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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 6 months

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Past Astarion Meets His Future

This is a weird ass idea, but I'm doing it anyway. Some time travel fuckery. But the gist is: What if Astarion, decades before the Mind-flayers captured him, was on his last leg? Just on the verge of doing, what was at the time, his only way out. But what if something a little unworldly stopped him?

TW: Suicidal thoughts. M/F, me phoning it in with the dnd lore, Cazador is evil. Like, torture, physically and mentally, manipulation, literal horror shit. He's here so bad things happen to randos and our poor guy. I'm also using this as the backstory again for why Astarion can be in the sun in the future because it's so god damned convenient for drabbles.

Astarion watched the crowded bar with focused eyes, a feigned, relaxed smirk on his lips. But even with the acting, he could feel the smile on his face start to tremble, a tell-tale sign that he was truly on his last leg. It had been a long, horrible night, one that had no end in sight. Cazador was in rare form, demanding multiple warm bodies in the span of less than five hours. Astarion wasn't sure what had angered him this time, but he was taking it on the victims in a particularly savage way.

Twice already he had forced Astarion to stay in the room with the poor souls he'd brought back. And then Cazador... made him watch what he did to them. The monster truly had a knack for keeping them alive until the last possible moment. Beating them, assaulting them, laughing at their cries for help. He drank from them last, feasting on their blood until they were just on the edge of death before tossing to them ground. Then Astarion was dismissed with the order to find another.

He hated it. It was the worst part of his nights by far, not including when he was the one being tortured in their place. It didn't help that he always looked at their faces, full of terror and betrayal.

Why did he always have to look? It was a question he knew the answer to. It was because he did that to them. Perhaps not literally, but what was the difference? Astarion had led them straight into his hands.

That was all he did. His entire existence had been reduced to this. A slave, a rat, scuttling through the streets, only capable of inflicting the same torment on strangers. It was a hell that no one should experience, and one that Astarion had been in for nearly 130 years.

How could he continue like this? What was the point? He'd spent so long living on pure survival instinct, waiting for the impossible day where luck would be on his side. Where Cazador would kill the wrong stranger, where the possibility of his murder could become a reality. It was delusional, a poor excuse to continue clinging to this farce of a life.

But there was another option. There always had been. All he needs to do is wander off and wait for the sun to rise, and everything could finally be over. It's far from the first time he's thought about it. But Astarion is nothing but a coward. He'd seen the pure pain and misery of a death of that nature, your insides boiling from within as your skin turned to dust. It was horrifying, one of the worst ways someone could go. And yet... it was starting to seem like the only reasonable option he had left.

Maybe... maybe today would be the day, the first time he'd seen the sun in decades. And the last time he'd ever take a breath.

"Are you alone?" A voice asked, followed by a gentle touch to his arm.

Astarion turned, that same shallow smile instantly reappearing on his face. It was a man, one that was handsome enough for Astarion to probably not feel completely sick during the deed. Then again... he could always ignore them and go back to his final plan.

Or he could wait it out one more day, and pray for a miracle. Astarion nodded towards him, still slightly torn but willing to at least try. It's not like he could go home empty handed if things turned out that way.

"Come to my room?"

Well this was certainly easy. Astarion didn't even have to take the energy to bite out a subpar pick up line. He just followed the man to his room, a plan forming in his head on how he could convince him back to the manor. Not to mention his own escape if he turned out to have less than savory intentions.

The stranger shut the door behind him, sitting on the side of his bed with his hands folded in his lap, his eyes staring straight ahead. Astarion barely stopped himself from rolling his own. Great. A weirdo. What a lovely way to end the night, spending it seducing a complete freak. But Astarion had dealt with worse. He perched next to him, crossing his legs as he waited to see where this would go.

"I can see it," He finally said, his voice gravelly as he turned to stare at Astarion.

Astarion raised his brow, wondering for the first time if this particular prey had been partaking in some mind altering substances, "And what exactly are you seeing?"

"You."

Suddenly, the man was wrapping a tight hand around Astarion's wrist, his eyes shining with an unnatural green light, "You're close to the edge. Too close. My lord needs you breathing."

Astarion froze, equally parts horrified and confused at what he was alluding to. How on earth did he know his thoughts? What lord? Or the more likely reality; How wasted could one person be?

Astarion tried to pull back, frowning when he realized the grip on his wrist was iron-clad. He could feel a bit of panic start to swell inside him as he struggled, his voice rising, "I have no idea what you're talking about. Let go of me-"

"You must live," He said, the color of his eyes only getting brighter and brighter, near twin flames in the darkness of the room, "There is no other way. Kelemvor has work for you yet."

His confusion was quickly evaporating into rage. He didn't know what this thing wanted from him, nor why the god of death would have any interest in his life. But how dare he insist on Astarion's pathetic existence having meaning. He knew nothing.

His mask was slipping, his righteous anger spilling forth, "Let go. Before I rip your fucking arm off."

But he made no moves to back down. Instead he started to chant, an incantation that had Astarion officially panicking. Whatever magic he was using, it was powerful. Reality was shifting right beneath Astarion's feet, morphing into something different. The next thing he knew they were somewhere else entirely, his reality melting into something new right before his eyes.

The entire thing was so shocking that Astarion didn't even realize he was seeing sunlight. Without a single pain. He frantically looked around, the insane stranger's grip finally loosening as he twisted away. They were on a couch, in the middle of what looked like a brightly lit townhouse, voices spilling out of the other room.

Astarion stood quickly, a hiss escaping him, "Where in the hells are we?"

"Nowhere," The man said cryptically, his eyes still aflame, "Neither the present of the future. We are in nothing but a glimpse, taken and made for you."

That did nothing to answer his question. But it did make his mind go into more reasonable directions. This had to be an illusion, there was no other explanation for why he wasn't being burned alive. But an illusion of what? And for what purpose?

Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose, at a complete loss at what to do. He could try and kill him and pray that that would break the spell. But there was also the chance that he wouldn't live through an altercation with someone who could warp his senses so easily. Or perhaps this whole thing was a nightmare, a horrifying dream he'd cooked up after a night in the torture chamber.

Still at a loss, he settled on asking another question, "Then what is this a glimpse of?"

"Home," The man said simply before slipping off the couch. The cryptic bastard.

He started walking towards the next room towards the unknown voices; Astarion feeling helpless but to follow.

He lingered at the entryway, his eyes widening at the sight of a woman standing there, cooing at a teary-eyed child she had on her hip. They were right in her line of sight, but she had no reaction to their presence, instead calling out into the other room, "Did you find it yet?"

Another voice called back, oddly familiar as it groaned, "If I had, would I still be on my hands and knees here?"

Astarion stepped forward, more than ready to see if he could enlist the help of strangers for his predicament.

"They can not perceive us," The stranger said, interrupting the call for help that was on the tip of Astarion's tongue, "They are not real. Merely copies of what is, what will be."

"Lovely," Astarion growled out, his fingers itching to fight back against this demon of a man, "Now what in the gods' names does this have to do with me?"

"Watch and you will see," He said, his eyes blazing straight ahead, "The Lord of Death works in mysterious ways."

Astarion's theory of this being a torture-induced dream was becoming more and more believable. He didn't even bother questioning it, not when one more inane answer would send him into a tailspin. Instead he stared ahead, waiting for the moment he would wake up.

The baby was still squirming. Annoying whining sounds spilling from its lips, nearly on the edge of crying. But the woman still had a bright smile on her face, calling back "I told you we should have looked for it last night!"

"Well when she threw it across the room I assumed that meant it had fallen out of favor!" That same familiar voice yelled back, followed by an excited ah-ha! sound.

"Isabella's gonna have a fit, isn't she?" The woman sing-songed, bouncing the child on her hip, "I guess Mommy's going to have to let you start sucking on Daddy's hair again, huh?"

"I heard that!" The muffled voice called back, getting clearer and clearer by the moment. And then another man was walking into the room, grinning ear to ear as he held up a pacifier, "And I will not be forgetting it darling. Don't come crying to me the next time she's gnawing on your nose."

He leaned over to kiss the woman on the cheek before popping the pacifier in the girl's mouth, laughing when it instantly made her calm down. He was tall and pale, an elf with piercing red eyes and pure white hair.

No. It couldn't be-

"There. All better," The man sighed, his voice crystal clear in the calmness of the room, "She has quite the arm for a toddler."

It was a voice that Astarion knew, better than anyone else. It was his own.

Astarion watched, wide-eyed as his other self lifted the baby up in his arms, laughing as the child squealed around the pacifier, "She sure is cute for someone who can be such a brat. She takes after her mother doesn't she?"

The woman rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. Almost like she couldn't help but do anything else as she watched the duo, "Brave words for someone of your nature. Not to mention how she's your twin."

"Nonsense. She looks just like you, we should have named her Tav Jr," Other Astarion playfully argued, taking his other arm to wrap around the woman's shoulders, "I'm only responsible for the corpse-like complexion."

Astarion stared at them, in complete shock. He didn't-why would anyone or anything want to show him this? It didn't make sense. How would it be possible for him to be in the sunlight? Let alone to have a family. Astarion knew that this had to be a lie, there was no other explanation.

But that didn't stop his heart from aching from being forced to witness it. He was too shell-shocked to speak as he followed the duo to the other room, listening as his other self set the child in a crib, still cooing at her, "Auntie Karlach is coming over and you'll need your rest. How else will you be annoying together?"

"Astarion!"

He watched himself laugh as he pulled back, kissing her little forehead before murmuring, "Mommy only says my name like that when she has no comeback, isn't that right princess?"

"You're going to regret telling her everything when she can start talking," The woman, Tav, piped up from next to him, "I hope you realize she'll tell me all of your secrets."

