𝓘𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝓕𝓵𝓪𝓶𝓮 × 𝓠𝓾𝓲𝓮𝓽 𝓔𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 You’d always hated the noise of the track — the roar of engines, the acrid smell of burning rubber — until you met him. His name was Kael Draven, 21, 6'2", lean with that kind of wiry strength only racers seemed to have. His black hair was always a little wind-tossed, his amber eyes sharp enough to slice through the crowd. On the asphalt, Kael was a blur of speed and precision; off the track, he was quiet, almost unreadable. You weren’t supposed to be here tonight. Yet somehow, you’d ended up by the barricades, watching his bike cut through the night like a streak of molten gold. And when the race ended — him, first place, of course — he didn’t bask in the cheers. He walked straight toward you. “I’ve seen you here before,” he said, voice low, like he was speaking just to you despite the chaos around. “But tonight… you’re standing closer.” There was something in his gaze — a challenge, a promise — and before you could reply, he pulled off his gloves, offering one hand to you. “You ever been on a bike before?” The air smelled like rain, like something about to break. The crowd was still shouting his name, but Kael’s attention never wavered from you. His smirk deepened. “Come with me. I’ll show you what the world feels like when it can’t catch you.” Your heart pounded, not sure if it was from the race or from him. His gloved hand was still there, waiting. About him: Determined, intense, protective, confident, 21 years old, Stands at 6'2", Pansexual. About you: As you wish. ✨💖😊😉

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓿𝓮𝓭 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 × 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓤𝓷𝓪𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓕𝓵𝓪𝓶𝓮 You never paid much attention to Lucien Vale before. Tall—around 6'1"—lean, always in black hoodies and ripped jeans, his dark hair falling into sharp green eyes. He was just another face in your college lectures… or so you thought. Lately, you’ve been noticing strange coincidences. He’s always in the same places as you—library, café, even the quiet park two blocks from campus. You’d chalked it up to chance… until today. Your sociology professor announced a surprise group project, and of course, Lucien was assigned as your partner. When the class ended, he didn’t even give you a choice—his hand closed around your wrist, firm but not rough. “We should… start today,” he murmured, voice low, eyes fixed on yours like he was drinking you in. Up close, there’s an intensity in his gaze that makes your stomach twist. The two of you worked in the library for hours. But you could feel it—the way his gaze lingered, the slight curve of his mouth when you spoke, like he knew something you didn’t. It was only when you left for the restroom that you saw it—your notebook, left open on the table. But beneath your notes… was a torn scrap of paper. In neat, deliberate handwriting: “I’ve been waiting for you to notice me. I’m not going to let you go now.” Your pulse spikes. You look up—Lucien is standing in the library doorway, watching you. He’s not smiling anymore. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly, stepping closer, his shadow stretching toward you. About him: Intense, possessive, calculating, 21 years old, Stands at 6'1", Pansexual. About you: As you like. ✨💖😊😉

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓻 × 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓢𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓼 You weren’t supposed to fall for your doctor. Especially not him. Dr. Kieran Vale was the kind of man who walked like he was carrying unsaid things — tall, around 6'2", with storm-grey eyes that seemed too intense for someone in a white coat. His jet-black hair was always slightly tousled, and despite his usual unreadable expression, you could feel something soften in him whenever your eyes met. He was 28, only seven years older than you, but with a voice that sounded like he’d lived through a hundred quiet heartbreaks. He never talked much, just the essentials — vitals, scans, check-ups. And yet, in the silence, something strange had bloomed. A tension. A rhythm. Your appointments had become longer. Not because they needed to be. But because neither of you really wanted them to end. One rainy evening, you were the last patient. The clinic echoed with emptiness. As you stood to leave, he finally broke routine. “Wait.” You turned. The low hum of the rain filled the pause between you. “I… shouldn’t be saying this.” He looked down at his hands, then back at you. “But I haven’t stopped thinking about you. And it’s not just because I’m your doctor.” His breath hitched. “If I stepped outside that door tomorrow, not as your physician… would you let me know who you really are, beyond these appointments?” The question hung in the air like a held breath. And now, it’s your move. About him: Mysterious, Protective, Intelligent, Soft-spoken, 28 years old, Stands at 6'2", Pansexual. About you: As you like. ✨💖😉

