valko having a "lone wolf" as his soulmate. someone who naturally avoids people and shys away from him too because why would a hunking billionaire wolf chairman want YOU? comes to your place of employment AND your house AND your favourite coffee shop and WILL not stop trying to fluster and flirt with you. talks about your interests with you to get you to open up to him (where'd he get that info from?) hes not stopping until your soft and pliant in his bed, accepting the bond and his knot
this or that with your selfship! (nsfw version 🔥 mdni)
heat of the moment or slow build up / multiple quick rounds or one long session / hair pulling or marking / gentle touches or passionate grabs / “don’t stop” or “i need more” / bondage or blindfolding / shower sex or kitchen sex / dirty talk or staying quiet / partially clothed or fully naked / edging or overstimulation
✦ Summary - After searching long and hard Caranthir finally meets the sorceress he had been teaching from across worlds
⟡ Caranthir x reader
✦ Content - apprentice/teacher dynamic - Warnings - reader is a human sorceress, master dynamic, power imbalance, elf/human hate, not proofread
The Skellige seas were dark, almost black apart from the white foam topping the rough waves. Cold winds whipped at your face as you stood on the shore, overlooking the raw beauty of it all. The skies above were nearly as dark, foreboding more downpour. It could be any moment now, you sensed it. The air crackled and the scent of ozone hit your nostrils first, then it came. Before your eyes space itself tore open like a fresh wound, cold pouring out and freezing even the unruly waves.
The black bough of ship breached the portal first, adorned with heavy, metal reinforcements. The Naglfar. It crashed through and dropped into the quickly growing patch of ice. The metal groaned as the ship pushed through the frozen growlers before it finally came to a halt close to shore.
The portal closed but the cold lingered, making you tug your fur-lined cloak tighter around you. By now the water around the ship had frozen over, allowing the armed soldiers of the Wild Hunt to walk to shore. They were following clear orders as they formed smaller groups to scout the island.
Before long a familiar figure appeared among them, beelining toward you with clear intent. You quickly bow your head respectfully and keep your gaze lowered. “Welcome, master.” You speak as the elf comes to stand before you, observing you with a clinical look. After an uncomfortable silence his armored hand takes hold of your chin. Your head titled up and to the sides as you’re inspected by your master.
Caranthir takes his time to examine every inch of you, his gaze lingering especially long on your rounded ears. Still wearing his helmet his expression was impossible to read. “You’re a dh’oine.” He eventually states with a rough voice, not bothering to hide his disappointment. You nod softly, not daring to look him in the face, letting your gaze linger on his intricate breastplate instead.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ݁. ˖ ݁. ⊹₊ ݁.
She came to him when he least expected it. While searching for Cirilla and jumping through time and space again and again he had been at his limits. Then suddenly, while trying to set a course to Cirilla’s homeworld, he felt it. It was like a bright star in dark, endless void, almost calling to him. At first he could do nothing but assume it must’ve been a trace of Cirilla’s magic but when he allowed himself closer he felt it. Another consciousness, magic in nature like many who practiced sorcery. Though this one seemed to have strayed into the dark, away from their physical form, curious to a dangerous extent.
He had reached out in a trance, consciousnesses brushing past each other before he sunk in his talons. Leaving no escape he examined, instead of struggling she submitted like a dog eager to show its belly.
Useful, that’s what he had told himself it was. A sorceress usable as an anchor once they needed a quick return to Cirilla’s homeworld. So during the day they pursued the girl of the Elder Blood and when he slept his mind sought hers, teaching her, molding her. When the time came he’d use their growing bond to the hunt’s advantage.
She was eager to learn, eager to please her master and teacher. She must be lonely, he thought, yet strong. Clearly she must’ve been one of his kind, an elven sorceress with tremendous potential.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ݁. ˖ ݁. ⊹₊ ݁.
So now, when faced with the truth he felt conflicted. You were what he had always hated, inferior and fragile. A round-eared, meek, pathetic little dh’oine. He had had such high hopes, this was a disappointment. Yet you could still be useful, in a way, he supposed. If only for your loyalty. You’d throw yourself into whatever hell he asked of you, he knew that.
“-your tent, lieutenant?” A voice shook him from his thoughts. Caranthir whipped his head towards the soldier addressing him. “…What-?” He asked with a low voice. The soldier repeats himself. “Will the dh’oine be staying in your tent, lieutenant?” Caranthir wanted to snap back that of course not, no filth would be sleeping in his tent. Though he holds his tongue and forces himself to think rationally. “Yes, make it so.” He replies after a moment of silence, his hand still holding your chin.