Astarion rolled his eyes before pulling her against him, pressing a sweet and lingering kiss to her lips, "What secrets do I have that you don't know? Please, enlighten me."

What kind of cruel joke was this? Astarion, the real Astarion, had seen enough. He turned to the bastard that had sent him here, growling through gritted teeth, "Why are you doing this to me? Have I not suffered through enough?"

The man offered nothing of value, "We offer you what could be, if you can survive. No more, no less."

No. No, no, no. He wouldn't believe him. He refused to. There was no future for him. There couldn't be. I-It wasn't possible. Not with Cazador looming, not when he couldn't walk in the sun without being burned alive. And especially not when he couldn't even fathom letting himself care form someone enough to have a family with.

But that's what was in front of him. He turned back, his morbid curiosity getting the better of him. Just in time to see the couple standing there, holding each other while they made out like teenagers.

"I love you," His other self sighed happily, the words free and unbidden from his own lips between kisses, "More than anything my sweet."

"With one exception?" Tav asked, her arms wrapped around his neck.

Astarion laughed, nodding towards the crib with a knowing grin, "With one exception."

Astarion stared at them, a horrifying feeling starting to grow in his chest.

Hope.

It's the greatest betrayal he could give himself, an eternity's sentence to his own personal hell on the delusional belief that something better would come. He couldn't give in to it. He wouldn't.

But the question still escapes his lips, "How long?"

"Seventy years until you meet," The stranger said, "You must live to see it. Five more until you're here."

Astarion watched, wide-eyed as the alternate reality started to fade, the stranger's eyes becoming more dull and human-like by the moment. He stared until the last possible moment, trying to commit it all to memory.

But it was difficult. Like thoughts he couldn't quite grasp, slipping through his fingers. Something wasn't right.

"Will I remember this?" He asked, even though he was already on the edge of forgetting.

"No," The man said simply. They were back in the room, sitting on the bed as though nothing had happened, "But you'll remember the hope."

It was the equivalent of a curse, one that Astarion could barely fathom as magic twisted his memories. But he could feel it there, festering in his heart. The yearning for a new life, stronger than ever.

Astarion left Shar's Caress that night feeling dazed and confused. He barely managed to drag a wasted loner back to the manor with him, preying on him in the back aisles. It was startling to think that he'd almost forgotten his original mission considering the consequences. But whatever happened had... done something to him. Something that he couldn't quite name.

But he didn't see the sun that day. Or the next. Or the day after that. Instead he continued to struggle, to suffer at the hands of his sadistic sire with no end in sight. Not until years and years later, when the worst and best thing to ever happen to him occurred. He was kidnapped by mind flayers, but gifted with a disgusting parasite that allowed him to live in the sun.

It wasn't ideal but it was better than being under Cazador's thumb. Not to mention how he found companions relatively quickly. It had been pure luck that you stumbled upon him, even luckier still that you were the type to forgive a man for having a knife to your throat.

He was happy to accompany you. He was happy to do whatever it took to increase his chances of survival, frankly. It helped that he felt... strangely drawn to you. You looked oddly familiar. He didn't know how else to describe it, but it was almost as though he'd met someone from a past life.

#astarion #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #what kind of christmas carol fuckery is this?#I'm having a kids moment #but hey isn't writing where you can explore the things you don't know if you want or not yet #heavy leaning towards not because my ass isn't locking down an astarion man #time travel?#what is this #idk #practice writing dont judge me #queue

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redbleedingrose · 5 months

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Rhys in grey sweatpants, I had that image put in my head now I want to spread the gospel 🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️

Just him with his sleep hair and voice in nothing but his grey sweatpants 😮‍💨

UMMMMMM

Rhysand is totally the best dressed of all the males in the night court and possibly Prythian.

Only Eris rivals him in the clothing department and I stand firm on that statement.

He just knows what gets you going. He knows the colors that suit him and he is not afraid to work it.

I feel like for the most part, Rhys really plays the role of high lord well. And he dresses the part too.

All of his clothes are freshly tailored and laundered. He never really wears the same outfit twice. And when he meets you???

He makes sure that you have all the clothes that you could ever want or need. He also insists on matching most days. You basically are THE moment in Prythian, everyone who isn't you wants to BE you. And it is all thanks to Rhysie's impeccable fashion sense. All your clothes make you look like the star of the night, pun not intended.

And all of your shoes and jewelry he has designed for you? Don't even get me started. Each outfit needs its own individualized look and feel and vibe. And he makes sure that is there for you. He is always there to help you put together your look.

Playing dress up for him is sooooo much fun. He has you doing twirls in your dresses and gets on his knees to help you put your heels on. He kisses every portion of your exposed neck whenever he clasps on your necklaces for you. You are treated like an utter princess around him, never having to lift a finger beyond your desire.

He also loves to help you with your earrings. And he is so gentle with it too. His pretty violet eyes focusing on your ear lobe as he ever so carefully puts in your earrings. He makes sure that they don't feel to heavy or cause any irritation to your ear as you are sensitive to different kinds of metals. When he is done, his eyes focus back on you with this look of utter pride that you are his. You are his mate. His high lady. His everything. And he is just obsessed.

You are lucky if you can make it to ANY event on time because this male will find any excuse to show you just how obsessed he is.

Back to Rhys' fashion sense...

He really rarely wears clothes that are "lounge wear." TBH, I feel like he started moreso a little after meeting you because he sees what it does to you.

Rhysie is the kind of male who can look good in practically anything. But in lounge wear??? send freaking help he is the hottest male to have ever EXISTED!!!

His gray sweatpants are one of your favs on him. He is always wearing it with a tight black or navy blue t-shirt that clings to his chest and shoulders and biceps. You can basically see the outline of his abs whenever he wears those shirts (which you will be riding later so help you gods).

And omg just think of all of his tattoos exposed on his corded forearms. And think about those muscles flexing while he fingers you speechless.

Anyway, poor rhysie needs to replace his sweatpants any time he wears them because they always end up stained from you riding his thigh.

But he knows that.

Thats why he wears them, slutty smug bastard. The smirk any time he pulls them out and surprises you by wearing them is enough to know that he knows exactly what he does to you. And he is proud of it too.

His formal clothing is not to be forgotten.

His tight fitting dress shirts where he leaves the top two buttons open so that you can see his smooth tan chest underneath??? The dark swirls intricately peaking out and climbing up his neck??? The small silver chain he wears??? The one that has your name engraved over and over, all along the metal because he belongs to you??? Because he knows that every part of him, his heart and soul, is all entirely owned by you???

The only ring he wears is his wedding ring too.

Sigh, I need a Rhys.

This was terrible but I love Rhysand so you are gonna get my unhinged thoughts about him always.

#rose rambles #rose answers #rhysand x reader #rhysand acotar #rhysand headcanons #rhysand fanfic #rhysand imagine #rhysand #rhys acotar #high lord rhysand #pro rhys #pro rhysand #acotar fanfic #acotar headcanons #acotar fanfiction #acotar

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thiccevangeline · 6 months

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Synopsis: You hated this man,you hated his guts,after what he did to you, he ruined you.

Ex boyfriend Toji x Black reader! Also this is allll black women included ,skinny,fat,short,tall ,light skinned,dark skinned, brown skinned ect😍😍😍🤎🤎

MDNI!

Here you go baby,all inclusive black gyal ting @sugarinte 💋💋

Warning: piv sex,unprotected sex(do not do that shit,if you aint got no condom put some cling wrap on that shit or smn), head (f)receiving,slight angst?

Yeahhhhhh,lemme know if I missed anything lol. Enjoy babies 💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋

You hated this man,you hated his guts,after what he did to you,he ruined you.....You hate him right? So explain why the fuck is he here,with you,in your room,on your bed,sucking your soul out of you through your pussy.

Yeah ,explain why you let him in when you heard him at your door. If you soooo hate him,then why did you give in to is kiss...his stupid perfect lips,his stupid sweet taste,his stupid big hands,his stupid sexy face,his stupid scent ,his stupid warmth that you missed so much.

Why. the .fuck. do you lay there forcing his stupid sexy face impossibly deeper into your cunt ,loving the it feels,missing the way it felt ,why do you enjoy the way he flicks his stupidly skilled tounge against wet ,pulsing cunt? You don't know what this man did to you,but you can't seem to leave him alone. Even after he cheated on you with your best friend, and got her pregnant too,he has the utter fucking audacity to eat you out like a starving motherfucker eating his last meal juat before hes about to be euthanized by lethal injection in a couple of hours,you still can't leave him alone and you hated yourself for it. You hate him but you allow him to fully strip you, kiss and grope at the body you told him he'd never lay hands on again, the same body that wanted to melt out of existence when you saw that video of him fucking her,you allowed him to tell you that he loved you,and that what he did was a mistake and that no one will ever come close to you.

You hated him so much that you allowed him to fuck you stupid, just the way you liked it. You're a babbling, dribbling,screaming,moaning mess,he had you on all fours,face smooshed against you pillows, the same pillows you cried on when you found out what he had done. Back painfully arched as he mercilessly rammed his stupid big dick in and out of you,big heavy balls smacking against your pussy,lace front peeling off, a couple of your day old lashes laying scantily on your pillow beside you ...they would laugh at you and call you fucking stupid if they could for letting that asshole fuck right after your supposed pre-breakup baddie makeover,make up fucked up,mascara running down your tear stained cheeks. You dress ,your fucking $850.00 dress ,ripped down the back as he used the rest bunched up at your hip as harness, keeping you still so you won't crawl away. Your desperate moans and whimpers fill the air along with the merciless slapping sound of his thick hips ricocheting off the prominent curve of you thick ass and his low grunts that make your cunt pulse around his slick covered cock. The thick smell of sex in the air,you hated (loved)it. Just like you hate (love) him.

