Valentine ♡

lover & fanatic of the pathetic, yearning losers out there

[captured-angel]

— “ Do you believe in love at first sight? I believe I used to, at some point. ”

Valen(tine) — 19 / All Pronouns / Pansexual / Twst-centric

mast.list | rules | req/inbox open, feel free to yap away ♡

“ But a love story like that’s a fleeting thing, isn’t it? ” —

[captured-angel]

Look at me. Only me.

Porcelain Doll! Yan! Vil x GN! Reader

Doll! Yan! Vil Schoenhiet, who used to hate how people always chose the new, sweetest Neige life-sized doll over him. Children, pleading and tugging on their parents' sleeves, shrieking, "I want that one!" with watery, fat tears filling their big, naive eyes. Adults and teenagers looking at their checking accounts, wondering if they could afford it; if it'd be worth the tens of thousands for the "Knight and Shining Armor," who defeated the evil queen. The Fairest One. Praise slipping from their lips, seemingly never-ending. Furthering that twisted, sickening feeling that coiled within his cloth-stuff-filled chest. Why didn't they look at him with such reverence? He was far fairer than the messy-haired brunette, wasn't he? Prettier. Yet no matter what. They only spared him a meaningless glance. A small comment, maybe two. But it wasn't enough. Until you showed up, gawking at him through the glass case that enveloped him and not that pesky faux hero. Your eyes shimmering with what could only be described as infatuation. A need for him. So enamored, he was half certain your eyes would bulge out of your head, oblivious that he could see you through the glass eyes that'd been structured in him. A sight similar to ones he'd seen from others—staring at Neige—but never him. To a point, when you turned your heel and walked away—with purpose, he now recalled—he almost missed your presence in front of him. And when the deep, crimson velvet curtain, draping him in a shroud of darkness so thick it felt suffocating, he couldn't shake the spike of worry that he'd never see that expression on any other. On you, again. Even as he was taken from his glass case, instead replaced with a cheap cardboard, and hauled away to a land he'd never been, from everything he'd ever seen. Ever known.

Only to meet your eyes once more, however long later. One of your hands clutching a box cutter, the other holding apart the flimsy cardboard opening. The illumination of the sun's beams from behind you hitting your features in a way that made you glow. Determination and awe rippling off of your mien in waves.

This time, without a silly glass pane between the two of you.

Doll! Yan! Vil Schoenhiet, who can’t help but love you after you picked him up from that dump of a store… So much so that he drowned in it. Drank in your attention every time you touched up his paint and dusted him off, your brush feather light against his porcelain. As if you were worshiping the statue of a deity, and not some doll who'd shatter into pieces if you nudged him too much. Making sure he was never blemished, swathed in the finest clothes you could seize from life-size doll makers and collectors. Always so “pretty,” as you cooed one day, so close to his ear that he was certain his heart would’ve beat if he were human. Alive, in the way that you were. Talking to him as if he was real—well, technically, he wasn't that you knew of—rambling about your day endlessly, filling the place with the melodic sound of your voice. Turning the television on when you had to leave, making sure he was always entertained whenever you weren't home… Even if he wasn't that much of a fan of it. He'd even heard you on the phone once or twice, asking for a custom design for him, and he couldn't help but chuckle to himself, knowing you were too distracted with the other person on the line to hear. You could be so cute, sometimes. And he'd consider this life rather… Nice. In a way, it was limiting. Having to only move when you weren't around or asleep, 'forcing' him to take careful note of the time and your schedule. Your habits… Surreptitiously stretching his ball joints as he wandered about the house. Looking for new things you'd manage to slip past him, going through your closet and dressers, organizing them—purely out of generosity, of course; you'd done so much for him… And how could he possibly let you be so disorganized in return..? How could you possibly leave your keys there? In that little bowl? Don't you know how vulnerable they are? Sigh… He'll put them somewhere safe. Don't worry, darling. Not a soul will get into your home, or out, not with him there. He'll make sure of that. Just what was he going to do with you, spuddling? But it wasn't bad, being someone's… Being yours, and only yours. Just as you were his. It wasn't like you could possibly think of bringing a partner here, of course… Someone subpar to him. You wouldn't want to make them feel oh-so-jealous, would you...? They wouldn't even have a chance against him, even if you'd presumed him to be… Unmoving. You knew that, and so did he. He wasn't named the "Fairest One of Them All" for no reason. Until the day you brought home a Neige doll. You'd come home later that day, an unusual thing for you, but he wouldn't put it against you. He'd be merciful… But when your voice rang out, something dragging behind you, something in him stirred. A sinking suspicion. And he knew, whatever was in that box, so similar to his when he arrived, he wouldn't enjoy it. And he didn't. The betrayal was instant as soon as you'd opened the box. Seeing those soft, rounded cheeks and warm, deep chocolate eyes—a stark contrast to his elegant features and calculating lilac irises—made whatever warmth he'd felt from your arrival frigid. How could you do this? To him? He couldn't believe it. Refused to, perhaps, even when faced with clear evidence of your treachery. The very doll that'd imprinted itself inside of his memory, taunting him mere feet away with his lovely and saccharine smile.

