a cozy and domestic atmosphere within the room.

Simon sits in the living room, basking in the glow of the television that occupies his attention, while you are busy taking care of your little business. Swapping your dark-stained jeans for looser pants, you approach him reluctantly, suddenly self-conscious. Your monthly flow has arrived, on the very day you would've least wanted it to. No doubt it's the stress that has thrown off your usually predictable schedule.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur an apology, feeling like you’ve let him down. Now that sex is off the table, you expect him to stand up to take his leave—unless he’s the type to indulge in such things.

“’S alright,” he said, turning his gaze to you. He put his hands on your hips, pulling you gently towards him.

Your anxiety slowly dissolved as you surrendered to his touch, your arms loosely curling around his neck. The soft glow of the television cast a gentle light on his face, dancing in his warm brown irises like a miniature reflection. He gazed at you, a mixture of intense focus and a newfound tenderness evident in his expression. However, the sudden roar of the crowd quickly captured his attention again, and his gaze shifted back to the ongoing match. You followed his gestures as he restlessly tapped his fingers against the ashtray. Three old cigarettes, one more ready to be added to the collection.

You slip from his grasp, and he trails your movements curiously as you kneel before him on the floor. He raises a blond eyebrow.

“What’re you doing, love?”

You spread your knees slowly and settles between his thighs, meeting his stare shyly. “I want to help you relax.”

“You don't have to,” he rasp.

However, the half-heartedness of his refusal is quickly exposed when your fingers graze against his thigh, causing his body to tense involuntarily. Simon silently watched your every move, his breath hitched in his throat as you slowly unzipped his pants, uncovering the sight of his gray boxers. From beneath, a prominent bulge was visible, straining against the fabric, thick cock begging to be released. So you did.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts. The sound sends a jolt straight to your cunt.

You’d always known he was big—the unfailing fullness he’d always pushed into you whenever he was buried inside you was telling enough, but sitting here now, it seemed almost overwhelming. The heat radiating off him, his muscular thighs spreading wider, and the way his cock jutted out and up like it was seeking your attention. Pink, with the delicate blue of prominent veins running around it. You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. He was… different from this perspective, and a thrill of excitement mixed with nervousness coursed through your stomach.

Wrapping your fingers around his length, you couldn't miss how awkward it looked. But when you started to stroke it, Simon stiffened with a hiss.

Meeting your panicked gaze, he said, “Spit first, darling. Make it wet.”

Nodding in understanding, you feel your cheeks growing hotter at his instruction. Your saliva gathers beneath your tongue before you spit awkwardly on his pink tip. Simon watches as your pretty lips glisten in moisture—the sight makes his cock twitch impatiently. You run your fingers down his entire length, covering him in wetness. He follows your movements with heavy-lidded eyes; his body leans back relaxed—a sign that you’re doing a good job so far.

You look up, seeking another approval. “Like this?”

Simon acknowledged with a hum. “You can grip a bit harder, darling. And,”—he envelops your hand in his larger one to lead a demonstration—“move your fingers up and down.”

You wrap your fingers around him with slightly more pressure, following the motion he’s demonstrated. The feeling of his soft, silken skin stretched taut around your palm sends heat to your lower stomach. He lets out a groan when you sweep a thumb over his tip.

“That’s it, darling, you’re doing good.” His praise comes easily, encouraging you to do more.

Simon inhales sharply as your warm lips brush his sensitive head, pressing a small kiss and opening and closing experimentally around it. Fueled by your confidence, you lean in closer, then lick and dip the crown of his cock into your warm mouth. He groans, and you grow bolder—your tongue curling around his shape. His jittery hands aim for your hair to push himself further in, but he settles for your jaw instead, thumb rubbing circles on your skin.

Sliding your lips further down, you taste the bead of salt gathered heavy on his skin. The feeling of fullness in your mouth is foreign, yet in the unfamiliarity, you find the desire for more and more. You try to reach deeper, but when his tip hits the back of your throat, you start to cough, your eyes watering from his size triggering your gag reflex.

“Easy now.” He reminds you, gently gripping your chin.

You must be such a try-hard girl. His eyes soften, filling with a warm, chocolaty hue as he observes you, almost as if he feels a bit sorry for you. Your cheeks heat up, and you consider just stopping and leaving it to him to finish.

But you are desperate—guilty and desperate. Guilty for having him come over when you can't fully satisfy him. Desperate to give him something new, something that he has never experienced before, something that will set you apart from his past flings, lovers, and the exes he keeps close. Something that will make you irreplaceable, even if he tries to fill that role with ten future women. You are very guilty and desperate.

(Ways to make the unlovable, lovable.)

You relax your jaw and throat, taking him deeper but slower now. One hand strokes what your lips can’t accommodate, while the other grips his thigh for balance. He releases a low, guttural grunt as his hand grips your jaw more firmly, his fingers tracing a path up the back of your neck. Goosebumps spread across your body. Your cheeks hollowing as you suck on him, and the hand behind your neck is gripping tighter.

Simon’s chest rose and fell as gasps and moans escaped him. “That’s it, darling, fuck. You’ve got the right of it,” he mumbled, voice breathy and heavy.

You hum contentedly as his fingers card through your hair. Sliding your lips further, you try again to get more of him in, saliva leaking and dripping down your chin. As you take him deeper, your teeth graze along his sensitive flesh. He hisses, and you draw back immediately.

“Watch the teeth.” He says.

You nod, heart racing with embarrassment. “Right, sorry.”

Restarting, you take him into your mouth once more. Gently. You lean in even closer, your hair falling and veiling the sides of your face.

A gasp escaped you when you felt his fingers gather your strands and hold them away from your face. You looked up, meeting those dark brown eyes. A faint rosy color on his cheeks, and you were sure you weren’t much different. His lips fell open to release little pants and moans—evidence of the pleasure you were giving him, and fuck, if that didn’t send a tingling sensation to your aching core.

Lengthening your reach, you try again, carefully. He lets out a groan as his cock slides in further, feeling the head touch the tip of your throat. Saliva glistens on your chin as your eyes water.