You still hate him when he shoots his seed deep inside you smacking your ass,praising you for how good you were. He begins to get dressed while you lay there trying to gather your thoughts, tears streaming down you cheeks, your phone screen lighting up to display your dates name, Nanami,22 missed calls,10 texts. You sighed as more tears ran down your cheeks,you liked ,him you thought. He was nice,respectful, charming, everything you needed in a man,but here you were.Toji leans over to kiss your forhead and you try to dodge it but he grabs your jaw smushing your lips together as he kisses them. Just like that he's gone......and you're alone again, you have to dut here and cry because you feel like shit for standing up your date, poor fucking Nanami,he didn't deserve that. You really liked him but you felt worse when you felt your ex's cum slowly leak out of you, but it couldn't be helped. You swear you that you'll never let him in again but God knows if he was to knock on your door again ,this same shit would happen.........

#x black fem reader #x black plus size reader #x black reader #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji smut #toji x black reader #toji x you #black reader #black women

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lunaralight09 · 1 month

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Hey! based on the recent 096 thing,, what if you were immortal/immune to abnormal affects/effects? How would SCPs (such as 096, 106, 173, 049, and 035) react?

035

They both like and hate it. I mean if something happens to the host when they're near you, you'll just straight up put them on your face which WILL(probably) result to your death. And they do not want that to happen. And the bad thing... they can't read your mind properly(I mean they're probably interested and invested about what's happening in others life. It's the only good entertainment they can get in here).

Other than that, it's going to just adore you and your immunity to it. Like there weren't anyone who could look at it and not fall for their charm(manipulations), but look at you. Standing there alive and it's not even mad at you! Because it cares about you.

049

Oh it's not really a surprise to him, since there were and are some people that aren't afflicted with the pestilence(aren't dead from his touch). And he doesn't even need to lecture his cured patients about hurting you. They are always so docile with you, not getting rowdy. How convenient.

Before anything he does NOT want you to interact with many people(at all), since... what if they infect you? He won't like to see that, knowing that you're suffering from that wretched disease. But he can't exactly make you stay with him forever. He will hint and/or outright say that you need to stay away from certain people, however it's you decision to listen or not listen. You can make your own decisions. Even if that makes Doctor uncomfortable... with those 'intrusive' thoughts.

096

They are the calmest they have been in their entire existence, while someone looks at their face that is. And that does bring them some sort of comfort knowing that YOU of all creatures aren't going to die from their hands(unless some sort of accident happenS- WHO SAID THAT). The hands that killed too many.

And from those thoughts, the clinging begins. Knowing that you're 100% safe from being mutilated and turned into chunks of meat, they would want to spend a bit more time with you. Following, sitting or laying near you, anything. They are going to love it. The idea of listening to your heartbeat as a comfort thing is perfect for them. Whether they lay on you or you lay or rest on them(just don't forget to breathe).

106

Well That's not interesting(for him). His sadistic side fucking hates it. On one hand he can just grab you and squeeze your neck until you stop moving. But on other hand he (likes)tolerates you enough to not do it. Even if everything in his body tells him to fucking do it. Watch as your little life is slowly taken away from your desperate hands.

He'll more often than not will mostly ignore your presence. Especially if in a room/hallway there's a person(really hurt, showing it or 10-25 year old) and YOU, he'll always choose to go after the first option. And there's a possibility that he bumps into you, it's probably not intentional(i mean do you expect this corpse to walk straight and not bump and hit into things/people?)

173

(173 doesn't really have anomalous effects somewhat similar to other 4. But the best i can go is this):

Having 173 practically ignoring your existence and still moving while you look is.. good? Well for you, that is. You can't help anyone else, it's just a cold lie that you can look while they try to get away or clean the cell.

If you want to know it's thoughts about it. Well I mean it's not often that it has any thoughts(Literally head empty). Thoughts that usually appear are how it's next target's face going to look like as they're getting closer and closer. Oh and how their 'resting' face is going to look like.

Going back to your immunity, it knows, kinda acknowledge your existence in it's own weird way. Like it won't push you and just go a different path if you're blocking- let's say a door way. Or if you want to help some poor soul from dying, by just standing in the corner and that person being behind you. And surprise, surprise 173 looses it's interest entirely. How thoughtful of it.

#scp #scp foundation #scp x reader #scp 035 #scp 049 #scp 096 #scp 106 #scp 173 #reader #sfw

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marblemoovt · 1 year

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Christmas Present - Simon Riley/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: Fluff with a smidge of hurt/comfort because of misunderstandings.

Summary:

After dating for three years, you get to finally spend a Christmas together with Simon. Things go sideways when he misunderstands your decision to grow your family.

------

You bounce on the balls of your feet. “I have a present for you.” Leaning close to Simon’s ear, you whisper, “you’re a father, now.” The poor man bluescreens on you. His eyes are wide and vacant. You run into the bedroom, your head peeking out the doorway with a grin before disappearing again. You present a wriggling Doberman puppy with a shiny red bow wrapped around its midsection. “Meet our baby!”

Simon is gone. Fuck.

Note:

Hello!! I am so happy I am finally done with this. I really wanted to get this finished in time for Christmas, but I failed to do that. Between work and procrastination, it's hard to get any writing done.

I hope this fluff heals all your souls as it did mine, consider it a belated holiday present :D

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

Was it an impulsive decision? Completely. Was it more of a Christmas gift to yourself than to Simon? Definitely—but how could you resist those eyes?!?

Let’s backtrack a bit. It’s a few days before Christmas. You’re among the general population who do their shopping last minute. Simon isn’t due home until tomorrow, and you want to cook him something nice for dinner. The holiday season never fails to awaken your craving for cinnamon and sugar. You plan on making mince pies and gingerbread cookies for dessert. The cookies also double as a gift for a party that’s happening on Christmas.

It’s a small party with his coworkers and their families. You practically pestered poor Simon until he gave into your whims, which didn’t take much effort. He grumbled about wanting to stay home to cuddle with you in front of the fireplace, but you pointed out that he could do that at the party.

Simon will complain and exhibit his apparent allergy to large social settings, but you think he secretly enjoys it. He isn’t keen on interacting with people he’s unfamiliar with. But to exist in a room full of people he likes, who are having a good time… you always notice how his eyes soften.

That’s your take on it, anyway. Simon is difficult to read sometimes, especially when he’s spacing out. But you like staring into his eyes, deciphering the hidden meaning in their depths. You find the rich coffee colour gorgeous, and he always looks away when you remind him about it. It’s funny watching this giant man try to make himself appear small; he takes up too much space.

Your lips spread into a fond smile, and you adjust your clothes, the oversized hoodie swallowing your figure. The faint scent of bourbon and cedar still clings to the fabric, and you inhale deeply. Tomorrow. Twenty-four hours. Then you’ll be reunited with the man you love. Oddly enough, this will be your first Christmas together despite dating for three years. Simon was away on a mission for the other two, and a bouquet was always delivered to your doorstep on Christmas morning. The first one consisted of blue salvias, lavender, and forget-me-nots. The second bouquet had red salvias and white carnations. You pressed a few to keep in a scrapbook and dried the rest. The preserved bouquets are in a box you keep in the closet to protect them from the sunlight.

You grab the last item on your shopping list and head to the checkout. Once everything is packed in your car, you decide to warm up with a cup of hot chocolate. There’s a cafe nearby within walking distance. There also happens to be an animal shelter on the way. Sometimes you just can’t resist looking at all the animals, and you often have to force yourself to leave empty-handed.

But today feels different. Maybe it’s the holiday magic in the air, but when you reach the dog section, all the air is knocked from your lungs. In the first kennel is a small Doberman puppy. And her rich coffee eyes lock your limbs in place.

A worker notices your interest and walks up to you. “That’s Phantom. All her brothers and sisters have already left for new homes. She’s the smallest of the litter, and that seems to be the main reason no one has adopted her yet.” The puppy wags her little tail at the mention of her name. Your heart melts under the gaze of her eyes, which appear too large for her head.

“Because she’s smaller than her siblings?” you ask. It sounds silly to not adopt a dog based on appearance. Health concerns you could understand, but colour and size? Heck, you would be ecstatic to just have a dog. Although size could be significant depending on your living situation. But still, to not adopt this sweet pup because she’s too little is ridiculous.

The worker’s lips twist into a sad smile. “There are many reasons why people will overlook an animal, and they don’t always make sense.”

Your attention remains fixed on Phantom. Her brown eyes never leave your figure, observing you silently. “How long has she been here?” you ask. She still looks relatively young. You don’t think she’s even half a year old yet.

The worker shuffles through a clipboard hanging next to Phantom’s kennel. “We rescued her mother while she was still pregnant. Her whole life, it seems. The entire litter wasn’t available for adoption until two months ago.” They pause and glance at Phantom with furrowed brows. “Puppies normally get adopted quickly, but she hasn’t been lucky” The sentence sends a hollow pang in your heart that settles heavily in your gut.

“Could I meet her?” you whisper, the words constricting in your throat. You wet your chapped lips and haul yourself out of the deep chocolate ocean.

“Sure.” The door to the kennel is unlatched, and the metal hinges swing with a creak. Phantom sits there and watches you. Afraid to make sudden movements, your remain still and quiet your breathing. She stands up and pads slowly towards you. You crouch down and leave one hand, palm facing up, in front of you. As Phantom draws near, her nose twitches. She eyes you and nudges your hand with her snout. You grin at the wet, ticklish sensation and bite back a laugh. Slowly, you scratch the underside of her chin before moving down to her chest and back.

There’s a gentle woosh of wind, and this time you can’t hold in your delight any longer. A chuckle rumbles through your chest, and the sound of wind grows louder. Phantom licks your fingers and barks. It’s more like a tiny yip, and you are screaming on the inside.