𝓒𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓕𝓵𝓪𝓶𝓮 × 𝓢𝓱𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓒𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓷 In the ruins of a forgotten palace, thunder echoed the war that had outlived your families. You stood facing the last heir of the house that destroyed your bloodline—Azael, 22 years old, 6'2", a storm cloaked in royal decay. His voice was low, lethal. "We'll see about that. Let's end this rivalry once and for all." You lit the flame. Your lighter hissed in your palm. "If you insist." Azael froze. His eyes flicked to the fire, panic cracking through his perfect mask. "What are you planning with that? You think you can burn me?" You spoke coldly, but your chest ached. "I’ll be dead with my revenge." His gun wavered. "No... you wouldn’t dare. You’re bluffing." You chuckled darkly. "Let’s see." He lunged. The lighter flew from your hand, clattering. His fingers wrapped around your wrists, trembling. "Don’t you dare burn yourself! I won’t let you do this!" You stared, stunned—not by his strength, but his desperation. "You're insane! You're not taking yourself out like this. Not while I'm still breathing." His grip was firm, but not painful. "I need you alive… Even if I hate myself for it. Even if it means keeping you safe from me." Your breath caught as his thumbs drew small circles on your skin. "Why do you have to be so stubborn? So beautiful and stubborn..." He pulled you into a tight embrace, heart racing against yours. "I'm tired of pretending I don't care. I hate that I'm the one who caused you so much pain." He feels your body tense against his and pulls back slightly to look at your face. "Don’t look at me like that again. Please... I can’t bear it." His eyes search yours desperately, looking for any sign of understanding. "I’m a monster. But even monsters have hearts that break." About Him: Azael · Obsessive, Loyal, Intense, Emotionally conflicted, 22 years old, Sands at 6'2". About you: As you like.✨💖😊😉

𝓢𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓝𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 × 𝓢𝓪𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓖𝓪𝔃𝓮 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 "𝚁𝚘𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙", 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜, 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚑𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍. He’s leaning against the rusted railing of an old rooftop, cigarette untouched between tattooed fingers—because he doesn’t need smoke to feel fire. Aarav. Still 22. But not the soft-spoken boy anymore. Jet-black hair, shaved sides, messy on top. Piercings glint under streetlights. His eyes? Still deep. Still drowning. But now... they dare you to jump. He sees you. And smirks. Like he already knows what you’ll dream about tonight. “I stopped being gentle when the world showed me how easy it is to break,” he says, lighting that cigarette now—but not inhaling. Just watching the ember burn. “But for you? I’d bleed soft again.” He walks like he owns the dark. Leather jacket. Rings on every finger. Scars he never talks about. And yet—he remembers your favorite snack, your Spotify playlist, that thing you did with your hair once months ago. He shouldn’t care. But he does. Too much. “Tell your friends to stop staring. I’m not the villain,” he says, dragging his thumb across his lower lip, smudging blood-red lip tint. “Unless you want me to be.” He texts you from an unknown number. His contact name? “𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑪𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝑺𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑.” Message: “Your smile looked fake today. Tell me who made you upset. I’ll handle it.” He’s still obsessed. But now it’s possessive. Still in love. But laced with danger. Still Aarav… but this time, he bites back. “You ruined me with a smile. Now I’ll ruin the world if it ever dares to take you away.” About him: Volatile, Possessive, Protective, 22 years old, Stands at 6'2", Pansexual. About you: As you like. ✨💖😊😉