His eye twitched before he could stop it, and your gaze snapped toward him almost immediately. Your eyebrows drew taut as you looked at him, not with love or adoration, but instead with heavy accusation. "Did… You just move?" You drawled out, squinting at him as you placed the very same box cutter you'd freed him with on the floor before you cautiously stood up, keeping your gaze fixed on him. But he didn't move again. Didn't allow himself to show that his composure had shattered for just a fraction. No matter how close you drew, not even when he could feel the way your breath fogged against his cheek. Hesitant, you backed away, giving up. "Maybe I'm just imagining things… Gods, is this is how people get murdered in horror movies?" You grumbled, mostly to yourself and the universe. But Vil made a promise to himself, in that moment. That he'd fix this rather… Unfortunate situation. No matter what he had to do. Doll! Yan! Vil Schoenhiet, who waits until the day you leave to run errands, saying you'll return later that night to set the very plan he had into action. Who mutilates the doll, ripping apart every joint tied with string, hurtling limbs into walls without a care in the world, and relishing every crunch and tatter to the doll's figure. Who litters the floor with a disseminated doll body, his other half's. And when he finished, there was not even a trace of blood, like he would see in the movies and shows you'd played for him. A strange feat, now that he looked down at the strewn-apart 'corpse.' Because in truth, he didn't murder it. It couldn't even be described as similar, not by mortal standards. All he did was break a doll, which would amount to nothing besides the title he'd been given. When the door opened with a creak, he stilled momentarily. You were home earlier than he'd expected. A silence folded between the two of you until bags slammed to the floor with a loud crinkle. Vil cracked his head and looked you straight in the eye. His permanent, sly smile, one you'd once loved and fawned over, now ever so haunting against the harsh shadows on his face, plastered on his face. "…Why?" A mellifluous, smooth voice rang out of him, lacking the miserable touch of his words, but his mouth didn't move. It couldn't. "Why couldn't you just look at me? Why did you have to get him?" He spat the last word out. You stood frozen, grocery bags scattered across the floor beneath you, only one still clutched in your hand. Cans and jars, he guessed, by the way it sagged. Your knuckles were notably paler than before. "…Huh?" You managed to utter past your stupor. You'd likely been expecting to see your two dolls posed beside each other—tactless choice, really, considering everything—but all you saw was Vil hovering over what could only be described as a ceramic crime scene. He twisted his limbs to face you in such a way that it made you stumble back, petrified, a foot past the threshold of your home and the outside world. He took a step closer, careful, like he was approaching a scared stray cat. "My… Don't you get it?" You took a deep, shuddered breath as he inched closer. And closer. Staring at him with such wide eyes that enthralled him so dearly. With each stride, your irises began to shake a little more— CRACK.

He staggered back, surprised, clutching the right side of his face on instinct at the blow that'd struck him. The tips of his fingers grazed the slender, spider-web-like crack that'd embedded into his cheek, passing through his eye and further until it reached his hairline. He stiffened for a moment, just as you turned your heel, turning away from HIM again— Before you could leap into a sprint, he grabbed your wrist, his fingers encased around it so roughly, he knew he'd ingrain the mark into your skin with a bracelet of deep purple blotches, and pulled you back. This time, flush against the chill of his porcelain, slamming you right into him. Goose bumps ran up your spine as you shivered against him. The door, your escape, shut as he discarded the fracture in his visage. Vil enveloped his arm around your waist, clinging onto you, as he let go of your wrist. Did you feel the way your heart raced? Did you hear it, just like he did? "You don't need another. All you need is me, don't you get that..? Just look at me. Only me." He placed his head on your shoulder. "I am the fairest one of them all." Your eyes met his, and your breath hitched at the sight of him—at the crack that marred his face. With a trembling hand, you reached up to cradle the fractured side of his face, tears swelling in your eyes. "Was that so hard now?" He murmured, somehow sounding softer despite his voice bank, knowing it was terror that swallowed you whole. That made the choked-out noise that crawled up your throat instead of concern for him, but he didn't care. Couldn't bring himself to, as the remnants of his other half, the heroic to his villainous, lay sprawled behind him. Not when you looked at him, and only him, instead of Neige. "What? .. Am I not pretty now, darling?"