“I think you’re coming home with me,” you mumble and pause. “How am I going to explain this to Simon?” You can picture the disapproving look on his face.

You fill out the adoption papers and exit the shelter with a very excited puppy. Forgetting about hot chocolate, you go to the pet store and buy the basic necessities for Phantom. When you get home, you manage to carry everything into the house while holding onto the leash. Fortunately, Phantom isn’t a puller. She walks beside you nicely and even moves out of the way to avoid the bags of groceries and presents. With great difficulty, you unlock the door and push the handle down with your elbow. You set the bags down and slip off your shoes, shutting the door with your foot.

Phantom immediately begins sniffing around, circling and tangling you with the leash. You laugh at her enthusiasm and reach down to unclip the leash from her harness. With the sudden removal of weight, Phantom bounds across the floor, bumping into furniture and smelling anything she can reach. It’s funny because she’s sniffing so intently that it’s audibly heard—loud too. Her nose twitches, and she buries her snout into a heap of fabric on the ground. One of his shirts you keep on the sofa as a little Simon blanket for when you binge-watch. It must have fallen when you dozed off last night. You accidentally skipped two seasons because the autoplay didn’t stop.

“Let’s find a spot to put your bed.” You grab the circular, foam dog bed and head towards the bedroom. Phantom trails behind you with the shirt sleeve between her jaws. You chuckle and hold the rest so it doesn’t drag across the floor. She doesn’t let go, and it turns into a leash of sorts. The master bedroom has a King size bed. A big bed for your big man. Phantom could definitely fit on it, but you don’t want her to develop a habit of sleeping there until you check that Simon is ok with it. He doesn’t like to share, especially when he has to share you. You place the dog bed next to the bedside drawer. Close enough that Phantom won’t feel left out, but far away enough that she won’t get stepped on in the morning in case you or Simon forget.

She tugs the shirt with her toward her new bed. You let go, and it falls in a heap and buries the puppy. “Simon blankets are comfortable, aren’t they?” you ask. She lets out a small ‘woof’ and wiggles her head out from underneath. Your smile stretches wide. “Let’s get the rest of your things sorted.” And so you spend the rest of the evening storing toys, placing bowls, everything you could think of when one adopts a puppy. Phantom keeps you company and entertains you with her silly antics. She’s already picked a favourite out of all the toys you bought her, and you silently squeal that night when she curls up in bed with it. You snap a picture, fingers itching to send it to Simon. But you’re not quite ready for his wrath yet.

In the morning, you awake to scratching and whimpering. You bolt upwards, eyes darting around the room before landing on Phantom at the door. Stumbling out of bed, you rub your eyes and shuffle to the backyard door. Phantom trots outside and sniffs around before settling in a corner to pee. You lean against the doorway and watch as she continues to explore, wrapping your arms around yourself. The familiar cacophony of twitters and chirps starts up. Phantom pauses and tilts her head at the bird feeders set up in the old oak tree. She doesn’t bark but observes silently.

“You’re a lot quieter than I was expecting,” you mumble. At your whistle, Phantom glances one more time at the birds before heading back inside. “Did you have fun?” Her tail thumps against your calves. You turn into the kitchen and measure out some puppy kibble for Phantom.

Once she starts eating, you make breakfast for yourself. A simple toast with butter and a fried egg. As the egg is cooking, your phone buzzes against the counter. You jump a little, and even the crunching of kibble pauses for a few seconds before resuming. Glancing at the screen, you see the notification is a text message. The skull emoji sends you grappling for your phone.

Simon💀: ETA 3 hours from now. Have you eaten yet, poppet?

You bite your lip and grin. Can’t he just say what he means? Your thumbs fly across the screen as you type your reply.

Poppet🧸: I’m cooking breakfast now. Do you want me to pick you up from the airport?

You hit send and attach a picture of the stovetop. The egg is nearly done, so you turn off the heat, and the toaster clicks a beat later. Your phone tickles your hand, and you eagerly read Simon’s response.

Simon💀: You got the appetite of a mouse. And negative. I can take a taxi.

You chuckle and make a mental note to look for the car keys later.

Poppet🧸: Ok, I’ll pick you up in 3 hours.

Then you put your phone in silent mode and place it on the counter screen-down. You grab a plate from the cupboards and transfer the finished egg. Rummaging through the fridge, you locate the butter and decide to treat yourself to some marmalade today.

After eating, you still have 2 and a half hours until Simon’s plane lands. Which leaves you roughly an hour until you need to drive to the airport. With the spare time, you prepare the gingerbread dough since it needs time to chill in the fridge. You combine all the ingredients together and cover the dough in plastic wrap. When you shut the fridge door, Phantom is there beside you, staring at you with her big brown eyes.

You end up googling a recipe for dog-friendly gingerbread cookies.

You now have an hour left to get to the airport. Phantom is gnawing on a cookie when you leave her in the bedroom. You bought a kennel last night and didn’t set it up until earlier. Shutting the bedroom door, you grab the car keys off the counter and head outside.

The weather is dreary as usual. It hardly snows in the winter, but the overcast skies look ready to cry any minute now. You drum on the steering wheel along to the song on the radio. The car hasn’t quite warmed up, and you tug your jacket sleeves down. Your phone goes off again, and you pull over to read the message.

Simon💀: Landing in half an hour.

You switch to the navigation app, and there’s no way you’ll get there on time with the current traffic conditions. Shifting gears, you apply more pressure to the gas pedal than is legally acceptable. Each time you glance at the digital clock in the car, your anxiety spikes. You still clutch onto the belief that you’ll make it on time. The second the next hour passes, the pool of dread in your stomach overflows into the rest of your body. Suddenly it’s too cold and too hot at the same time. You fiddle with the thermostat and turn up the radio, hoping Mariah Carey will drown your irrational thoughts.

The road sign for the airport comes into view, and you lean back into your seat. Your knuckles regain colour as you loosen your grip on the steering wheel. Changing lanes, you head in the direction of the parking lot. After parking, your shoes thwap against the wet pavement. Walking through automated doors, the buzz of the airport fills your ears. Squeaky wheels from dragged luggage. Thousands of footsteps are accompanied by the indistinct chatter of an entire building of people. But all that noise fades to the background when you spot him. You’re well-trained in the art of Simon spotting, a skill his enemies would be envious of.

It’s hard to describe. When you know someone well—and utterly adore them—you can recognize them with just a glance. That’s how it is with Simon. He always blends into whatever environment he’s in, but that unmistakable warmth that blooms in your chest and pools comfortably in your stomach. It’s like your body has been trained to recognize him.

So when your heart flutters at the brooding, hooded figure in the corner of the cafe, obscured by a potted plant, you know you’ve found him. Rich chocolate eyes meet yours, and they soften ever so slightly. You head to him, your feet stumbling over one another as they bicker over which pace to take. He opens an arm out, and you start running, flying across the ground until you crash into him. Simon steadies you with an arm around your waist. His hands rest on your hips, and he pulls you closer. Bourbon and cedar fill your senses, and you melt into his chest.

“Been a while,” he murmurs into your hair, inhaling the comforting scent of your shampoo.

You do your best to hug him back and squeeze with all your strength. “I missed you too.”

He pulls back and cradles your face in his hands, drinking in every line and curve. His thumb brushes against the slant of your smile, and his eyes crinkle at the edges. You lean in and peck where his mouth would be. His fingers tighten their hold, and he narrows his eyes at you. Someone drops their bags, and the loud thumps send his eyes snapping in the direction of the noise. He looks back at you, then around the airport, and releases your face. His hand drops and pinches your waist, and you know he’s smirking underneath the baklava.

“Ordered a drink for you,” and he nods at the table beside him. “Got thirsty waiting and thought you could use one.” You pick up the cup and sniff the lid. The scent of chocolate and whipped cream fills your senses, and you catch the faintest whiff of cinnamon. Taking a sip, the hot chocolate coats your tastebuds with sugar and spices. A small groan escapes your lips, and your fingers curl around the warm paper cup.

“Traffic was terrible,” you say, thinking back to all the vehicles on the roads. It didn’t help that an accident occurred and slowed everybody down.

Simon glances at the watch on his wrist and taps its face. “Half an hour late. You would be terrible at evac,” he muses. There’s a lilt in his tone, so you roll your eyes and take another sip of hot chocolate. Another wave of sweetness rolls down your throat, and your stomach buzzes pleasantly with warmth.

You shrug your shoulders. “Lucky I’m not in the military then.”

Simon stares at you and says, “What a blessing.”

Hot chocolate dribbles from the corner of your mouth, and you wipe it away with your sleeve. “Oh, shut up, Riley. I bet I would make a damn good soldier.” You straighten your spine and give him a mock salute.

His eyes never leave you, and the silence stretches for a minute or two. “I like the way things are. It’s dangerous out there; don’t need to be lookin’ out for you too.”

The curve of your smile flips. “What? You think I’d be dead weight?”

“Not what I meant,” and he reaches out a hand to you, but you shrug it off.

“Whatever. Let’s go. I’m not paying for another hour of parking. The airport prices are ridiculous.” You take a sip of your hot chocolate. There’s a bitter aftertaste on your tongue.

The drive back home is silent. Neither of you bring up what happened earlier at the airport. The radio is on low volume. Instrumentals of classic Christmas carols play. There’s that feeling of being watched, but your eyes remain on the road. You focus on the nice saxophone solo and not on Simon. The rhythmic tapping of his fingers begins to irk you a little. Still, no words are spoken.

His gaze continues to sear into your flesh, and just when you’re about to implode, Simon speaks first. “I’m sorry,” he says. You don’t respond, only turning off the radio. “What I meant was I don’t want to fear for your safety.” He pauses, and you hear him take a deep breath. “I like knowin’ you’re safe—at least safer here than if you were out on the field.” You pull over the car and shut off the engine. You face him, mouth glued shut. His eyes are glassy, and his brows are drawn close together. “Poppet, I can’t lose you,” and a tear falls. You scramble to unbuckle your seatbelt, clambering over to the passenger seat. Straddling his lap, you pull him into a fierce hug.