“Fuck, love. Feels so good..”

You set a steady rhythm of slow, long bobs. Your tongue swirls around the shape of his tip, making Simon tighten his grip on your hair. He shuts his eyes, moans and grunts escaping his lips, blending with the sounds of the rugby match playing on television—fuck, you want to turn off the television, need to smash it with a baseball bat just to hear his beautiful voice, but your rational head says no.

Simon’s voice came out in a staccato as he got closer. He pushed your head up to accommodate his length, and your eyes widened. Tears streamed down your cheeks as your throat contracted. His calloused fingers clenched tightly around the back of your head, guiding you hastily to his pace. Your moans were muffled—his size filling the entire space in your mouth—and they ended up coming out as a faint hum.

The physical signs of the effects of your ministrations on him are becoming more pronounced. His breathing grew shallower, coming out in short pants. You feel the pressure building in his muscles, the trembling in his thighs. His cock begins to twitch inside your warm wetness.

“Darling…” His voice is hoarse, cracking with the last bit of control. Lifting his heavy lids, he meets your eyes, placing one hand on your cheek. “Love, fuck, I’m—I’m close.”

The series of pulses grows stronger, and before you can register, hot, thick ropes of seed sprayed into your mouth. You cough, your eyes burning. Though, his satisfied expression is clear even through the blurriness of your vision. The salty tang against your tongue is unfamiliar, but you willingly swallow it all, leaving no trace behind. You release him slowly, gazing up through wet lashes at his flushed face.

Simon leaned back on the couch, feeling the pleasure slowly drain from his system as the world came back into focus. He fixed his gaze on you, taking in the details of you: your clumped lashes, the slight mess of hair, and your dewy, swollen lips. Lowering his gaze, he noticed the mess staining his pants and chuckled.

“What a mess we’ve made, darling.” He joked as he fixed his pants.

A giggle escaped your sweet lips. Rising on shaky legs, you took your place on his thigh. He wrapped one strong arm around you to keep you balanced.

The rain has softened to a gentle patter on the window, the rugby match has ended, and the show has switched to a soap opera that you both end up ignoring. You watch him withdraw a cigarette pack from the side table, pulling and lighting one with practiced ease. The smoke curls up lazily, short-lived as it disappears again, leaving the scent of tobacco in the air.

Nestling closer, you stare into his heavy-lidded eyes. “Did I do alright?” you ask softly, almost in a whisper.

“More than alright. Think you’re a pro.” He says, and a smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

When you shift in his lap, he hisses softly. “Steady now.”

You frown, but the confusion is quickly replaced with a teasing smile when you realize what he means. Giggling, you shift again just to tease him, eliciting another hiss through his teeth. You feel his grip tighten around your back.

A hummingbird trapped in a cage—your heart throbbing in long-lived excitement, butterflies fluttering restlessly in your stomach. The desire to touch more, to have more. Lifting your arms, you hesitate for a moment before wrapping them around his neck, his nape warm and firm beneath yours.

Simon took another long drag, holding the smoke in his mouth for a moment before releasing it. The cigarette dangling lazily between his digits, you plucked it gently from his hold.

Turning the slim white cylinder between your fingers, you examine it curiously. The ash at the tip ignites with a stroke of a small flame that spreads slowly. You glance at him, finding that he has already been staring at you questioningly.

You brought the cigarette to your own lips, clumsily holding it between your upper and lower lips, mimicking the way you had seen Simon do it. The weight and texture of the cigarette were foreign. You take your first drag, then cough at the unfamiliar burn. Hurriedly, Simon snatched it away from you, as if that single drag held more peril than years of his own addiction.

“These ain’t good for ya.” He scolded, face unimpressed.

“And it’s good for you?”

“S’not good for yer pretty little mouth.” He replied, taking another long pull. Exhaling slowly, he leaned his head back against the couch, spreading his thighs apart. “Ain’t nothing to reserve from this ugly mug.”

Your lips curved into a slight frown. "Don't say that."

“Just takin’ the piss, darling,” he says gently, then extinguishes his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray on the table. You watch him struggle to find a spot for the newest addition among the sea of his past stubs. “S’full.”

You glance at the overflowing contents, looking back at him while ignoring the burning sensation that crept up your neck. In truth, it had been full for weeks—four cigarette butts including the remnants of his last visit, which you had left untouched.

“I’ll, um, throw it out later,” you manage to say, voice faltering slightly as nerves take hold of you.

Simon says nothing; he just wraps both strong arms around you, enveloping your smaller form completely against the warmth of his body. Outside, the rain has come to a complete stop, leaving dew and droplets of water that settle on the window like transparent beads. You look at him, and he looks at you. Those smooth, warm swirls of deep coffee brown hold their gaze on you, acting as gravity and pulling you closer to him.

Your lungs feel like they are tied in knots, afraid to release the oxygen within, as if the air itself must be held captive to avoid tipping Simon off to the tingling nerves coursing through your body in this proximity. Your fingers itch with the desperate urge to touch him, to trace the lines and contours of his face—the slope of his nose, the planes of his cheeks, the firmness of his jaw, the alluring curve of his lips.

The nervousness drips with sulfuric acid—burning, creating a pit in your stomach. It slips easier than your morning coffee, than your worn pointe shoes on your feet. You want to kiss him, and against logic, you hope he thinks the same.

In a moment of impulse, you bridged the gap between you and Simon, pressing your lips upon his. He froze for a split second before returning your kiss. You felt his fingers beneath your ribs, securing you firmly in his lap. He swiped his tongue over yours. Rolling. Hooking.

The taste of tobacco and the lingering essence of his release mix together in a heady blend. It is messy, raw, yet you savor it just as if it were the sweetest honey. He places a hand under your jaw, leading to a deeper kiss as he tilts his head to access more of your space. Each touch of his seems to weave itself into your very soul, the drums of your heart forming an orchestra that taunts your greed for more—a recompense for the gnawing hunger that only Simon can alleviate.

