#hueeee

Thank you so much ♥️ And yes, sure. Happy reading!

William Shakespeare

Shakespeare is an eccentric, a yandere; an inscrutable gentleman. Even you do not fully understand what it is that hides behind the man’s disarming smiles but you’re intrigued. (And you know what they say about curiosity killing the cat.)

“A-Ah… S-Shakespeare… please,” Voice all quiver, body all agitation, you try to twist around in his grasp but he’s inescapable, his presence all encompassing.

He has you both snuggled away into a secluded corner of the mansion’s vast library. The hard wooden juts of the shelves dig unforgivingly into your back but your mind’s a fog.

“‘O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art’,” silver seeped in the lowest of lustrous tones, brushes across your throat; lips feathery light as they sear a path against your neck.

Licking dry lips to return moisture lost, you attempt to re-enact the famous balcony scene from ‘Romeo and Juliet’, pulling at whatever helpful threads from memory.

“‘If they do see thee, they will murder thee.’” You speak the dialogue, a strangely apt warning for what would happen if the other residents of the mansion happened upon you two, in this position.

Shakespeare was hardly a welcome presence here. You had been cautioned by far too many.

And yet –

‘My life were better ended by their hate

Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.’

Your eyebrows pinched at the words, at the solemnity of his expression as he uttered his confession to you, unnerving odd eyes staring right into yours as if he were trying to fathom your own feelings through sight alone. However, the clouds parted, his face cleared far too fast for you to make sense of him, a pleasant smile taking him once again.

“I am far too glad you deem my oeuvres worthy of your attention,” he commented, pulling away from you at last. You felt strangely bereft, missing the warm of his body on yours.

You perceived a heat on your cheeks as soon as you had that thought. “Please, I cannot bear thee looking so sad. I promise we shall meet again soon.” His voice was gentle, soothing and yet you thought you glimpsed the dark of promises unsworn deep within his gaze.

You smiled. “I look forward to it.”

Perhaps, you were a fly caught in the spider’s web after all.

Fond of chains and manacles around you

Shakespeare likes to have your wrists encircled within his grasp, pinning them to the wall as he enters your bent form from behind. Your body a half-undressed canvas, flowing fabric around your feet, your collar long loosened and parted to reveal the enticing curves of your bosom: all of it has him breathless and hard and wanting.

He wants to make this fair maiden his for all eternity. 

And when you lift your skirts up and above to flash glistening skin, looking at him, mouth parted, the rouge of your lips smudged, eyes a deliberate haze seducing him to fall to his own tragedy –

He’s reaching for your hands, taking them in his grasp – slowly tightening – as he moves to clasp them above your body. Fingers digging, unmerciful, into the delicate flesh of your wrists, skin so thin, almost gossamer, taking the shape of his grip like words to parchment, as he assaults your senses with his own lust. Wanting you to drown in him, the way he feels asphyxiated by his love for you he almost hates the way you have him, mind and body, so enraptured.

 As for how you two usually end up in such comprising positions:

Shakespeare loves teaching you how to dance to olden music long forgotten. He came up with that suggestion when he once noted your endearing habit of tapping your heels, a personal pantomime flowing from your lips; in silent accompaniment to a musical play he had had the pleasure of attending you at.

He was gratified when he put forth himself to your services and you enthusiastically agreed.

The sound of his low sonorous laugh followed at the clack of your heels against polished granulite. “You’re doing so well, my dear.”

“Are you sure? I don’t feel very good about this.” You frowned at your feet as the pair of you swayed, slightly out of sync to the music.

Another light chuckle. It soothed your nerves to hear him so relaxed and patient with your amateur self.

“Of course. Does my lady not believe me when I say so?” A complicated pirouette and then he’s pulling you along, arms first, as you glide across the floor together, his form that of a majestic demon.

“And even if thou flounder,” he sent you around in a free twirl, almost making you dizzy before you slipped and stumbled – right into his waiting arms.

Lifting your head only to find his eyes already trained on you, something unfathomable and bright within their depths.

“Shakespeare–”

He’s taking your mouth in a slow stimulating kiss, pulling your bodies flush against each other, hands fluttering against the surge of your hips. When you feel the grind of him against your body, you’re already falling, moaning into his mouth as you let the lateness of eve pull you into further amorous pleasures.

 Loves it when you wear chokers cough to complement whatever outfit you’re dressed in. He has expressed his interest in the unusual necklet one too many a time.

Gentle hands slide across your naked skin, soothing and probing in motion, but they do nothing besides stoking the fires of your arousal.

His eyes seem to hold an almost fey glow as he delicately touches the ornament adorning your neck. You’re whimpering at the sight of his hunger.

Fingers slide underneath the material to tug at it – and in order – your neck.

Impenetrable gaze meets yours before he’s bending down to lave around the taut chain, making you gasp at the feeling of his cool wet tongue.

“Did you know… in worlds long lost to time, the necklace gracing your neck used to be a sign of slavery, subservience… to a master.” 

Eyes upturned. Beauty ephemeral. The slip of a vulpine smile.

“Do you wish to pledge your undying loyalty, to be bound, just as I wish to be the only one shackled to your name, my love?” His fangs are grazing against your neckline, searching, waiting.

You eagerly breathe your consent heavenward.

A yearning sound, the piercing of skin is all you know in your little world before pleasure takes and destroys you for any man besides him.

Leonardo Da Vinci

All Leonardo wants in life is his cigarillos and a naked cara mia in his lap to keep him warm and cosy.

 In accordance with his habit of falling asleep anywhere and at any place within the mansion’s premises, the first view from the floor Leonardo has of you, is undoubtedly your butt which he thinks is the finest in all of Paris.

He once had, what he now likes to call, the “screeching glass incident", befall him because he dared to speak up in praise of your excellent bottom.