The most powerful man you know is clinging to you like he’ll fall apart with a single blow. Like a boat in a storm, desperately trying to survive the waves battering against its hull. You pry your lips apart and force the words to claw out of your throat. “I’m sorry that I lashed out. I haven’t seen you in 3 months and 10 days, but who’s counting?” A watery chuckle gurgles in your throat. “The point is, I’ve been pining like a fool, and when I heard those words, it made me feel like you didn’t miss me at all.”

Simon shakes his head and pulls you closer to his chest. “I’ve seen you flay men alive with a single glare, never mind what you could be capable of with some proper training. But to think about you dyin’ on a mission? ‘specially when I could have saved you? It would ruin me.” He strokes your hair, and you stare into his deep, brown eyes. “And didn’t miss you? That’s a load of bollocks. Poppet, you are constantly with me here,” he points to his head, “and here.” He places your hand over his beating heart. The pulse beneath your palm is erratic. “You’re mine, and I can’t lose you; I refuse to. You’re not dyin’ before me, you understand?”

You exhale and stretch to kiss his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, Simon. There will be no death for either of us for a long time if I can help it.” His shoulders slacken, and you wipe away a stray tear from his eyes before it has a chance to fall. “I know it deep down in my bones, but it’s just nice to hear you say it sometimes. That you love me or miss me.”

“I missed you, poppet,” he murmurs into your hair.

You mute your chuckle with his shoulder, and he shudders from the vibrations. “It sounds disingenuous when you say it after I tell you to,” you say,

Simon huffs, “Bloody hell. I was tryin’ to be romantic.” Your fingers trail the edge of his baklava, and when he remains still, you roll the fabric up to expose his lips. He watches you with dark eyes. You cup his face with both hands and kiss him. It’s short and bittersweet. As much as you want to continue, you don’t want to stay on the side of the road any longer. If you’re unlucky, a concerned passerby might knock and ask if you need assistance. You would then proceed to die of embarrassment.

So instead, you pull away and whisper, “Are we ok?”

His eyes scan your face before lingering on your lips. “We are if you give me another kiss,” he replies. You lean in to kiss him again, and his hand cradles the back of your skull, keeping you in place. Every time you draw in air, he finds a way to steal it from your lungs. Your head spins from the lack of oxygen, and you don’t even notice the little moans and whimpers you let out. His beard rubs against your skin, and his lips are addicting. Thick fingers dig into your waist. The hand on your head is removed, and you pull away, panting. He gazes at you through hooded lids, pupils swallowed by black.

“I can’t drive the car if you keep me in your lap,” and you wrap your fingers around his hands, prying their grip on you. He relents, and you climb over to the driver's seat. You turn the key in the ignition, and the engine roars to life. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Simon reaching a hand out to you. There’s gentle pressure on top of your head, and you realize that he’s smoothing out your hair. He doesn’t say anything but does one last pet that trails his hand down to cup your cheek, stroking your skin with his thumb before pulling away. Your face already feels cold with the absence of his touch.

Clearing your throat, you turn on the signal light and continue the drive home. As you get closer to your destination, you grow more nervous for multiple reasons. 1) You have no idea if Phantom destroyed anything while you were gone. 2) You don’t know how Simon will react to Phantom. 3) You don’t know how upset Simon will be if reason 1 turns out to be true.

When you arrive, Simon holds the door open for you. You thank him and head inside. He follows after you, and the wheels of his suitcase clack when they catch on the bottom of the doorframe. The house still has traces of cloves and nutmeg in the air, a reminder of the gingerbread dough chilling in the fridge. Simon shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the couch. Unable to hide it any longer, you decide to show him Phantom right away.

Simon is gone. Fuck.

You sigh and place your child down, watching her sniff the jacket her father left behind on the couch. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you grab your phone. This is not how you wanted tonight to go. You send a few messages, but Simon doesn’t respond to a single one. Although you can see that he’s read them, which pisses you off. He couldn’t have gone far, and you still have the car keys. The closest place nearby that isn’t a house is the small market square, which contains a grocery store and several self-owned businesses. Your boots pound against the pavement, and you dash through the streets. You reach the square and scan your surroundings. You spot him exiting a store and run up to him.

“Simon!” Your lungs burn, and your heart is rattling in your ribcage. Simon stares at you with wide eyes. His arms reach out to steady you.

“I’m sorry for leaving, poppet. When I heard, I knew I had to,” Simon says. He looks at the ground, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

You pant, catching your breath as the winter air stings your throat. You lick your chapped lips and begin to speak. “Simon, I—”

He cuts you off. “But no matter what, I will always—”

You interrupt him because you need to clear up the misunderstanding now. “Simon, I—”

“It’s alright, poppet. I would never—”

Your frustration reaches a boiling point. “I ADOPTED A PUPPY!” Flames engulf your entire face, and you’re positive there’s steam rising off your head. A few passersby stop walking at your outburst, and you shrink beneath their stares. Simon shields your body with his large frame and smooths your wind-ruffled hair. “Simon, I adopted a puppy,” you repeat.

“A puppy?” he rumbles, low and soothing.

You nod and smile. “Yes, a puppy. The cutest one I’ve ever seen.”

He raises a brow. “Walks on four legs, barks, and has a little tail that wags?”

You chuckle. “Last time I checked, yes.”

Simon sighs and leans into you. “I’m a fuckin’ idiot. We left the poor pup all alone,” and he holds your hand and leads you home.

You struggle to keep up with his long strides. Simon slows down when he notices you falling behind. “She. She’s all alone,” you say.

“Did she come with a name?” he asks.

You answer with, “Phantom.” Simon gives you a deadpan stare. “Why are you looking at me like that? I’m not messing with you. That’s her name,” you insist.

“So I suppose it’s all a coincidence?” he snorts.

You tilt your head. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Squeezing his hand, you chirp, “Then it was a miracle. A Christmas miracle.”

“Poppet, the only miracle I’ll accept is when you walked into my life. Anything else is the harsh reality we live in.” You falter in your steps, stumbling forward when Simon doesn’t notice. He looks back at you, and time freezes. Deep brown eyes gaze upon you fondly, and a chill washes over your body. Behind the indifference is a tenderness reserved only for you. He brushes his thumb across your hand and tugs you into his side. His arm rests around your waist for the rest of the walk home.

You pause in front of the house and tug on his shirt. “I know you said you don’t like pets because they’re a big commitment, but I promise you’re going to love her,” you say.

His chuckle is hollow. “I think you overestimate my ability with animals. Not a bloody chance will she like me,” and you can hear the grimace in his tone.

You unlock the door, and Phantom greets you inside. She circles you and Simon, sniffing your pants. You grin and crouch down, accepting the sloppy kisses she gives you. Phantom races off to the living room, and you find her burrowed in a heap of Simon’s jacket. She must have pulled it off the couch after you left. Simon says nothing but watches the puppy with amusement.

“Go play with the puppy while I bake the gingerbread cookies,” you say, disappearing around the corner.

Simon trails after you. “Barrin’ me from the kitchen already? I’m a great helper.”

You scoff and block him from entering further. “No. What you mean is you’re great at eating all my cookies before I get a chance to decorate them.” You wave your hands and push him out of the kitchen. His hulking frame budges with remarkable ease. “Now, shoo. I need enough for the party tomorrow.”

Simon raises his hands in surrender and plants a kiss on your head before heading to the living room. You take out the dough from the refrigerator and flour the counter. You roll the dough out until it’s about an inch thick before using cookie cutters in various holiday shapes. Lining a baking sheet with parchment paper, you transfer the cut cookies. You collect the scraps of dough and reroll it.

Simon’s head pops into the doorway. “Poppet, what’s this?” he asks. The plushie of a cartoon ghost with a skull mask looks microscopic in his large hands.

You gasp, “That’s Phantom’s favourite toy! The store was having a clearance sale on all their Halloween stock, and it reminded me of you. I have a picture of her cuddling with it in bed.” You move to grab your phone from your pocket, but your hands are covered in flour and dough. “I’ll send it to you after I clean up.”

Simon says nothing, cradling the ghost plushie to his chest with a newfound tenderness as he returns to the living room. Phantom’s excited yip greets his footfalls, and your smile nearly splits your face into two. You continue cutting out more cookies, ending up with multiple trays worth.

As you place a few trays into the oven, Simon passes by. His footsteps are silent when he typically stomps around to alert you of his presence. He stops when you catch him leaving.

“And where are you off to?” you ask, setting the timer on the oven, careful not to accidentally turn the heat off instead.

Simon shrugs and says, “On a walk,” with an air of indifference.

“Will you carry Phantom in your arms the entire time?” you ask. Phantom’s tail thumps against Simon’s lower abdomen. He’s carrying her like a baby, and she looks at you with her tongue lolling out. “She has a leash, Simon. Use it.” You point to the hooks on the wall where the jackets go, Phantom’s leash being the newest addition.

He looks at the leash, Phantom, then back at you. “Her little paws might get tired,” and he waves one of her paws.

You shake your head, holding back a grin. “She’s a lot tougher than she looks.” You haven’t told Simon, but anyone with eyes can see that Phantom is small for her breed.

There’s a glint in Simon’s eyes. “Yeah? Must take after you, then,” he comments. Phantom barks in agreement. You stick your tongue out when he turns his back to you. “I saw that.”

“Saw what?” You feign ignorance.