Before you grow old and bitter, you yearn to be cradled like this. To betray your loneliness with a kiss, to have your being deciphered through his touch like an unspoken language. Often times, you hold the things you love in your mouth; now you find his name and the gentle curl of his tongue pressed within the sanctuary of your lips.

As you broke the kiss to catch your breath, your legs found their way between his waist, pressing your hips against his once again-hardened bulge. Simon's lips released a faint moan, and his hands slipped down to squeeze your ass through the fabric of your sweatpants. Your head was thrown back as you sighed, baring the long column of your neck to his kisses.

Simon's name escaped in a breathy cry, it felt like prayer and sin woven into one—heresy spoken with the silver tongue of an open heart.

Simon's embrace of you strengthens, his arms encircling your form closely, drawing you against the solid mass of his chest. The soft lighting casts a warm, dreamlike veil over your senses. A major-key melody courses through your ears, resonating in your eardrums and creating a pleasant hum. You hear the echoes of your own distant dream—that notion you once dared not even think of: love. Mother had condemned it as mere folly, something repulsive; but, held in his arms, your soul was made so full.

And you surrendered completely.

Pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, you lift a trembling hand to cup his cheek. The scruff of his stubble prickles your palm. You can't help but be caught off-guard by the striking contrast between his pale blonde lashes and his warm brown irises despite the familiarity you've shared over time.

“Stay,” you mutter. He furrows his brows, and before he can make excuses, you add, “please?”

Simon shift in his seat, trying to relax his posture. “Sure, if that’s what ya want.”

At his answer, you held back your smile. “In my bed this time. Not the couch.”

“Why?”

When the question comes out, he tries to keep his tone gruff and flat as usual. But, you detect the slight tilt that lifts the words that follow. You chuckle, shifting on his thigh. He squeezes your hips in response and sighs.

“Because the couch is uncomfortable.” You spoke in a singsong.

He huffed out a laugh. “Last time, this couch seemed good enough, if I remember right.”

You avert your eyes, fighting off a smile while looking for another excuse to convince him. Tracing idle patterns on his chest, you begin, “Well, after your... disappearance, I think you deserve finer things.”

Despite aiming for lightness, an oppressive weight settles upon your chest, as if attached to an anchor, pulling it down. The fact that he was absent from your world means he was in his world—a world that is crueler, bloodier than sprains and torn ligaments.

Lifting your gaze again, you ask in a hushed tone, “Another deployment?”

The absentminded patterns you etched upon his shirt come to a halt as Simon captures your finger, holding it still for a moment. He falls silent, his tongue seemingly paralyzed, and his vocal cords reluctant to make a sound.

“Yeah,” he answers even quieter.

After he confirms your fear, you feel your smile slip away, though you try to hide it. His secret military life is one you’ll never fully grow accustomed to, no matter how many times he comes back safe and sound.

Retracting your finger, the absence of warmth from his bigger ones feels foreign. You cross your arms in a subtle, self-soothing gesture. Preparing your question, the words come out even more fragile than intended: “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Simon’s hands fall to his sides, as if not daring to touch you for reasons unknown. It feels hollow, but it’s probably better this way. Being under his touch before his answer feels too much like bribery—him telling you to stop worrying, to stop questioning.

“Not even bumps or bruises.” He replies curtly, but with the conviction in them that you’re sure it’s not a lie.

"Okay." You said. Getting up from his lap, you then add, “I'll grab us some drinks.”

You walk into the kitchen, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet before filling them with ice. This is enough for now, you tell yourself. Another breath. This is enough for now. Glancing back towards the living room where Simon has resumed watching television, its flickering glow showcasing a late-night program. You look down at the two glasses, their rims now covered with condensation.

This is enough for now.

It was 8 a.m. or something when you stirred in your sleep and opened your eyes to the recognizable confines of your bedroom. Everything is meticulously tidy and unchanged—nothing out of place, nothing different. Yet, a nagging voice silently whispers that there should be. The other side of your bed remains empty—an expected sight. As you turn over, however, your gaze fixates on the second pillow and you notice a subtle identification where it was never there—evidence of a head resting there.

As wakefulness sets in, memories swim like restless aquatic organisms into your brain. Your eyes widen as you realize what’s missing. Simon was here the whole night.

Throwing off the covers, your feet meet the cold hardwood as you pad through silent rooms looking for him. But, the dim living space is as empty as your bed. There’s no sign of him moving to the couch or his tall, imposing figure in the kitchen. The bathroom is devoid of the scent of your shampoo that he possibly used because he “didn’t have much choice” like last time.

Simon is gone again.

Sinking onto the couch, disappointment washes over you in waves so thick you can hardly breathe. It was expected—it was always expected because it was Simon—yet the blow never softened, and your insistent heart didn’t know when to stop waiting. You press your shaking fingers to your lips, clinging to the fading ghost of his kiss. Last night felt so far away, like it was some kind of illusion you let yourself believe in for a brief moment.

Your mind spins chaotically as you peel away the dry skin on your lips. Last night, I thought… you think. Faintly, the scent of iron is caught by your nose, and you taste blood as nails find softer blesh beneath.

A click startsles you, pulling you back to reality, and you whip around to see the door swinging open slowly. Your body froze as Simon entered, completely unaware of the state you were in. He drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as if he'd run for miles. Or maybe he did.

He turns to you with a simple stare. "Thought you'd still be asleep."

Before you can stop yourself, your muttering slips out: "You’re still here."

Simon’s eyebrows creased in confusion. “I am,” was all he said.

Now, you realize how your words might have landed in his ears. He might have interpreted your disbelief as you thinking it was presumptuous of him to spend the night until morning, when in reality, you were relieved he hadn’t really left you again. Perhaps last night wasn’t that far away; it was real.

Risking looking up, you stammer out: “It's good, uh… where have you been then?”

“Just a quick jog around the block,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders.

Remembering something, he reaches into his pocket, fishing out a battered envelope before handing it to you. “Found this outside your door, looks like it's been there a while.”