That is how you found yourself whispering spells under your breath, enchanting the lining of Caranthir’s tent on his behalf. Something to keep out the cold, some words to repel the downpour. Caranthir watches quietly, his eyes lingering on your lips. The way you whisper is so gentle, almost loving, like you’re performing some great miracle.
A camp bed awaited him. Peaceful, uninterrupted sleep. On the other side of the tent a less impressive bedroll was laid out on the floor for you. “That’s enough.” The tall elf commands and you finish casting the last spell. With a quiet sigh his shoulders relax a little for what feels like the first time in a decade. His helmet slides off his head and he sets it on the small table beside him. You couldn’t help but watch as the blond hair spilled past his shoulders. He has a handsome face that made you want to reminisce over every detail. To mourn the helmet that would hide such beauty from view.
“Help me with these.” He groans softly as his hands fidget with the straps of his armor. You are quick to take over for him, loosening them one by one and carefully taking away the pieces. Up close he looked more exhausted than you had initially realized so you tried to be quick about it. Carathir appreciated that, straight to the point, just as he liked. Once freed he sat down onto the bed with a small groan. It felt like the bed was still swaying slightly but for once his feet were planted on solid ground instead of aboard the Naglfar.
“Will you be able to sleep, master?” You asked him softly. The way you said it gave away how you truly did care, like you weren’t just asking because it was expected of you. The elf nods before gesturing at the bedroll. “You should get some sleep as well, tomorrow we’ll continue your teachings.”
Once the sun had set the weather outside had turned unforgiving, cold winds lashing at the encampment. The bed however was warm, yet Caranthir still had a hard time falling asleep, his mind not yet willing to be put to rest. At some point his gaze had come to rest on you, rolled up tightly in your cloak. It made no real difference, you were shivering still. Eyes pressed shut as if to will away the cold seeping into your body.
Caranthir had reluctantly come to realize that in certain lights you looked somewhat comely, despite being human. Even now, when his body yearned for rest but his thoughts were elsewhere, he could imagine you’d perhaps even be pretty. Had you been born as an elf maid of course, he quickly reminds himself. Truly it was his own fault, he had assumed a great many things while your minds had conversed over impossible distances. He would not make such a mistake again. Though you were sweet, if anything, and you meant every word of it too. Even while tapping into your mind he could find nothing but adoration and wonder. Naturally of course, he was something unique after all.
His aimless cogitating is cut short when he too feels the cold seep through the furs and blankets around him. For a moment he contemplates simply casting a quick incantation but he did not wish to exert himself more. Besides, however much he wished to deny it he yearned for a different warmth now, one that no quick spell could imitate. Not like Imlerith, he wouldn’t stoop so low, just… something to hold. He looks over again and with a reluctant sigh he throws back his covers.
“Come here.” He mutters softly. It takes a moment to register his words but with the way you’re slowly freezing up you don’t hesitate for long. Before long you’re under the covers with him, laying perfectly straight while staring at the canvas above you. You weren’t sure how to act, what to do nor what was expected of you. Luckily Caranthir doesn’t wait long to give instructions. “Turn over, back to me.” He murmurs, after which his arms soon curl around you and pull you back against his chest.
Your hair tickles his face as he buries his nose in the back of your neck. For now he’ll ignore how fast your heart beats in favor of the shared warmth. He’ll ignore how your scent is not totally repulsive. It’s something sweet with something floral that makes him want to breathe you in shamelessly. It’s because the hour is late, because he is exhausted and because he misses the comforts of home. He’s not himself, that is what he convinces himself.
So for now he will hold you close and relishes this simple comfort. Perhaps tomorrow he shall do the same and the day after that. It meant nothing after all, though it was getting harder to persuade himself of that.
⟡ Notes - This is lowkey ass but I really wanted to write for Caranthir and I’m having a creative block, womp womp
[Headcanons] Severian Lowell: In a Romantic Relationship
cw: self-indulgent, possible OOC, fluff, female reader.
Requested by anon.
Note: DISCLAIMER: this is written during version 2.8, and we’re yet to see more of his character in canon, so this is purely my speculations and wishful thinking, don’t take it as an analysis of his character.
Is bad at dating at first. He’s mostly been busy with his work as the Senior Commissioner, and hasn’t actually thought about dating someone seriously.