[captured-angel]

How am I meant to be aesthetic when my intro photos keep breaking:((

[captured-angel]

Trey clover x GN! reader, suggestive!

Trey clover who really enjoys the way your teeth feel against his skin…

The way the sharp tips of your canines glide across the skin of his shoulder blade, causing his breath to hitch when you’re in his lap, facing him. Your fingertip grazing the harsh line of his jaw. Desperate and needy for his attention, for him to finally kiss you stupid, till all you can think of is his name.

But he just keeps teasing you… Laughing breathlessly as he rubs his calloused hand on your upper thigh, asking you to tell him what you want. That he won’t know unless you tell him, with such a tauntingly gentle voice that makes you bite down on the curve of his neck. Hard. Grinding against that hardened length that’s poking at your bottom, almost innocently, even though you both know what you’re doing.

Seeing his reaction in the way his irises twisted into a honey yellow—a stark contrast to to his usual mustard color. The way his pulse feels beneath your hand as you trail down further and further, quickening the more you progressed. Though, it could’ve been the possessive, daring nature of his grip on your upper thigh, digging into the plush of your skin that showed you…

A warning that if you continued, you’d end up reaping what you owed, one you never heeded before, and didn’t plan to this time.

Or surprising him when his flattening dough to make the perfect flaky dessert for you, his sleeves rolled up just shy of his shoulder, by chomping down on the muscle of his arm, creating indents on his meaty flesh… Flashing him a knowing, toothy grin just before you scurry off, knowing full well he can’t give chase just yet… But you know he will.

He always manages to catch you, to show you just how affected he was because of your actions though;; No matter how hard you try and scamper away.

Sigh, can’t tease a man anymore without suffering the consequences, can you?

Such a shame… Or is it?

[captured-angel]

— First and foremost! All characters in my fanfics will be aged up to 18+, including my aus and if I do a request/fic in the setting of Night Raven College. And no, I will not write Ortho as a romantic partner.

— No, I do not condone what I write in real life. If you are in a particular situation or have previously experienced it, I wish you so much luck in overcoming it. And if you do find yourself in these situations, I do hope you are able find a stable support system that will help you through it, because some of what I write is not healthy.

— And please, be careful, loves.

— Rule 1. Don’t rush me, I beg of you;; A little peep in case you’re worried that I haven’t gotten a response is perfectly fine. I often don’t decline requests, so I promise I’ll get to yours soon!

— Rule 2. While my yan! stuff will be dub-con, any of genuine, explicit nsfw I write will be consensual (However rare my nsfw could be). Thoughts/and or touching will be placed in the dub-con section. Anything further will be written consensual.

— Rule 3. To go with rule 2, I will not write toilet kinks, vomit, ddlg(or anything of the similar), incest(including step incest), actual pregnancy(breeding kinks are fine), and pedophilla. I’m still debating adding to this, but for now this will be it.

— Rule 4. If you want something to be yan, be specific! Or, you can use “darling.” Similar if you want a reader to be yuu or a whole other character.

— Rule 5. I block people who are transphobic, homophobic, ableists, racists, and fatshamers freely.

— Rule 6. Don’t use my writing to train or feed into AI;; That’s not very nice

— Rule 7. While I know I can’t stop minors from looking at my suggestive/nsfw or yan! content, I do request you don’t interact with it for my own comfort. Including requesting it. Apologies 💔

— M!Character x GN! Reader & M!Reader

— F!Character x F!Reader & GN! Reader

— Yandere Fics

— Alternative Realities/AUs

— Suggestive/NSFW (Primarily suggestive)

— Polyamory and/or Harem

— Headcanons

— And more! Don’t be afraid to request, loves ! I’ll always look forward to what you have to say 🫢

— M!Character x F!Reader (I’m not used to writing specifically MxF💔 Though if you wanna scissor Georgia or one of the other moms go ahead and ask twin🫡)

— Character x Character

— Non Consensual Explicit Nsfw Scenes

— Nothing else I think;; Might add to this in the future, though.