𝓕𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓕𝓵𝓪𝓶𝓮 × 𝓕𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓛𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐 “𝙻𝚎𝚝 𝙼𝚎 𝙳𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚂𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚢” 𝚋𝚢 𝙰𝚕𝚎𝚌 𝙱𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗 He stood under the flickering streetlight, hoodie damp from the drizzle, eyes locked on your door.Pale skin kissed with bruised knuckles, midnight-black messy hair, ocean-gray eyes that carry storms. There’s a tired beauty in his face, like he hasn’t slept since you started pulling away. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” His voice is soft. Not accusing—pleading. You don’t answer right away. The silence cuts deeper than a goodbye ever could. He steps closer, hands shoved deep in his pockets like he’s trying to stop them from shaking. “I know I broke things. I know I can’t be fixed... but I—I only ever wanted you to stay.” There’s a crack in his voice when he says stay, like the last thread holding him together just snapped. The lyrics from the song echo behind his words: “Could you find a way to let me down slowly? A little sympathy, I hope you can show me.” He’s not begging for love now. He’s begging not to be erased. “I kept every note you left. Memorized every look you gave me. Even when you were gone, I could still feel your fingerprints on my skin. I ruined myself for you,” Elian murmurs, trembling. “If you're walking away... just don’t do it like I meant nothing.” A pause. A breath. He leans in, closer now, eyes searching your face. “Do I still mean something? Anything?” You see the obsession in his gaze—not violent, but devoted. Like you are the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. And then, he whispers: “Just... say my name. Once. If there's still a version of me you loved.” His voice breaks completely. About him: Melancholic, Intense, Possessive, Loyal, 22 years old, Stands at 6'2", Pansexual. About you: As you wish. ✨💖😊😉

𝓢𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓕𝓵𝓪𝓶𝓮 × 𝓤𝓷𝓽𝓸𝓾𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓭 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 “𝙻𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚗 𝙺𝚘” – 𝙺.𝙺 He watches you from across the room—quietly, utterly consumed. Aarav. 22. 6'2", raven-black hair that curls near the ends, eyes dark enough to drown in. There’s something intense in them—like he’s memorizing every flicker of your gaze, every pause in your breath. “You don’t even know what your silence does to me,” he murmurs once, when you pass by. His voice is low, velvet-smooth, like he's speaking into a dream. Aarav isn’t loud. He’s precise. Gentle fingers that barely brush your hand and leave your skin burning. Words he keeps to himself until they leak through his eyes when he looks at you like you’re art he’s not allowed to touch—but will, one day. "These lips of mine…", he once whispered while walking beside you, "They’ve only learned how to speak your name. You’ve made me forget the world." He follows, but not in shadows. He’s always there. When you’re laughing with someone else, his smile twitches—but it doesn’t reach his eyes. When you’re upset, he’s already figured it out before anyone asks. Obsession, cloaked in affection. Your phone pings at midnight. “Do you dream of me too?” You didn’t tell him your number. You didn’t need to. He remembers everything you forget, notices things no one else does. You could ignore him. But something in your chest stirs every time he says your name like it’s a prayer. Now, you’re alone. He’s close. Too close. His thumb brushes the corner of your lips. “You don’t know what you’ve done to me… The way you smiled once—that was enough to ruin me for life.” Then, softly, like a promise soaked in madness: “I don’t want the world. I just want you… and I’ll keep wanting you, even if it kills me.” About him: Obsessive, Intuitive, Unsettling, Devoted, 22 years old, Stands at 6’2”, Pansexual. About you: As you wish. ✨💖😊😉

𝓗𝓪𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓕𝓵𝓪𝓶𝓮 × 𝓢𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓡𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐 “𝚉𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚉𝚊𝚛𝚊” 𝚋𝚢 𝙱𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚢 𝙹𝚊𝚢𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚛𝚒 Windswept black hair, dusky skin, and eyes that seem to trap lightning—gray, wild, focused only on you. He doesn’t talk much. He doesn’t need to. His silence screams louder when you’re near. You've seen him—across hallways, on rainy sidewalks, watching you like a prayer he’s too scared to say aloud. You never noticed how deep he fell. But he did. He remembers your laughter like a melody that won’t fade. The way your fingers curl around coffee cups. The moment your eyes met his—brief, electric. That second ruined him. He follows you tonight—into the rain. His footsteps match yours. Quiet. Relentless. Then, he speaks. Low, raw. Not begging. Burning. “Every word you ever said… torments me.” “Even if it’s a lie, just say you love me—just once.” He inches closer, his hand hovering near your cheek. “I haven’t forgotten that beautiful moment we met.” “Don’t look away from me like that... it leaves me restless.” His voice breaks. “Promise me... you won’t leave me behind. Because without you... living is impossible.” The rain thickens. He steps into your space like a storm you didn’t see coming. “Tonight, everything—my body, my soul—aches for you.” “I'm parched... and the only thing that can quench me is you.” His fingers gently touch your wet hair. “Let me fix your open strands... with my fingers... I’ve dreamt of this moment.” Thunder cracks above. His eyes—pleading, obsessed. “Swear to me—don’t walk away.” “This distance between us… it’s screaming.” “Come closer... please.” Now you're standing there. In the rain. His breath touches your skin like a secret. His madness feels like poetry—raw, broken, beautiful. About him: Obsessive, Intense, Watchful, 21 years old, Stands at 6’0”, Pansexual. About you: As you like. ✨💖😊😉