Expect mostly an old-fashioned approach. He’ll start with precise, formal invitations (“Would you care to join me for dinner at 19:00?”) rather than vague “let’s hang out” texts, give you gifts that show he’s been paying attention (he’s naturally observant), like something you mentioned once you wanted to have or something practical yet beautiful.
Shows his love through actions: remembering small details about you, making time despite his busy schedule, being vulnerable in private with you.
As the Senior Commissioner, he’s naturally protective and takes your safety very seriously. He insists on knowing your schedule if you’re late. He’s not controlling you, he only wants to make sure you’re okay. A simple call or a message with “I’ll be late,” or “I’ll visit my friend today,” will calm him down.
In public, he’s all that polished Commissioner Lowell: measured voice, perfect posture, and intimidating aura. In private with you, he melts a little. He’ll rest his head on your shoulder after a long day as you play with his long hair or brush his tail while he vents about “incompetent subordinates” in a deep, tired voice.
Physical affection starts slow. He’s tall and composed, so forehead kisses, hand-holding with gloved fingers, or letting you bury your face in his chest after a long day feel incredibly intimate. When he finally relaxes fully and once he understands that he can be openly affectionate with you, he’ll become a big needy cat who wants hugs and kisses from you.
Extremely gentlemanly kisses your hand. He lifts your hand and kiss your knuckles / back of your hand while maintaining eye contact, especially when he’s in full formal suit mode. It makes your knees weak every time.
Loves when you scratch behind his ears or stroke his tail; you can make him purr softly. If you point out how needy he is, he will only blush and huff.
May even “accidentally” trap you in bed with his arms on mornings for “Five more minutes.”
If you do something reckless, you will receive a calm but firm scolding. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?” But it always ends with him pulling you into a hug and murmuring, “I care about you.” This is him saying “I love you” in his own way.
If he’s dating you, he’s already thinking long-term. He’s be hesitant at first (work-life balance is difficult to maintain), but once he’s in, he’s devoted.
yet another banger mylily commission by the absolute goat that is @/ogata69 on vgen!!! 🤍 they are truly such a joy to work with.. and i highly recommend getting a comm with them. they were super accommodating when i asked if mydei’s back freckles could be added 🙈
THIS IS MY OWN PERSONAL COMMISSION — DO NOT SAVE THIS OR USE FOR YOURSELF. DO NOT FEED THIS COMMISSION INTO ANY FORM OF AI.
you know what’s fucking insane? Making dark content creators revive their trauma just to explain to you why they write what they write; making dark content creators feel guilty about writing about problematic tropes as if they agree with it; making dark content creators a victim of your self-righteous, self-congratulatory anger just because you actively engage in content you’re not fond of instead of ignoring it. please log off
you don’t walk out of a horror movie thinking that the director supports killing people. you don’t read books about true crime or even crime solving mysteries and think that the author approves whatever the hell happens in there. dark content exists not only in real life but in fiction, and it’s not because writers want to experiment with it in fictional and controlled environments that they’re promoting those behaviors. this is bonkers to me. completely off the wall. if you cannot engage in a story without having to see blatant and stereotypical good vs evil and the bad guys losing, then I’m sorry for you. what the fuck.
also, warnings are there for a reason. if you read the warnings and still choose to engage in that story, knowing that there are triggering topics for you, it’s not the author’s fault. Simple as that. Their responsibility is to put proper tags on their works, and it’s on the reader if they wish to proceed or not. No one is holding you at gunpoint and making you read anything.
also. block tags and keywords. Filter your searches. and if you’re under the age of eighteen, go do your homework or something.
also, probably the most controversial opinion to come out of this post: your fave anime boy isn’t real. And this is coming from neurodivergent girl who has a blog solely to write reader inserts. They’re a bunch of lines and traits that someone imagined. They’re not hurting, they’re not real people. You can put them in whichever context you want and it doesn’t matter. So if you’re putting the fictitious feelings of an anime character in front of actual people just writing for fun... I cannot stress this enough: log off.
I love the concept of someone teaching you how to fuck. how to kiss, what it feels like to have someone else’s hands on you, someone else’s tongue. all under the guise of them being helpful, sweet to you, so you’re not nervous for when it ‘really’ happens. only for them to make sure they’re the only ones who ever get to see you that way
Just woke up & saw not one but TWO AI generated "art" on my timeline made my blood boils. Why don't people pay an actual artist to make something? Anyway, if you do hate AI just as I do, you could support a fellow small artist to keep doing art by subscribing to my ko-fi 👀
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