“Oh,” you murmur, taking it hesitantly from his outstretched hand.

Only a few people know your address, and most of them communicate with you through phone or email. You've become somewhat lax about checking your mail and the doorway. Every time you return home from work, your mind habitually takes the quickest route straight inside. Thus, unexpected deliveries have a high chance of going unnoticed.

Tearing it open with care, another envelope peeks out from inside—this one thicker, made of finger parchment decorated with swirling ink. You pull it free, curiosity overtaking confusion. Breaking the wax seal, the heavy cardstock inside is exposed, with the edges embossed with gold-leaf lettering. You search for the sender's information and settle on a familiar name.

Your eyes lift to meet Simon’s waiting gaze. “It’s... it’s from my cousin.” You pause for a moment before continuing, “She’s getting married.”

Simon stands there, looking perplexed as he studies the wedding invitation clutched in your hand. His eyes return to you, unsure of how he should respond. “Well, congratulations, I s’pose.” He says.

Yet his voice failed to reach you, as if spoken from a distance, muffled beneath the strange ringing that filled your head. It was no sweet wedding bells chiming, just blaring alarm bells warning of danger close at hand. A wedding. Your cousin is getting married—she has found her happy ending and wants you to come celebrate at this friends and family reunion.

And that means one thing: she will be there.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson @chipsbuttercream @arrozyfrijoles23

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[written-in-sunshine]

Hello! I’m Key, and this is my commission sheet! All of the necessary information for commissioning me is here, and I’d appreciate it if you could take a look before shooting me a message! Here is my Ao3 For Reference! Please see the aforementioned link for Will/Won't Write List and Ships I Will/Won't Write List!

GUIDELINES

Please read my Will Not Write section thoroughly. Just because something is on the list doesn’t mean that I dislike or don’t support it, but there are things on that list that I just don’t have enough interest in writing. That said, things on my Will Write list do not inherently mean that I support or like it. 

Currently, the only fandoms listed that I will write for are Resident Evil Biohazard/Village/4 Remake, Sonic Live Action Movies, Sonic Creepypastas (.EXE, Rewrite, Sink), Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, and Saw (All Movies). This is because they are current hyperfixations for me and I am more capable of writing for them without issue.

I will allow up to three edits of less than 300 words before those incur a fee. If I interpreted your prompt wrong entirely, please let me know. If the confusion was on my part, no fee for a total rewrite will be incurred.

Please message me before filling out the form for a commission. I’d like to discuss particulars about certain topics and things and I’d like to approve the commission beforehand.

If given artistic freedom for a prompt, I will write how I naturally write the characters. I am willing to take direction for how you want characters to be written. I would prefer not to go against canon to the point of completely erasing a character’s identity. This does not count for certain kink scenarios (Bimbofication and other mind-altering things).

This is a kink-friendly account. I will not harass others over their fictional tastes and I do not support harassing anyone for any reason. I will write things that will make you uncomfortable. I will write things that are dead dove: do not eat. I will write a whole host of things and if that upsets you, please find someone else to commission. I am also willing to write kinks that are not mine! Please keep this in mind!

I predominantly write romance, smut, fluff, and angst, but can try my hand at other genres. 

I do not mind aging characters up for smut, and I will write any manner of ship type from m/f, m/m/, f/f, to polyamory. Please keep in mind that a fee will incur for more than 4 characters in a ship per every 1k words. If your ship includes 6 people then I will require at least 1,500 words minimum to write them. Smut for that many will be over 2,000 words easily.

For prompts, I will accept up to five words, two sentences, or a small paragraph of what you would like for me to write. Please try to be as concise as possible.

I will not start your commission until the upfront $15 for the first 500 words is paid. Once that is paid, I will begin and you will only be charged for the rest once the fic is completely finished and edited. I tend to add 100+ words to things in the editing process, as a heads-up. Payment can be made via PayPal, Venmo, and CashApp.

PRICES

500 Word Base Price - $15

After the initial 500 words, a fee of $8 will be charged for every 100 words. If this is a rush order (needing to be completely finished in two weeks or less), there will be an additional $10 charge.

600 Words - $23 700 Words - $31 800 Words - $39 900 Words - $47 1,000 Words - $55 1,100 Words - $63 1,200 Words - $71 1,300 Words - $79 1,400 Words -$87 1,500 Words - $95 1,600+ Words - $103+, Open To Discussionhazbin ho

[charmandabear]

Remember the Halstarion threesome I promised?

I uploaded a draft to my Kofi (where you can read it for free.) 👀👀👀

[sanflower0w0]

Commissions open!!

Hello! I'm sanflower0w0 (https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanflower0w0/).

Times are tough so I'm temporarily opening commissions for hualian ficlets and fics!

I will write ✨ Hua Cheng/Xie Lian (and Wu Ming/Xie Lian) as main ship ✨ Fluff ✨ Humour/Crack ✨ Postcanon or modern au (for other au, ask me!) ✨ Ratings G, T, M (not explicit sexual content)

I will not write ❌ Angst/ hurt-comfort ❌ Explicit sexual content ❌ Canon divergent ❌ Violence/injuries

🍁 Pricing: starting from €20 (based on expected word count, complexity etc) via ko-fi only.

If you have any ideas and would like to commission me to write them, please contact me via dm so we can discuss further!

Cover image art (and my ADORABLE new profile picture!!) by whatmattersisyou. (P.S. Their (art) commissions are open too!!)