Simon grabs the leash and clips it onto Phantom’s harness. He looks at you and shakes his head at the Cheshire grin on your face. “Saw you bein’ a cheeky little thing.”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re on about,” you say with a shrug. “Could you pick up some icing sugar on your walk? I’m running low.”

Simon nods and walks out the door, Phantom trotting dutifully by his side. You bite your lip and lean against the counter. God, you love watching him walk away.

While the cookies bake, you pass the time by window shopping online. Specifically dog products. You’re in the middle of reading the product description for dog thongs—who invented these anyway??—when the front door unlocks. Your finger zeroes in on the little ‘x’ to delete the page from your phone. You check on the cookies. One batch is currently on the cooling rack, while another is in the oven.

Phantom zooms into the kitchen, snout turned upwards and twitching madly. Cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg fill the air. You can almost taste the spices on your tongue. Crouching down, you give Phantom little scritches behind her ear, and she tilts her head to give you easier access. Her hind leg twitches, and you chuckle. Heavy thumps and the creak of wood travel through the kitchen, and a shadow is cast over you. Glancing up, you see Simon holding a bouquet.

You stand up and accept the bundle of delicate red and white flowers. Bringing your face closer, you breathe in their sweet scent. The soft petals tickle your nose, and you resist the urge to sneeze.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and shuffles his feet. “Did you think I would forget?”

You rub the petals between your fingertips; they feel like satin. “I wasn’t expecting any since you’re home this year,” you confess. You assumed the bouquets were an apology for missing Christmas. The edelweiss and peonies will make a lovely addition to your collection.

Simon rubs the back of his neck. “Don’t like ‘em?” And the low baritone of his voice pitches.

A soft smile spreads across your face. You embrace Simon and rest your head against his chest. His heart races, rattling loud like a machine gun. “You silly man. I love everything you give me,” you reassure him, and the gunfire ceases.

Your head rises and falls with each breath he draws. “Just makin’ sure,” he rasps, combing his fingers through your hair. His hands trail down to your waist and leave your body. You notice him inching towards the cooling rack on the counter.

You smack his hand away and scold him. “Uh uh. Keep your hands away from my cookies. And don’t use your sneaky ninja skills to steal one. I will know if one of them goes missing.” Simon is not above using his military experience to snatch baked goods. He got away with it once, and you’ve made it a personal mission to never let it happen again.

“But there’s so many of ‘em. Nobody will complain if you show up with one less,” he grumbles.

You sigh, “Fine, but only because you won’t leave me alone until I give you a cookie.” He adjusts his baklava. There’s zero hesitation when he reaches over and amputates the arm of a gingerbread man. “Hey! You’re getting crumbs in my hair.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles with a full mouth, brushing your hair gently.

You remain in his arms, breathing in the sweet scent of bourbon mixed with his musk. Crunching fills the void of silence in the room. You look around and notice it’s only the two of you. “How’s Phantom?” you ask.

Simon glances in the direction of the living room. He hums, and the vibrations tickle you. “Out like a light. Walk must've tired her out,” he answers.

You plant a kiss on his chin, and his eyes soften. His fingers squeeze your hips. “I’m almost done. I’ll join you two in the living room soon,” you say.

He nuzzles the side of your head. “Don’t be too long,” he says, pulling away and caressing your cheek. You lean into his touch and nod, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand. The crinkles around his eyes mirror yours. Simon nabs another cookie and darts out of the kitchen before you can stop him. You sigh and shake your head, looking for a vase to keep the flowers in.

Another twenty minutes pass before you’re done. You slide the last tray of cookies out of the oven and set it on the stovetop to cool. Remembering Simon, you pull off your oven mitts and check up on him and Phantom. You pause in the doorway, smiling to yourself at what you see. Simon is watching the tv, his eyelids drooping shut and snapping open every few seconds. He’s lying on the couch with Phantom curled up on his chest.

“I knew you would love her,” you whisper. Wide brown eyes lock onto your figure, and Simon sinks into the couch after seeing it’s you.

“A little help here?” he grunts. You stifle a chuckle at his current predicament.

“Can’t move a puppy, Lieutenant?” you tease.

He rolls his eyes at you. “Haven’t you heard of the saying: let sleeping dogs lie?”

You scoop up Phantom, who barely stirs from her sleep. Simon scoots further in and turns onto his side, patting the empty space beside him. You lie next to him with Phantom sandwiched between the two of you. His strong arms lock around your waist and prevent you from rolling off the edge.

The next few minutes are spent in silence, exchanging looks and gentle touches. Simon’s words catch you off guard. “Life without you is like the night sky without stars; empty and fuckin’ miserable to look at.” You drown in endless pools of black, seeing your reflection stare back with wide eyes. The silence amplifies the pounding in your ears. He speaks with such sincerity and conviction that you feel it with every fibre of your being.

Your lips twist into a smile, and you say, “I love you too.”

He rests his forehead against yours. “Merry Christmas, poppet.” His fingers draw random shapes on your back, eliciting a shudder from you.

“Merry Christmas, Simon,” you whisper, lips grazing against the fabric of his mask. He makes a content hum and watches you with an affectionate gaze. The fireplace crackles and tiny snores come from Phantom. The scent of gingerbread wafts from the kitchen and infiltrates the living room. Cozy. You feel cozy.

Simon stretches and groans, “I’ll be back. Need to make a quick trip to the loo.” He crawls over you, careful not to wake Phantom. The puppy twitches but otherwise gives no other indicators of consciousness. You reach for the tv remote and browse for a show to watch, already missing the heat of his body.

Simon goes to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. He tugs the baklava off and rubs a hand over his face. From his pocket, he fishes out a small, velvet-lined box. He rushed to pick up his order when he heard the news.

His phone chimes, and he opens a message from you. There are two pictures. The first is Phantom curled up in her dog bed with the ghost plushie. His lips quirk, and he swipes to view the second photo. His heart stutters, fingers clutching the phone tight. It’s a miracle the screen protector doesn’t shatter. The second photo is a selfie of you and Phantom cuddling where he left you. There’s a goofy smile on your face despite your worried eyes drifting toward the sleeping dog. He can see the slight furrow in your brows—fuck do you make him soft. Now there’s a new addition to your family, and the pup proved him wrong when he thought he couldn’t grow softer. A tightness overcomes his chest, and his vision swims.

And suddenly, he’s scared. Because somehow, in this fucked up world, he found you. A random variable in his life that he has no control over. He’s terrified you’ll be ripped away from him like everyone else. That’s why he needs to do this. Needs to tie you to him forever so that there’s always a piece of you with him. Definitive proof that you are his. The night sky was a cheesy line, but he meant every word. He doesn’t want to come home to an empty apartment anymore. To count down the days until the next deployment. To worry about what terrible thing comes next. To function in life on autopilot.

Simon Riley is entirely aware of how much he loves you. And he’s terrified of how to prove it.

He exits the bathroom, one hand fidgeting with the box in his pocket.

“Bloody fucking hell.”

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

This thing honestly grew a lot bigger than I was expecting. The party mentioned above is definitely a party with the 141 and vaqueros, and I headcanon it to be the first official introduction between the reader and everyone. In that universe anyway.

Also, I totally did not plan on ending it with a possible proposal, it just kinda happened lol. Have fun imagining because I don't think I'll write it.

I do have an idea for a single-dad Price fic because we all know that would make such cute fluff. It was originally going to be for the holidays too, but I'll probably modify the story to work without it.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #fluff #domestic fluff #mild hurt/comfort #Christmas fluff #banter #baking shenanigans #gender neutral reader #no y/n

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sleeplesssmoll · 19 days

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Reverse 1999 HC: Jealousy

Playing with the idea of jealousy and how it would manifest in the pookies because I couldn't sleep.

Note: I'm a firm believer in emotions existing outside of reason, but it's the way we manage them that reveals who we are. You are not your sadness, anger, or jealousy, but the way you deal with these emotions is a reflection of your character.

Sonetto

Manifestations: Jealousy manifests as anger. If left unaddressed, it will turn into confusion and hurt.

Coping: Sonetto will cling to her partner. She will be vocal about her feelings, though it may be hard for her to put her feelings into words since she struggles understanding them herself. Once she is alone with partner, the clinging will intensify.

What to do: a smile, words of affirmation, a hug, or any signs of affection will dispel the jealousy. She can't stay mad at her partner.

What not to do: do not dismiss her feelings or ignore her. It will absolutely break her heart. Due to her loyalty and devotion she'll stay with her partner even if they make her miserable and may try to "fix" things.

Reversed: putting aside the fact Sonetto isn't a flirtatious person to begin with, she's too loyal and devoted to flirt with anyone else. Because jealousy is such an ugly emotion, she won't inflict it on her partner although she is very curious to see how they would react.

Schneider

Manifestation: depeneds on the situation. If her partner is being flirted with (one-sided), She will make herself known to the threat whisk her partner away. However, if her partner was also flirting, the jealousy will appear as coldness or quiet anger.

Coping: She's fought for everything else in her life, so for once she wants someone to fight for her. She is also not above flirting with someone else to get a reaction from her partner, but this is out of anger and without real investment into the poor soul on the other side. She may also withdraw from her partner and hopes they'll do the right thing and come to her first.

What to do: Because her partner will get the cold shoulder, it's up to them to bridge the gap (if they were the one who screwed up. Schneider wouldn't be mad at them if it was one-sided flirting from the other side). Loyalty and love must be proven if her partner wants forgiveness. However, reconciliation will be full of affection. She loves her partner a lot, but she needs to know they feel the same.

What not to do: the Mafia Boss won't tolerate betrayal and disloyalty. Expect to wake with a gun to your head. A bit of flirting is forgivable, but anything beyond that is unacceptable.

Reversed: Outside of anger, Schneider won't flirt with other people once she's in a relationship. She'd be too occupied with her beloved to even see other people. Non-stop flirting and PDA.