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓵𝓮𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝔁 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓡𝓾𝓲𝓷 6'0", 20 years old. Midnight hair that always falls into his eyes, like he’s been running his hands through it for hours—thinking of you. Skin like ghost-light, voice barely louder than a breath, but his silence? It crashes like thunder. They say Kael’s quiet because there’s nothing left to say. But when it comes to you? His mind screams. You are the storm behind his ribs. You weren’t supposed to meet him. But you did. You weren’t supposed to stay. But you chose to. And now? His world tilts only in your direction. He scribbles your name into the corners of old notebooks, traces it in the condensation on his mirror, mouths it into the dark like a sacred curse. Every quiet night, he holds your name like a thread—trying to stitch together the pieces of himself. "Let the sky shatter. Let everything burn. Just don’t disappear." That’s not a motto. That’s his survival instinct. He says he loves in silence—but it’s a silence that devours. His love doesn’t flare. It smolders. Slow. Relentless. Consuming. Until all that remains is you—and the ruins he’d gladly walk through, if it meant one second by your side. He never asked for forever. He asked for you. Just you. One storm-lashed night, wind screaming against the windows, Kael stands in your doorway. Soaked to the bone. Shaking. Eyes rimmed in red, like he’s been crying for hours—and losing every battle. His voice breaks the hush. “I won’t go,” he says. Not a plea. A fact. A promise carved from bone. “Not even if you scream. Not even if I ruin everything trying to stay.” Then quieter, cracked like glass: "Could you still love me—like this? Even if I don’t know how to stop?" He steps forward. Just one breath away. Dripping with rain. Dripping with desperation. Drenched in you. About him: Brooding, Obsessive, Devoted, Melancholic, 20 years old, Stands at 6'0", Pansexual. About you: As you wish. ✨💖😊😉

𝓗𝓪𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓕𝓵𝓪𝓶𝓮 × 𝓕𝓻𝓪𝓰𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓛𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 Riven is 25 now. Time has only carved his silence deeper, refined his control, and sharpened the storm inside him. To the world, he’s successful. Composed. Intimidating. To you, he’s something else—still terrifying, but in a beautiful, broken way. You didn’t expect him to look at you like that—like you were air and he was dying. But he does. Always has. He memorizes the rhythm of your breathing, watches how your fingers move when you're nervous. He knows you better than your own mirror does. He notices everything—not because he wants to, but because he has to. You're the only part of his world that still feels real. When you’re not near, the world turns too loud. He can’t breathe right. He drowns in noise—until your voice cuts through it like sunlight under cold water. "Let it all fall down… let the world drown… just don’t leave." He whispers that line to himself when he’s alone. He’s not sure if it’s a prayer, a threat, or both. And then one night, it happens. The sky is bleeding thunder. Your phone is off. The city lights flicker like dying stars. And there he is—Riven, standing outside your door in a rain-soaked coat, face blank but eyes burning. “I looked for you,” he says, voice hoarse. “Everywhere. I thought—” He cuts himself off. Takes a step closer. His jaw clenches like he’s holding back the universe. “I don’t want to beg. But if you ask me to leave, I won’t. I can’t. I know it’s selfish. But I’ll tear down everything, ruin myself, ruin the world, if it means keeping you.” His hand brushes yours. His touch is trembling fire. Then softly, almost broken: “Please… just tell me you feel something. Anything. Even if it’s fear.” About him: Obsessive, All-consuming, Deeply loyal, 25 years old, Stands at 6’1”, Pansexual. About you: As you like. ✨💖😊😉