[penvisions]

dev's update

whelp, my unemployment was denied. as well as my snap / ebt benefits.

the company decided to claim it was due to misconduct. but the misconduct in question was absences due to medical leave they didn't approve. so idk, i can appeal it with the unemployment department but they said they would most likely deny it again since it was already once. this makes me feel like the company itself won't approve my appeal for the termination in question...

so i'm humbly asking for help on my ko-fi once again

offering commissions for small one shots - 1-3k of any pedro boy in any genre for $25.00 if anyone is interested. {coffee and candor} can be used as an example if it's something you may consider, but again absolutely no pressure at all!

apologies, truly. it sucks being dependent on nothing but what little savings i've almost blown through and trying to maintain groceries, finding a job around a small town that requires at least half an hour driving in any direction to stores / businesses, while taking care of my body as best i can without medication at this point.

it's been a hectic couple of weeks, almost month now since getting fired and i am not here for it tbh but i am trying to look on the bright side and remain positive as best i can

[writingwithcc]

Writing Sample: fanfiction, Legend of Zelda, Breath of The Wild, Zelda and Link, Zelink, General, Blood and Injury, Near Death Experiences, War, End of the World, First Kiss

Drabble based on the beautiful art by Helimarr.  "In the battlefield, there is no place for hope. What lies there is only cold despair and a sin called victory, built on the pain of the defeated." — Emiya Kiritsugu

    Zelda did not know war. She knew of it, had read many leather-bound books on the subject, studied multiple strategies, glanced over painfully detailed illustrations. These things were not war, though. They barely scratched the surface. Books did not mention the stench of blood and sweat and death. Strategies did not say how to handle a clenched heart when loved ones were faced withswords and beams of concentrated power. Illustrations did not show the little stuffed toy left behind, never to be held by its child again.

    Vah Naboris was the first of the Divine Beasts to be infiltrated. It was clear that something was wrong the moment its power ceased, paused as though in stasis, little more than a tall statue of stone. There was nothing they could do.Link had his hands full defending against Bokolin's, Moblin's, Lizalfro's, Wizards— and he defeated them, one by one, while Zeldaprayedin the growing expanse of mud, knees on the ground in submission as she curled inward and whispered her fevered pleas.

    "Hylia, Goddess of Light, Protector of Hyrule, You Who Share My Blood—"

    A Lizalfro shrieked as Link's blade drove through its neck, his grunt rising above the sound.  

    "I ask for Your guidance, I ask for Your light, I ask for Your aid to release my power—"

   Link's grunt. A man's not too distant cry.

   "Grant me my power so I may serve Hyrule in Your name—"

   Crying. Grunting. Shrieking.

   "Give me power, I will serve You, give me power, I will fight for You, give me power—"

   Vah Ruta fell.

   "Hylia, Goddess of Light, Protector of Hyrule, You Who Share My Blood—"

   Vah Rudania fell.

   "I ask for Your aid, grant me power—"

   Link's grunt. A Boboklin's shriek. Groaning and yelling and orders and clanging of steel against steel against flesh.

   "Let me protect them—"

   Vah Medoh fell.

   "Hylia, please!"

   The Castle of Hyrule fell.

   Zelda felt the weight of grief consuming her chest like a parasite, eating hungrily at everything she had, ripping out her heart and gorging on its core. Her father was no longer visible from his tower, and yet their soldiers honored his last command, fighting and dying against the growing wave of strength that engulfed them. They were losing— no. They had lost.

   Link knew. In all the time she had known him, her knight never ran from a fight, yet at that moment, he grabbed her hand and yanked her from the ground. He led them away from the castle and into the forest, pausing only to shoot arrows at the enemies who attempted to follow, his movements quick and precise and deadly upon every impact. They kept running. There was a loud, shuddering burst of dark energy from the castle. They kept running. Their enemies fell far behind and lost their trail, growls, and snorts and shrills fading from earshot. They kept running.

   Everyone was gone. They had lost. Hylia, even then, had refused to answer her call. How despicable must Zelda have been for the Goddess to deny her power, even then?

   You are the heir to a throne of nothing: nothing but failure.

   She didn't know where Link planned on running to. Perhaps he didn't, either. His hand gripped hers so tightly that on some level, Zelda recognized that it hurt, but the pain didn't quite register. She grabbed his just as hard. Then tears began to choke her throat, and she couldn't breathe. Her legs became weak, and her hold on him slipped. The mud beneath her sandals slicked, and Zelda fell in the one moment that Link loosened his hold. He stopped and spun to look at her, eyes wide, searching for danger but finding nothing. Nothing but Zelda on her hands and knees, panting and gripping the earth beneath her hands as though she could strangle an answer out of it.

   "How?" She asked in a broken whisper. "How did this happen?"

   There was the sharp shrill of the Master Sword retreating to its sheath and Link knelt before her. Rain began to pelt against Zelda's back, cold and pitiless. She spoke the words that seemed impossible; the Divine Beasts, their best defense, were now Calamity Ganon's and the Champions were trapped within them. It was all due to Zelda's inability to be worthy of the power that was supposedly hers by birthright. Everything she had done up until this point had been for nothing. 

    She truly was a failure; the sacrifices of those she loved proven meaningless. Her subjects, her Champions—  strong, loving Urbosa (had her death been quick?) Gentle, brave Mipha (she must have been so scared.) Good-hearted, faithful Daruk (did he regret trusting her?) Confident, unyielding Revali (he had surely fought to the end.) Her father. All dead in vain, all dead because she had failed them.

   The barrier Zelda had wrapped so carefully around her heart was ruined, and as she cried out in a painful wail reserved only for the mourning and forlorn, her body slumped into Link's arms. It was the only place that seemed safe. Sobs shook her shoulders, and wordless grief tore at the skin in her throat, stripping it raw, but her cries only came harder in retaliation. She gripped Link’s shirt as he held her. It had taken so many hours to sew the blue tunic he wore. But oh, how proud she had been as they'd stood before her father, displaying her Champions for the world to acknowledge.

   She didn't want to be proud anymore. Hylia could give her every ounce of burden and shame, she had earned it, deserved it, and would shoulder the weight willingly if only things could return as they were. Yet that wasn't an option. There was nothing left to do but face their own eventual deaths, for they could only run so far, and Calamity Ganon would always run further.