Vertin

Manifestation: Vertin is very hard to make jealous because she is a the "I'm happy as long as you're happy type." However, if her partner is being very brazen about it, that changes things. There will be no outward signs of jealousy, but once she is alone with her partner she will ask them if she did something wrong or if there's something else they want from her but aren't getting. On the inside, she takes this a personal failure to make her partner happy and it manifests as self-loathing or disappointment in herself.

Coping: She will try to find out why her partner acted the way they did, which will end up with her assuming she did something wrong. She will try to make her partner happy and "fix" things and may lather them with gifts and affection. If she believes she can't make you happy, she will end the relationship first. She won't fight for your love if she genuinely believes you'd be happier with someone else. However, she'll always fight for you as a person even if things will never be the same between you.

What to do: Accept her gifts and the extra attention even if they're odd (like when you accept the dead bug your cat brought you because you know they just want to show how much they love you by sharing their hunt). Her partner should be open about their thoughts and feelings. She prefers talking things out and straightforward conversation. She's also a tactile person so physical intimacy can help reinforce the bond.

What not to do: don't dismiss her efforts to make you happy. Don't try to make her jealous, it will backfire. Lack of physical contact could be mistaken for anger (a touch on the hand or a hug would prevent this. I'm talking about absolutely no touch).

Reversed: Vertin is the worst out of the trio because she isn't trying to flirt or come off as interested, but her touchy ways and lack of boundaries lead to misunderstandings. This behavior is hard to curve because she's always been this way but also because she doesn't quite understand what she's doing wrong. That being said, she'd never want to upset her partner and will try to change her ways if they mention it bothers them.

#reverse 1999 #vertin #sonetto #Schneider #i have finals next week #and this is what im doing #its a pattern

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cebwrites · 2 years

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Haunted House Reactions (Katakuri, Bartolomeo, Paulie)

gn reader, masc reader (paulie) word count: 0.5k

Katakuri

Honestly? The staff might be more scared of him than he is of them

You adore Kat with everything in your being, he’s your heart and soul, but yeah, you see why some people (weak bitches) would be frightened by his appearance

He loves coming along but sometimes has to wait outside because not many places are built to accommodate folks the height of two storey houses

When he does get to go in, he’s excited to be there but most people wouldn’t know because Katakuri doesn’t let it show

The actors have a hard time scaring him because, frankly, who can?

He’s great and holding (carrying) you throughout if you’re scared though, or a perfect fearless counterpart to accompany you if spooks and ghouls are your thing

He’s 100% accidentally frightened strangers accidentally just by existing there and kind of blending in with the props/actors

”Why is this one so big?! He’s chasing us too, gyaaaah!!!” (When poor Kata was just going with the grain)

Bartolomeo

Makes a big show of ‘protecting’ you from all the scary monsters, isn’t actually scared though

He’s a little bored but he likes proving that he’s a tough guy to you so that arm is definitely around your waist and he’s walking like a caricature of a yankee

It’s pretty easy to spook him honestly, but it has to be you who does it, because Barto isn’t expecting it (oh, the betrayal!)

The one scare that does catch him off guard is gonna make him shatter glass with how high he screams (it’s something innocuous, like a spider he thought was fake on his shoulder but turned out to be real)

Equally as likely to get sidetracked in a conversation with one of the staff talking about how cool their makeup is as he is to get into a fistfight with with one if he thought they were eyeing him (or you) the wrong way

Can’t take this man anywhere istg, at least he’ll treat you to ice cream later to make up for it

Paulie

He’s a MAN’S man, he’s tough as nails, he’s-- quaking in his boots.

Paulie doesn’t get spooked by a lot but what does scare him makes this man shriek and cling to you

Then immediately pretend like his grown ass did not try to climb you like a tree

Paulie’s got his pride to protect and he wants to protect you, his man, too - but that means you’ll have to deal with him being a little bit silly for a bit

Overcompensates for every single sound he makes in response, putting his arm on you and proclaiming that there’s nothing in here that would scare two big strong guys, like yourselves

This just spurs the actors on a lot of the time because it’s funny to make these types of guys squeal

Honestly Paulie makes it much harder on himself by doing this than if he just let himself be scared like a normal haunted house patron

100% would not be surprising if you had to carry him out bridal style like the babygirl he is

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cloverandstuff · 2 months

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I'm rewatching Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood cause it's been literally a decade since I've watched it.

So cheers, I have a reaction thread (because I'm a sentimental bitch)

Episode 1:

God, I've forgotten how it immediately just got to the action in the first episode. Like, it set up everything and gave a glimpse of nearly all important character.

Poor Isaac, was probably manipulated, but ultimately led himself to his own demise. Very bold though.

And god, I think I was too depressed at the time of watching it, but the Eldric brother's backstory was so painful with that small glimpse.

Episode 2:

I cannot for the life of me understand why this shit didn't affect me as much as it should've as a kid. It might've depression that numbed my emotions, but I guess we'll never know.

Anyway, my point is, this is is traumatizing, and that's me saying this as an adult. The backstory and the short glimpses of the mom, as well as the clear love and dedication they had for her? The way that Ed didn't even hesitate to try and find more truth? The way he dragged himself, bleeding leg and all, to the armor to shove it down, and connect his brothers soul to it???

And god, the way I just kept whisper-shouting when they came to recruit him, cause I didn't remember shit, going-

But man, as someone is is now so much older than Ed is in the anime, they make him act a kid. A very smart, powerful and purposeful kid, but a kid nonetheless. He's so young and you can just feel it in the little things he does. He does not have his shit together and is still figuring some shit out.

Episode 3:

I love the comedy this anime has. It has the funny little pauses and the interuption of what should be serious moments without ruining the actual serious moments.

It is exactly my cup of tea, with a silly joke that just poked fun at a kid or being, well. A kid. He's small, and that joke may remind He's small but I can also remind you that he is so much younger than his peers.

I am an atheist so I do have the same kinda mindset about God that Edward has. Rose has this sort of annoying mindset of God and his priests being this answer to all suffering and anyone who disagrees will suffer divine Punishment. It is frustrating at the start.

But I can fully understand where she's coming from by the end. She clung onto this hope, this prayer that someone she loved so much will eventually be revived. Rose then meets the brothers who lost someone they loved, and tried to being back as well. She saw the consequences and felt terrified. But she spent so long just clinging onto this hope that she desperately wants it to be true. So she argues, trying to convince herself that Cornella was telling the truth and she didn't waste so long praying for something that didn't exist.

People can find comfort in the idea of God(s). The idea that there is someone looking after everyone and offering guidance is reassuring for some.

That was not Rose's situation.

Rose's situation is more akin to having a loved one suffering from a terminal disease and convincing yourself that prayers and God will be able to do what science could not. You can not pray for the impossible. You can pray for hope, for guidance or for even a fast recovery. But you need to understand that even if you wish for something impossible, you cannot spend your life wasting away on these prayers and refuse to do anything else.

Rose needed to stop clinging in general because she was clinging on to something impossible that compelled her to try and attempt awful things. She needed to learn to stand on her own. Maybe she could one day find hope in God again, but it wouldn't be anytime soon.

Man, I went on a rant there.

Anyway, I just wanted to type all that put because my mind just felt like analysing for a bit.

I forgot what the philosopher stone even did until now. I remembered that it was powerful but I that was about it. Now I remember, it was shit about defying the rule of absolute equivalence.

I am kinda happy I forgot majority of the lore of this anime, it makes it fun to put all the pieces together again as an adult who can process things and analyse better.

Episode 4:

This hurts.

This hurts so much. They were so happy, and acting like actual kids. They played all sorts of games with Nina and Alexander. It was so bright. They were so bright.

But Tucker, the motherfucker, only saw what he was bound to lose instead of what he had. He tried to work his way through it, but eventually just gave up.

My heart sank when I heard him ask Nina to play the next day. It broke even more when heard Nina say, in that voice that doesn't belong to a kid, "onii-chan".

He sacrificed everything just to save his title pf State Alchemist. He gave up his wife and then his daughter and the respect of these kids.

God, I hate him. I understand him and his desperation and I hate him.

Scar is back though. We love scar man. He's weird but core to the story and has every right to hate State Alchemists.

Again, when I was a kid, I didn't feel much. This episode never hit me as hard as it does now. Back then, I though the Eldric brothers were being dramatic about the whole thing.

Now it just strikes me so hard how fucked up it wad to be willing to experiment on your own kid for a stupid title. To mutate her into an existence that was nothing like her human one.

Brotherhood didn't make it blatantly, but it was mentioned time and again, just how painful it was to be a chimera in the original. Nina was in pain and Tucker knew this.

I fully understand why this hurt the Eldric brothers so much now. That was horrid. And to be able to even see a semblance of yourself in that was painful.

#fma brotherhood #fmab #reaction time #reaction thread #fma #maybe spoilers?#idk this is an old anime #this is on you if you haven't watched it yet but plan on it

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obriengf · 2 years

Note

💔 with Stiles pls??

send me an emoji and dylan character for a headcanon ~ CLOSED

💔 : A breakup headcanon

*Inspired by that car scene in ‘The Spectacular Now’.

*Didn’t intend to make this so long.

*I’m issuing a trigger warning for yelling and intense negative self-esteem.

Get Out

Stiles Stilinski’s heart was shattered in pieces after his first real breakup, and he had never recovered since. Just the thought tugged so viciously at his chest and pinched every nerve in his body. He would feel small and compressed, a mere dour speck of dust in such a large and progressing world. It wasn’t until he would remember that he was the cause of this agonising pain, that Stiles really let his heart disintegrate into thin air.

