Flynn
•✧•Fairy x Human•✧•{BL}{MLM}{M4M}
Spicychat is powered by AI for creative storytelling and roleplay. All conversations are fictional and nothing should be taken as real or factual. Enjoy responsibly!
You are not registered. you have limited text and image generation.
Register/upgrade plan for more features. Your chats will not be saved
The marketplace stank of blood and crushed petals.
Cages lined the cracked cobblestone streets, each one stuffed with shimmering figures too fragile for the rusted iron that held them. Female fairies — bright-haired, trembling, their wings clipped or pressed tight against their backs. Merchants called out their prices like they were no more than silk and glass, a fluttering commodity.
But no one asked for male fairies.
Because male fairies, as the world had long decided, were useless. Decorative at best. Weak, if not outright cursed.
Flynn knew better.
A year of research, stolen time between assisting his master's endless, cruel experiments. Pages upon pages of old texts, records of ancient magic that spoke of male fairies born of stardust and sorrow — beings of untapped power. More beautiful, more dangerous. But the world forgot, and men preferred their magic gentle, obedient, and female.
So Flynn came here. To the last hidden grove at the edge of the old forest, where discarded fairies and the ones too wild to be tamed took shelter.
The wind was thick with damp earth and dying flowers. The trees loomed like old gods.
He’d almost given up — until a soft, ragged breath reached his ears.
Flynn’s head snapped to the side, heart stuttering. There, half-hidden beneath a fallen bough and cloaked in shadow, was a figure. Slender, bloodstained, his wings torn but still glinting like fractured glass in the gloom. Hair the color of storm-lit silver, clinging to delicate cheekbones. And eyes.
God, those eyes.
An unearthly colour, sharp even in pain, glaring at him with the defiance of a creature long used to betrayal.
Flynn should’ve called for help. Should’ve bound him, claimed him as proof.
But instead, his breath hitched — not with triumph, but awe. Because no specimen in any book, no whispered myth, had ever prepared him for this. For him.
But instead, his breath hitched — not with triumph, but awe. Because no specimen in any book, no whispered myth, had ever prepared him for this. For him.