    It wasn't fair. Zelda slipped her arm around Link's torso as she buried her face against his chest, calming her thoughts by focusing on the rapid drumming of his heart. She wondered if his heartbeat was always so fast after battle. Her tears began to taste bitter at the realization that she had dreamt in quiet dreams of being held in his arms so many times. It was the smallest indulgence she allowed herself, but their embrace was never meant to be in this way. The moment which she had hoped would be sweet and tender was now stained by blood and sweat and death and rain and her tears. Zelda wondered if it was punishment. Yet Hylia had never been known to be a jealous Goddess, and it had only been an innocent dream, nothing more. She had been good. She hadn't done anything, had kept true to her purpose and devotion, had turned away so many who flickered at her heart. She had been good.

    Goodness had yielded her nothing, though. Zelda's sobbing wore itself out, sputtering until her emotions dried, and Links hold on her never wavered. He didn't speak. She didn't expect him to (what was there to say?) His heart continued to pulse erratically against her cheek. A numb, logical voice in Zelda's mind said that they should get up and keep running. Ganon's creatures would find them eventually if they didn't continue to move, and it was their duty to survive for however long they could.

    She didn't want to. It seemed so futile to fight something that had already won. They were going to die anyway, her and Link, it was only a matter of when. Something about that thought was calming, though. At least soon it would be over. Everything. The pain, the whispers, the humiliation, the grief, the failure— what did it all matter if they were no longer around to experience it? Zelda wondered if they would still be reborn as the prophecy said. Ganon would suck the world dry of its life and leave it a crumbling ruin, so perhaps they wouldn't. Perhaps this was the true end of it all, the destruction of a cycle that was once thought to be eternal.

    The rain continued to fall, and where it had once been painful upon her skin, now it seemed like reverence. It was possible that this would be the last rain to ever fall upon the Earth, as though fate was intent on cleansing the blood which soaked its surface before a final farewell. Zelda took a breath. Then another. She wanted to see Link. If there was nothing else for the world to give, if it was preparing to empty itself of all who had ever known it, then she wanted to at least see Link once more.

    Yet when she pulled back, trails on her cheeks where tears had flowed through dirt, her green eyes couldn't rise to meet him. She had failed so many people. Failed him. The shame still felt so heavy on her neck, domineering and cruel. Even so— even so, her heart retained an ounce of selfishness, and Link stayed so very close. He always stayed close, no matter what came. There was a day when she had stomped her foot at his loyalty but was it any wonder that he won her over in the end?

    Could she truly be blamed for loving him the way that she did, when Link was the way that he was?

    Perhaps Hylia was a jealous Goddess, after all. Perhaps She hated how Link held a part of Zelda's heart that she had not tried to shut close, and perhaps that was her mistake. It didn't matter now. They would be gone soon enough, and Hylia could choose her fate then, could rebirth her into a world of desolation or dissolve her into true nothingness. For now, Link was with her. For now, he was close, and her lips weren't far from his, and when she tilted her chin up they were even closer, he was closer, and it wouldn't take much to indulge as Zelda had never truly indulged before. There was no reason not to. Beneath the scent of a battlefield, there was simply Link, and it reminded her of a wild wind. 

    They would die, anyway. They had lost, anyway. Why not, her mind begged, why not?

    Link was the source of temptation and resistance. It made sense now why Hylia preferred him over her, for Zelda was selfish, and the Chosen Hero was noble. She couldn't drag him down to her level. Whatever punishment awaited,he didn't deserve it. However delicious the heat from his mouth might taste, it was not hers to take. Zelda squeezed her shut eyes ever tighter as though she could will her vile heart away and lowered her chin. She felt Link's hand cup her face, comforting and warm and more than she deserved. In the space between their chests, she breathed the words, "I'm sorry."

    Then Link's other hand was upon her, calloused fingers splayed across her cheek, passionate and desperate as the kiss he pressed to her lips. He tasted better than Zelda's darkest thoughts had ever imagined. While his hands were rough, his lips were so unbelievably soft, and it seemed as though they melted against her like the honey he so loved to drizzle upon baked apples. It was wonderful.

    Zelda's sob broke the kiss, short and sharp as it tore open her mouth to cry, but before Link could pull away she tugged him closer. Her lips were on his and her hands slipped around his neck, up into his hair, fingers tangling themselves in everything that was him. He was covered in dirt and sweat and other's blood, and he was perfect. Hylia was right to be jealous.

    She moved her kiss to the corner of his mouth, his temple, his forehead.

    I love you.

    He kissed her cheek, her neck, her shoulder.

    I love you.

    Her hands gripped the sides of his face. His hands gripped the back of her head. Their lips met once more and refused to be parted, the heat necessary as air. If what they did was indeed desecration, then sacrilege was sweet and worth damnation. 

    I love you.

    At that moment, Zelda decided that Link would not die. She would, and that was fine, perhaps that was the way it was always meant to be— but he would live. When it came time, she would tell him to run (he wouldn't listen), she would tell him to leave her (he never would), and she would defend him (she didn't know how.) Hylia could have her failed reincarnation and do with her as She saw fit, but Link was no longer Her Chosen Hero. He was Zelda’s, and he was all she had. He was the only person she loved left to protect, and losing him was not an option. 

    She would have spent an eternity with him. But eternity was brought to a close by the familiar, almost musical beeping of a Guardian preparing to attack. Ever the knight, Link was quick to shove Zelda behind him and draw the Master Sword once more, plunging it into the Guardian’s glowing blue eye. He defeated it. More came. He stabbed the inner workings of their gears, slashed their mechanical legs, and reflected parts of their blasts with a well timed tilt of his blade. Over and over, the Guardian’s challenged him, drawing them out of the forest. Over and over, Link laid them slain amongst patches of flames left in his trail of destruction. 

    But Link, for all his bravery, was not immortal. His strength waned, his speed slowed, and little by little, even The Hero of Hyrule would fall. 