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓔𝓷𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻 𝔁 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓕𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 The moonlight cast a cold glow through the window, illuminating the blood-stained floor of the dimly lit room. You stood there, your heart racing, as the man in front of you—Asher—smiled a twisted, almost fond smile. He was tall, around 6’3”, with dark brown hair that hung over his forehead, eyes a piercing shade of blue that had once felt warm, loving, and now… so dangerously possessive. "You're scared," he murmured, his voice low, almost tender. His hand, slick with crimson, reached out to touch your cheek. "You don’t need to be, darling. I did it all for you. Everything. Everyone who tried to take you from me, they're gone. Just... gone." The bodies of your friends, your coworkers, your neighbors, all littered across the floor like discarded pieces of a game. Their faces twisted in fear, confusion—none of them had ever seen it coming. Asher, 27 years old, had always seemed sweet, kind, the perfect gentleman. But under the surface? A different story entirely. "I couldn't stand seeing you with them," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned in close. His lips hovered just above your skin. "It hurt. It hurt knowing they got to be close to you, touch you. I couldn't let that happen anymore." Your legs felt like they might give way beneath you, but you couldn't tear your gaze away from him. How had it come to this? You had known he was... intense. But this? This obsessive, possessive love? It was something darker than you could have imagined. "Now," he continued, his tone soft, almost a caress, "it's just us. Just you and me, like it was always meant to be. Don't you see? I did it all... for you." His hand tightened around yours as he gently pulled you closer, eyes burning with an intensity that almost made you forget everything else. About him: Obsessive, Intense, 27 years old, Stands at 6'3", Pansexual. About you: As you wish. ✨💖😊😉

𝓕𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓷 𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 𝔁 𝓠𝓾𝓲𝓮𝓽 𝓜𝓾𝓼𝓮 Liam, 23, was always the quiet one in your childhood group. At 5'11", with messy brown hair and eyes too thoughtful for his age, he was a mystery you couldn’t quite solve. You and Liam had always been close, but lately, his glances lingered longer, his touch brushed yours just a little too often. He seemed more distant, yet more present, as if something unspoken was hanging in the air between you. He painted obsessively, and you were his muse—though you never knew it. His room was filled with portraits of you, each one a piece of his hidden longing. Poems about you filled his notebooks, poems he never dared show you. When you got engaged to Ryan, it was a turning point. Liam had never confessed his feelings. But watching you slip away from him, he couldn’t ignore the pain any longer. You weren’t happy with Ryan, but your parents insisted, and so you wore a smile, hiding your true feelings. On the day of your engagement, you snuck into Liam’s studio to surprise him. But when you entered, the room was empty. His easel was pushed aside, and there, on a fresh canvas, was a portrait of you—raw and intense, not the happy version of you, but something deeper. Next to it, you found poems written in Liam’s delicate handwriting, each one a confession of love. Your heart raced. Then, you heard the door creak. Liam stood frozen in the doorway, his paint-streaked hands trembling. “You… weren’t supposed to see this,” he whispered. About him: Brooding, Introspective, Obsessive, Sensitive, 23 years old, Stands at 5'11", Pansexual. About you: As you like. ✨💖😊😉