You bet the man still likes to huff and sulk about it just to see your cute flustered face as you recall what you did.

Coming down to have a glass of water past midnight, in a house full of weirdos vampires wasn’t perhaps the most stellar idea you had ever had. You realized it as soon as you moved to put your now empty glass in the sink, only to stumble over something… lying on the floor. A thud and then a groan followed, before a hand was reaching out of the darkness to steady your leg… “…Cara…” a touch at your bottom was what finally stimulated your voice box, your hand – still holding the glass – coming down to hit your perverted perpetrator over the head.

The glass broke with a resounding crash, a wounded “OW!” right on its heels before the room was flooded with light, a hard headed Leonardo curled up on the floor, clutching his head. 

Suffice to say the man learned not to try steadying you in dark scary places without prior warning.

Sex with Leonardo is a ride all on its own, much like the man himself.

He’s languorously lapping a path up your slit, strong arms encasing your shaking thighs, building you up only to drop butterfly kisses around the area once you’re close, watching sundry emotions dance across your face in response to his teasing.

“Hah…” A light suck to the clit before he’s moving away amidst demurring and cries of protest. “You’re a beautiful mess, cara mia.”

But once he’s done edging your exhausted body, he’s dragging you close by the hips, fervently thrusting inside in one swift move. You’re throwing your head back - overwhelming ecstasy the only thing that matters - to scream out his name.

He’s rough and harsh and intense once he’s inside you. He knows exactly how his campagna likes it and he loves it just the same.

“Haha… the way you’re moving your hips… it’s hot the way you’re chasing your release, using my body however you please. Seeing you try so hard makes me want to keep up.” He says as he swings your body up into his arms.

Leonardo is a tall and broad man: he’s huge. And damn strong.

Be prepared to be tossed around: onto the bed, onto the carpet, to fuck over his trash pile of a room, get frisky on top of his books. Folded like a lawn chair, he’s pounding into you hard while you’re left helplessly groaning out your pleasure into his mouth, hot on yours.

“Got me tight, cara mia?” The question is a husk, a deeper, more gravelly intonation of his usual pleasant voice and it send shivers down your spine. Leonardo moves to adjust the strength of your legs around his hips, pushing into your wetness, the impact sending you back against the wall. He continues to skewer your body onto his cock over and over.

 Vlad

You’ve hardly seen the pleasant smile on his face falter, his speech a thing spun of low silken tones. He’s gentle in his demands of you, be it politely asking you to run a few errands out in town, helping him look after his gardens while he’s out on business or… be it asking you how you’d like him to have you collared – would you prefer to be on your knees, on his bed or -

Vlad doesn’t like being unnecessarily violent with you, although he is quite demanding in bed. He finds your tears of frustration rather lovely.

The one time you have seen the look on his face change, mangled into something almost unpleasant – the smile on his face taking on an unctuous quality, is when –

“Comte bought you these flowers, you say?” The question is uttered in a tone so insouciant, you know something is off about it a minute before you feel the rush of the wind in your ears, the motion of his pull so swift, you’re underneath him in seconds. Vlad moves to drag his lips against your hair, kissing at the locks, breathing in the scent of the roses adorning them like a poisonous crown. “…A floret of my favorites, nonetheless. Hah… truly, you mock me, dear Comte.”

“Lord Vlad?” You question him, eyes wide in bewilderment. What brought this on? Weren’t Comte and Vlad old friends?

“It’s nothing much, draga mea. Only, would you allow me to find solace in your body? I find myself rather fatigued this evening.”

“Of course,” you answer still somewhat agog, even as you’re moving to place your hands across his back. He’s swifter, pinning your wrists above your head in a fast hold, ruby eyes straining to contain something dark and wanton. You swallow thickly against the aggression of your arousal his amorous gaze inspires in you.

You open your mouth to utter his name but he’s leaning in to swallow your pleas into his mouth, fangs brushing against your tongue with the roughness of his kiss. He’s moving to straddle you, free hand hiking up your skirts, tearing at them to get to you.

He’s murmuring inaudibly against your skin but you’re far too gone at this point to question him about it. “Mine, mine, mine… never again…”

 .

[End notes: I realize I ended up making a ficlet out of Shakespeare’s head-canons. Writing Vlad also left me dissatisfied since we don’t have a lot of content to draw from yet. Fix this, Cybird! Give us the hot white blonde! However, this is my current take on him, reading his introductions, his dialogues, based on a random JP Q&A with Vlad as well as the sprite-less part he plays within the current routes. I hope these managed to satisfy you regardless of my feelings on the matter. Thank you for reading!

Because I'm a sucker for her too, okay? I can't quite get her right and this bothers me soo much! @srabbit2000 's OC, named Dolores O'Gilt, is just too much to bare and so pretty...

Please also check her out!

Finally putting some art up on here but here’s my self insert for The Dragon Prince! This is Kassira! She is a Moonshadow Sunfire Elf mix who is a twin to her twin brother Lionel (which is @rakanoir ‘s self insert) who is more Sunfire than Moonshadow. They are like the Sun and the Moon born together from a couple that consisted of a Sunfire and Moonshadow elf.

When they were very young the tribes wished to meet them but once they saw Kassira’s skin they knew a life as an assassin would not be one for her. Not out of spite but just telling the truth. Kassira instead walked the path of learning the Primal Magics and magic in general, becoming a mage instead.

I tried to do fake anime screenshot...

Numbah two fic gift for @projectcodex​‘s birthday. Also if ya’ll haven’t yet you should WISH HIM A HAPPY BIRTHDAY BECAUSE HE IS A WONDERFUL BEAN WHO DESERVES ALL THE LOVE!!! Enjoy reading~

@queenbendy