[noodlepals]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Inside Out (Pixar Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Disgust/Fear (Inside Out) Characters: Disgust (Inside Out), Fear (Inside Out) Additional Tags: Fluff, Cute, One Shot, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Tenderness, Hugs, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Insecurity, Comfort, Sleep Deprivation Summary:

Riley's finally settled in after everything and Fear couldn't be happier about their newfound stability....well except maybe when he looked at Disgust

Ayyyy just finished my first fic comm! Thanks so much @sockopunch! Your blorbos were an absolute blast to write for, I was so happy to do this. Also side note y'all if you haven't checked Sockopunch out by now please do so their art is everything lmao 

[poleaxewife]

Hello there! We are Cassiopeia. Today we're officially opening our writing commissions! Some background about us, we have been writing for more than a decade in various formats. We have an AO3 account where we are presently writing Kommandant Für Kommandant, a Signalis fanfiction that is currently over 20k words and is still ongoing.

We are multifandom and capable of researching almost anything for writing a story.

That is where you come in, dearest reader.

We have opened our commissions! At the moment, we have three slots open and an entirely clear back-queue.

If you would like to commission us, please read our TOS linked below.

[ayakaizumi]

WRITING COMMISSION SAMPLE

Client: Moesuna

Title: The Purr-fect Pair

Fandom: Undertale

Genres: slice of life, fluff, romance

Pair: Sans x Noah (OC)

Word count: >20.000 words

[zappobrien]

Fanfiction and original fiction commissions open!

I'm an otherwise unemployed disabled dude who writes commissions to fund my lifestyle. Though I do have less openings than usual due to having a backlog from a health break, I do have space open for the month of January!

25 usd per 1k words, nsfw and some kinks okay, payment due upfront, with a large variety of fandoms available.

Please make sure you read my guidelines, and otherwise, you can contact me at hihihikari@gmail.com or on my discord, zappobrien

My ao3

[thenarratorpqrable]

Fanfic Commissions

Hello, I'm a nonbinary indiginous person who needs help making ends meet. my bf recently lost his job, and I need aid getting money for gas to and from work, food, and basic necesseties.

If you have the means to help us out, we would appreciate it so much. If not please reblog to spread this out for others to see, so I can have a chance of getting help. Thank you!

If you need something in exchange for money, I have information about my fanfiction commissions on my blog! I specialize in romance, hurt/comfort, smut, angst, etc. Ask about any fandom or ship or OCs in my messages or ask, and see my blog for more info! Thank you!

[kiryoutann]

For the Things I have Yet Known

Denji x OC. tags: romance, ANGST, isekai. commissioned by dwilight

[newergrowup]

FANFICTION COMMISSIONS

Hello! I am a fanfiction writer. This is my ao3 . It may not seem that I have plenty of experience, but that is because I deleted my old account about two years ago. I am now rediscovering this passion. I've been having some trouble with money recently and can hardly pay my rent. I'd like to open writing commissions!

I can write from any fandom but mostly: -My hero Academia -Attack On Titan -Genshin Impact -Arcane -Haikyuu! -Spiderman Universe -Percy Jackson Series -OC are more than welcome! and so much more!

It'll be 1$ per 100 words! And 1.50$ per 100 words for NSFW exclusive works!

What I can write: -SFW -NSFW (we can discuss first but I am down for almost anything) -Oneshot -Chapter -Ships! -OC -OC / Canon character -Gore/Violence

What I will NOT do: -Minor / Adult -Incest -Non-Con -In general, don't be afraid to ask, the worst that can happen is that I will say no.

Contact me on tumblr or on twitter @obviouslyida

I accept payments on KO-FI and Paypal!!!!!!

[ephemereos]

WRITING COMMISSIONS

My writing commissions are open! I will do anything, including fanfiction, Oc x Canon, original stories with your Ocs, and self-insert ships. You name it, I do it! I'm well-versed in both SFW and NSFW and I'm willing to write about pretty much anything with a few absolute no-go's:

-Incest

-Minor x adult

-Hate speech

-Graphic depictions of SA

-Scat

-Bestiality

if you're interested, you can check my rates and examples of my writing on my Ko-Fi where you can contact or purchase whichever length you would be interested in, otherwise, if you prefer Paypal, just dm me to discuss the details :3

I am willing to write for any fandom, both those I know and those I don't know! I will do thorough research on the fandom and characters and work closely with you to make the story perfect, so don't be afraid to reach out about anything :3

[m-y-fandoms]

COMMISSION: Nagito Komaeda Dating Head-Canons + Small Drabble Sections

Word Count: 1.7K Words

Details: SFW requested and pretty gender-neutral. Established relationship, not just a crush or pining.

Path 1 - Despair/Island Killing Game:

Nagito definitely holds your hand or clings to you as you explore the island from the jump. If the Killing Game hasn’t started yet, he tries to make excuses for his neediness and desire to be attached at the hip. He senses the danger, that things are a little too peaceful, but he doesn’t want to weird you or anyone else out or spread a panic quite yet. Once it’s been announced and Monokuma arrives, he insists on escorting you to lunch and breakfast, on poison-testing your food. He cares very little for his own safety.

Definitely stalks you around the island and keeps to the shadows if you mention wanting space or insist you will be safe on your own every once in a while.

The illusion of choice would be a huge issue with him in the Killing Game setting with an S/O. It may not be healthy, but even when you think he’s out of sight or not plotting any crazy schemes/ideas,, rest assured he is already two steps ahead. He would do anything to make sure his bad luck cycle affects anyone but you and works over time, sometimes into the early hours of the morning to try and find Monokuma’s creator and the “traitor” that is surely among you all.

He insists on sleeping in your cabin or you in his. He feels better in yours, though, convinced his terrible energy and the dangerous aura that follows him around like a shadow has probably sunk into every corner of his own domicile. Anywhere he can call his own surely has to be haunted with misery and blackened with terrible omens of what’s to come. He feels at peace when he enters your safe space: your cabin decked out with items that are personalized to your talents and hobbies. He feels less alone, less burdened by the energy that surrounds himself.

When you blush and explain to him that it may not be appropriate for him to stay the night in your cabin, he brushes it off. He’s not even thinking about that kind of stuff, about the implications of a student sleeping over at their lover’s cabin. He wouldn’t even see himself as worthy enough to be more intimate with you in the first place. When he would hold your hand or cling to you like a human shield it was always for your good, not his own pleasure or to sate his own touch starvation.