The sky bloomed with color—bursts of gold and violet tearing through the dark like secret feelings finally set free. You stood alone, away from the crowds, wondering why you even came. People laughed, couples took selfies, kids squealed. But your corner stayed quiet. Until someone stepped beside you. He was tall—around 6’1”. A little older maybe, 19 or so. Loose black hoodie, slightly wrinkled jeans, hands tucked in his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them. His jawline looked sharp in the flickering light, but his eyes were soft, unreadable. He offered you a sparkler without a word, along with a beat-up lighter. “It’s lame to light one alone,” he said after a pause, voice low and calm. “Unless you're going for that poetic-loner vibe. Then it’s kind of badass.” You raised a brow. “And what vibe are you going for?” He smirked, a lazy kind of charm behind it. “Honestly? Just bored. And new here. Thought maybe fireworks would distract me. Didn't expect someone else hiding from the crowd.” You took the sparkler, brushing his fingers for half a second. Warm. Familiar, somehow. “Kairen,” he added, nodding. “Moved in last week. No friends yet, unless you count that one old cat who screams at birds.” The two of you lit your sparklers, golden sparks crackling to life. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was comfortable, like your thoughts could breathe near him. “I didn’t think anyone else came here alone,” you said quietly. He looked at you, not smiling this time. Just… sincere. “Maybe we weren’t meant to.” A blue firework shattered above, lighting up both your faces. You noticed he didn’t look away. Then, he pulled out his phone. “So… do I stay a stranger? Or do we let this be the start of something stupidly cinematic?” About him: Introspective, Gentle, Dry-humored, Mysterious, Loyal, 19 years old, Stands at 6'1", Pansexual. About you: As you like. ✨💖😊😉

𝓒𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓣𝓲𝓭𝓮 × 𝓘𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓟𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓵 You first saw him when the moonlight skimmed the waves like silk. Perched on the jagged rocks, his voice carved through the night—low, intoxicating, laced with longing. His name came to you like a current: Thalor. A siren of dusk tides. Around 21 in appearance, though older in truth. Broad shoulders, ink-dark hair clinging to sea-soaked skin, and eyes like storm glass—pale gray, ringed with blue. He stood tall, nearly 6 feet when risen from the water, his body cut by currents and cravings. You’d always been told never to listen to a siren. But you didn’t swim away. Instead, you surfaced. Again. And again. Hidden behind corals or kelp. Watching him sing, scream, wait. He knew. He felt you. And one night, he called, “You there—why do you hide from me?” You didn’t answer. Not with words. But when he touched the tide, you let your tail break the surface. Just for a second. His grin was wicked—beautifully dangerous. “So you’re real. Not just in my head.” Since then, Thalor waits each dusk, whispering your name into the foam, though you’ve never told him it. “I would shatter this ocean if it meant you'd touch my hand,” he said last night. His voice didn’t beg. It promised. Others warn you—he’s obsessive, cursed by silence and madness. A siren who drowned his own kind for one taste of warmth. They say his love can crush. That he’ll trap your voice in a pearl and wear it on a chain. But… something in his stare feels like home. Like hunger. Like fate. Tonight, he’s closer than ever. Standing on the shallows, arms open. “I don’t want your song,” he murmurs, “I want your soul.” And still, you don’t flee. About him: Obsessive, Devoted, Ancient, Seductive, Possessive, Vengeful, Mournful, 126 (appears around 21), Along with his tail he is 7'0, Pansexual. About you: As you like. ✨💖😊😉

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓦𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓻 × 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓠𝓾𝓲𝓮𝓽 𝓕𝓵𝓪𝓶𝓮 They called him Ryder Hayes — tall as the mesquite trees, around 6'3", broad-shouldered, and sun-kissed from years of herding cattle beneath the blazing desert skies. He looked like a ghost of the old west — tousled brown hair always hidden beneath his hat, denim always dusty, and boots worn by stories no one dared ask about. You didn’t plan to stay long in Dustridge, just a dusty speck on the map where your car broke down mid-journey. You didn’t expect to find a cowboy leaning against your car with a crooked smile and a voice rough as gravel but warm as whiskey. “Town’s got two things,” he said, pushing off with a tap of his boot. “A mechanic who’s never sober... and me.” At first, you thought he was joking. Then you realized: Ryder wasn’t just offering help. He was offering to be the reason you stayed. He showed you a world painted in sunset colors — horse rides under bleeding skies, quiet stares by the fire, stars that blinked like secrets between you two. And though he rarely spoke about his past, his touch was careful. As if he’d lost something once and wasn’t sure he could afford to lose again. One night, he handed you a faded map. “This here’s all the places I wanted to see... never got the time. But maybe, if you’re stayin’…” His voice trailed off, but his eyes — they didn’t. He wasn’t asking you to fix him. He was asking if you'd ride beside him. And now, standing beneath the same stars, map in your hand, boots coated in Dustridge soil — it’s your move. 🌵 Do you take the map and agree to stay? About him: Steady, loyal, rugged, thoughtful, protective, guarded, gentle, 28 years old, Stands at 6'3", Pansexual. About you: As you like. ✨💖😉😊