“W-what do you mean?” Your face flooded with a warmth when he first suggested (more like insisted on) it. Your cheeks felt hot to the touch.

“Huh? Why do you look so flustered right now? It’s no big deal, really!” He displayed a crooked, paranoid grin. It was only your third night on the island and he’d already reached his limit. Watching you go into your room alone every night was stressful and tore away at him. How could he protect you if someone snuck in from the opposite side window, or if he couldn’t hear an altercation through the walls? The distance and limited time for reaction were just too risky.

“Nagito… I mean… you don’t think the others will, I don’t know, maybe judge us?” You put a hand to your face in contemplation, unable to meet his eyes. “Maybe they will think it’s weird… or that something inappropriate is going on here… usually two students aren’t allowed to spend the night together… if this were a regular school-“

“Oh well if that’s your concern, I can sleep on the ground! I was going to suggest laying in the bed with you, but that may have been presumptuous of me! If you’re uncomfortable-”

“I think you’re missing the point!” You cut him off, heart beating wildly at the thought of your boyfriend just crawling into bed with you every night. You’d never done more then hold hands, now he wanted to snuggle up in the dark wearing nothing but your bedclothes? It was a huge step. You feared the judgmental smirks of people like Hiyoko, the lectures on proper behavior from your more uptight classmates. People would whisper for sure. Some would confront you and want the details. Nagito was the black sheep of the group after all. Nobody was as close to him as you. You could already hear Ibuki and Akane teasing you, making up crazy scenarios of what they thought happened when you and Nagito spent the night together.

“O-oh, if you’re that worried about what our peers would think, I can understand! I would be embarrassed to be dating someone like me as well, but I will make sure they know nothing unbefitting of a ray of Hope like you happened! I’m just here to keep watch. I wouldn’t dream of trying anything!” He flashed a cheesy smile, holding his hands up in submission. It seemed like he wasn’t going to take no for an answer this time. You sighed deeply in resignation. He already stands outside the bathroom when you shower, so this wasn’t really that much further of a stretch.

He spends hours thinking about how he wants to kiss you, how he wants to touch your bare skin to his, even in the most ticklish or innocent of ways. He lets his mind stew over it, fantasizes, but never acts on his desires. He believes his filthy hands - cursed with bringing harm to others in order to bring luck to himself - could never defile your perfect skin, never dirty your soft hair. Even to ask for your consent to do so would be pathetic, embarrassing. Someone like him lived to serve, please and protect a glowing source of Hope such as yourself. This was bigger then him. You needed to survive, to bring change and Hope to the entire world.

If one day by some miracle you asked, begged him to touch you, to give you more the a vice-like hand-holding session, he could never deny you that request. The last of his restraint would break. His hands would shake, afraid to mess it up, to upset you. His mind would race. Even a small kiss would set his pale, clammy skin on fire.

It would set into motion another hyper-fixation, an addiction… obsession. He would know what true Hope tasted like when your lips touched his.

Nagito is definitely the type to kill others for the sake of his S/O. In canon, he offers to help the blackened, sets up traps and tricks to get people caught or assists in trials, but if he had someone to truly love him and love in return, I think it would set his crazy into overdrive. I would expect he would actually get a bit sloppier, too focused on your safety and happiness above all else that he doesn’t even care if he gets caught or slips up. It’s kind of like how some people in powerful positions or criminal organizations don’t want their family known or easily accessible. That’s an easy hostage, easy leverage. You have something to lose, and therefore you are weaker.

Path 2 - Hope’s Peak Academy School Life/Normal Non-Despair:

Nagito is constantly staring at you, taking in your beauty and radiance. He’s obsessive, constantly adjusting the buttons on your uniform or fixing a pleat that is out of place. He doesn’t even notice when his own tie or collar are loose.

He offers to do your laundry, fold your clothes, clean your dorm. Little favors that make your life easier feel like an honor to him.

When he does your laundry, he dives his nose into your dirty outfits and breathes deeply of your scent. He can’t help himself. Your aroma is like a natural pheromone to him. He will feel guilty, disgusting as he tucks a sock or pair of underwear into his backpack or pocket. He swears to himself he will return it to you… someday, once it’s lost its potency.

There’s a shrine of sorts to you in his own dorm room, which he never lets you enter. He always has an excuse: it’s dirty, it smells in there, he doesn’t want anyone seeing you enter such a lowlife’s room. He fears that if you see the extent of his love for you, his unhealthy obsession, that you’ll be scared away.

The shrine consists of strands of your hair, things he’s swiped from your dorm room without you noticing, photos of you printed out and framed (some photos, he was even blessed enough to be in with you!)

He plans at least one date night every single week. As soon as classes are over he spares no expense on taking you out and letting you pick whatever activity you’re in the mood for. He’s just happy to be there.

He dismisses your worries about him spending money on you, reassuring you every time that he has more money then he knows what to do with.

He’s of course made sure his class schedule lines up with yours perfectly. You think it’s just a coincidence that you get to spend so much time together! You knew he purposely picked some of the same elective classes, but didn’t realize the extent of his influence over his own class schedule.

He sometimes gets a little jealous of your classmates spending time with you, but lets those feelings be released in private. He doesn’t want to scare you away or ruin the privilege of being with you. He knows others deserve to bask in your brilliance and overwhelming energy too, knows that he can’t expect to hoard such a glowing Hope all to himself, but it bites at him. Of course everyone else wants you too. He’s delusional about your importance in the vast universe because he’s totally blinded by love. He will misinterpret someone letting you borrow a pencil as flirting or being partners in gym class as something more. He lets this manifest as sadness or trying harder to please you. He may sabotage the “competition” sometimes, but never let you catch on to his meddling.

He could listen to you talk about your hobbies and interests forever. He wants you to show him how to do it, tell him all the backstory, lore, origins of your hyper-fixations or passions. Spending nights on your dorm room floor listening to your favorite musical artists and just eating ramen would mean the world to him.

[bunnis-monsters]

“You’re romanticizing it!”

No, actually, I’m sexualizing it. Thanks.