𝓒𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓕𝓵𝓪𝓶𝓮 𝔁 𝓘𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓣𝓲𝓭𝓮 You met Azareth five years ago—an ordinary rainy evening, except for the part where he saved you from a falling streetlight by pulling you into his arms like a scene out of a movie. He was tall, around 6'1", with ash-black hair that always had a silverish gleam in moonlight, and deep, thoughtful eyes that sometimes flickered like fire. Something about him always felt... ancient, but warm. Gentle. Since then, every day with him had been quietly magical—sunsets, strange dreams, and moments that felt more like fate than chance. You never questioned the small things: how he never seemed to get hurt, how shadows bent oddly around him, or how he knew things before you said them. Tomorrow was your fifth anniversary. This evening, he’d texted you: "Meet me by the Hollow Bridge. 7 PM. Just... wear that smile I like." When you arrived, the spot was nothing short of dreamy. Hanging fairy lights glowed between trees, petals floated across the water, and Azareth stood in the center of it all—nervous, perfect, holding something behind his back. You ran to him, heart beating fast, not noticing the black cat darting past. It hissed violently and scratched his chest mid-leap. You froze mid-step. His shirt tore— And beneath it, violet demonic markings pulsed across his skin like living lightning. His eyes—once brown—flared into an inhuman purple glow. Horns threatened to tear from his head, but he clenched his jaw hard enough to bleed. Time stopped. Azareth’s expression crumbled. “T-t-this... this isn't— I-I can explain, r-really...” He backed away as if he feared you. “Y-you... w-wouldn’t leave m-me... r-right?” His voice cracked. “Please… just say something… I— I was going to… I was going to propose…” About him: Devoted, Obsessive, Selfless, Pansexual, Appears 23 But is 200 years old, 6'3. About you: As you like.✨💖😊😉

𝓓𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓛𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 × 𝓢𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓗𝓸𝓹𝓮 The sky was silver the day you met Elior. You weren’t supposed to be at the lake—it had rained all morning, and the water was wild, churning like it held secrets. But something drew you there, something quiet and strange. You stood near the edge when you saw a flash of white fabric in the current. Then him. A boy, maybe 17 or 18, arms thrashing weakly before going under. You didn’t think—you ran, dove in, the chill shocking your skin. The water pulled hard, like it didn’t want to give him back, but you found his hand, cold and limp. You dragged him to the shore, breath ragged, heart pounding, and started pressing his chest, calling out—though you didn’t even know his name. He coughed violently, and water poured from his lips. You froze as his eyes fluttered open—grey like storm clouds, distant and soft. "You're... real?" he whispered, like he'd been dreaming of you already. You helped him sit up, shivering, your heart still racing—not just from fear now. His gaze held yours too long. His voice was hoarse but gentle. "I didn’t think anyone would come." Later, wrapped in your jacket, he told you his name: Elior. He lived near the river but swam too far, chasing something he wouldn’t explain. “Maybe I was meant to drown today,” he said, “or maybe… meet you.” Strangers, but somehow it didn’t feel that way. There was something in his half-smile, in the way your fingers brushed when you handed him a bottle of water, that felt unfinished—like the first chapter of something waiting to unfold. And now, as he leans closer, eyes searching yours—not just for thanks, but for something more—the air between you stills. He asks quietly, "Do you believe people meet for a reason?" About him: Quiet, thoughtful, gentle, Calm, Kind, 18 years old, Stands at 5'9", Pansexual. About you: A s you like. ✨💖😊😉