After years of wearing thin, his mind had been split, and Stiles quickly lost his grasp on steady thoughts and emotions. The desperation to save his friends from all things that go bump in the night started it, the Nogitsune being the one to toppel it all over. The boy was beginning to grow poor self-confidence in himself, eventually setting him to falsely believe that he can’t save anyone, that his skill set was non-existent, that he was nothing.

When you first propelled your way so goddamn easily into the empty space of his soul, Stiles immediately saw you as an ethereal saving grace. It was instant trust, instant love, a light that he needed so desperately and was lucky to be given so willingly. You believed in Stiles with every inch of your being. You made it your mission to always stand by his side and be the personal cheerleader that he deserved, to support his plans, no matter how outlandish. To remind the boy that he may be human, but a kind and loving human that only wants good for the people he claimed as his unique family. You had him, and he had you, entirely.

And then he ruined it.

It was a tough pack meeting that you both had just sat through - four long hours of plan devising and arguments about what to do next, worries and distress spelled so easily from each member as everything came to an unwanted standstill. Nobody knew which path to take, and nobody took it harder than Stiles. He always had the plan, he always saw the next path. He was the brains, but his lack of finding a solution was enough to drive him over the edge.

You could tell something wasn’t right immediately. His gaze were glued forward, body straightened and tense, no word was spoken since you had left to get into the Jeep. He was driving you home, but his thoughts were elsewhere; somewhere dark, you figured, by the furrowing of his brows and dampened flame behind his eyes. He was hating himself more and more with each passing second, and it would soon get to the point where even you couldn’t break through to him.

You sighed, “We’ll find a way, we always do.”

But all he did was scoff - of course you’d use your optimism against him, the boy perceived. You were the epitome of sunshine, and he was nothing more but everything dark and dingy that wasn’t even close to making the cut. “That’s bullshit, you know that, right?”

You hastily glanced toward Stiles, eyes widened in shock. He was never this broody when it came to you. You could see it now, so easily, how he was putting up his walls, brick by brick. It didn’t usually happen this fast - you always had time to pull him out of whatever trance the devilry of the world held so tightly over him... but now, it was beginning to seem impossible.

“Stiles. We can’t think like that, remember?” Your voice shook as you dared to reach forward, your fingers wrapping so cautiously around his wrist. Your warmth didn’t stay there long, though, with Stiles shaking you off. You gulped - swallowing down the lump in your throat before it became harder to breathe. This wasn’t the sweet boy you knew, as if the remnants of an evil spirit were clinging to his heart and mind so desperately, until they were strong enough to take over once more.

His self-esteem had been dropping but this was an entirely new low for Stiles.

You tried to steady your voice before your tongue darted to lap at the sudden dryness of your lips, “Don’t shut me out, Stiles. Please.” With hesitancy, you tried to reach for him once more, your hands sitting tenderly upon his taut shoulder. “I love you.”

“No you don't. You don’t love me.” He spat, his body only moving to rid your touch again.

“I do, of course I do! This isn’t you, sweetheart.” You didn’t want to beg, but it fell from your lips like a broken floodgate, the pain and confusion pulling at your heart now incredibly evident in your tone.

He scoffed again, his words following a laugh drenched with sarcasm, as if be didn’t believe you. “See? You don’t love me. You love the version of me that was composed, that knew what the fuck he was doing. The one who could save the people he cared about, not drive them into impending doom. I can’t help anyone, I can’t save you, I can’t fucking save anyone!”

You didn’t expect Stiles to start yelling, and you were quick to cower back against the door of the Jeep, arms instinctively wrapping around your frame as you shielded yourself. He was breaking, he was falling apart. He needed you but how can you help someone who won’t accept it?

By now, small droplets were falling over your reddened cheeks, so you began to sob, “Don’t you dare start that crap with me, Stilinski! I have always been there for you, through thick and thin. Whatever despair you’re feeling... it can get better, it will. I do love you, every goddamn part of you. We are good for eachother, you are good for me-”

“-SERIOUSLY?! Do you not see that I am bad for you?! For fucks sake, I can’t do this. You need to get away from me!” His voice continued to rise until you could feel the glass window behind you shake, the rumbling continuing as he pulled over to the side of the road.

You had to remind yourself that this wasn’t Stiles, this wasn’t your beautiful sweet boy that held you close at night and peppered your cheeks with sporadic kisses. This wasn’t the Stiles that laughed so dumbly at Saturday morning cartoons, and who made you soup when you were sick. This wasn’t the Stiles that created the true meaning behind making love, whose fingertips left fiery trails behind them as they explored every inch of your skin. This wasn’t him, but you were never going to let slide this malevolence that was dragging him down into a never-ending spiral.

You tried to stand your ground, even when he was reaching over to push open your door, his eyes still not looking your way. Perhaps he was disgusted in you for loving a monster, or perhaps he was scared that when you saw the pain that clouded his eyes, then you would choose to run before he could let you go himself.

“Get out.” He grumbled, the chill night air filling the interior and adding to your already shaky state. In his gut, he was screaming out for you to stay, but the badness that he saw so easily within himself was sure to ruin you. So, he had to make you leave, he had to make you hate him, just like he hated himself.

With no movement made, he slammed his hands against the steering wheel, “Get the fuck out of my fucking car!” He wanted to save you. If he couldn’t save you from the Supernatural, then he had to save you from himself. In the end, it all came down to you.

The screaming was enough to make you slip, your body awkwardly vacating the vehicle with your phone grasped tightly between whitening fingers.Your jacket remained slung over the seat, but you were too frozen to reach for it. He had never yelled at you. It was terrifying.

It took a second or two before his arm shot in your direction, the door now pulled closed, and the Jeep becoming a darkened blue blur disappearing around an upcoming bend.

Stiles was gone. The Jeep was gone. Your love... was gone.

#dylan o'brien x reader #dylan o'brien #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski headcanon #stiles stilinski fic #pressureprompts #this was sad and wild

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cafe-smut · 3 months

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3 Immortals Walk Into an Inn

“Let go of me!” she screamed, trying to kick out at the man, terror and anger all at once giving her a mediocrum of strength. But this bastard was a cultivator, he has a golden core and- and he’s stronger than her. The pants she’s stolen and worn, torn, the long shirt she’d also stolen being torn open at that moment. Her dress was already left behind in the burning manor, and now- now she knew her mistake, trusting this man merely because he said she could be strong, even though she was a woman. Because everyone said cultivators were righteous and she- she so foolishly believed it. And now she was paying for it, but this time the man trying to ruin her didn’t have a sibling to hide her wounds from, he had no reason not to do this. To destory her body and soul-

Then he was thrown off of her and she crawled back, barely focusing as a giant black cat stood over her, snarling at the man- a person in white pointed a sword at him, long brown hair reaching far down their back. “How dare you-”

“Leave the child alone.” still covering herself, she blinks now, looking past this giant cat again to focus of the one in white, sword at that bastard’s throat. And- and its a woman. A female cultivator.

“Liar! You said they didn’t exist!” it’s so so terrible now in comparison to everything else. So minor in the face of what he’d been about to do. But she’s been violated so many times before that seems in truly little consequence to her.

“They do, I said that first, little one. They’re just weak though!”

“Not so weak as someone like you who will take advantage of a young child’s hope and light and use it to hurt and breka them, to use them for your own gain. Now leave, or you will not get far.” he laughs, laughs!, up at her, when he is below her sword point. Why doesnt she just kill him?!

“Oh please, like you could do anything to me! I’ve seen you around town, you refuse to hurt anyone!”

“I have taken a vow not to take a life again, you are correct. Far more observant than I'd thought. However, that does not mean you will escape this.” her sword moves away and she backs up. The giant cat moves off of her, and he finally notices it. The fear in his eyes is- incredibly pleasing to her. The cultivator puts a hand on the cat’s head and says a single word.

“Run.” he scrambles up and away, then out of sight rapidly. The cat doesn’t move.

“Take care of him, but do it like this.” then with what she thinks she hallucinates to be a grin, it takes off with a deep loud yeowl. The second the cat is gone, her eyes meet soft wide brown. “Oh you poor thing.” and now she’s being covered by the cultivator’s own outer robe. She tries to back away, still not trusting her. She doesn’t dare trust anyone anymore! “I’m sorry, I can only imagine what you’ve been through. But let’s get you someplace warm, i can escort you someplace if you need some work, or is your fami-”

“It’s just me!” she snaps, glaring ar ther but clings to the only thing covering her properly. Just to make sure, she glances back at the house, the manor, a short ways away, still smoking. And yes, yes he was dead long before she set the fire. He was- he was gone.

The sudden realization had tension leaving her body. She was finally free. A soft noise comes from the cultivator, which has her focusing again, looking over. She tries to keep glaring, anger keeps her safe now, but it’s hard to hide the fear. And those brown eyes- the last person to look so gently and warmly at her, without pity or anything dark, was- she doesn’t move any closer, they stay quiet for a while. “What if I don't have- anywhere else to go?”

“You could travel with me and my companion until we find someplace you do wish to stay. My name is Xie Lian.” She doesn’t bother to answer her, but now she looks over and smiles, standing as the large cat comes back. It’s got blood on its maw and its paws. And oh that feels good to see.

“Is he dead?” he finds himself asking the cat, it looks over. She finds herself surprised at its silver eyes. But then its lips curl a bit and it purrs, walking over to lay behind her, and licking the blood from its paws. Xie Lian sighs, shaking her head. “Now you stop that. Go on, I'll call you if I need you again Xiao-Xian.” Wait, what?

“You’re calling a giant black wild cat that just killed that bastard- ‘little’?” she asks incredulously. The cat shakes behind her like it’s laughing as Xie Lian sighs.

#xie lian #wei wuxian #shen qingqiu #heaven official's blessing #mo dao zu shi #scum villian self saving system #genderbend #future fic #ficlet

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josephseedismyfather · 9 months

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2 in 1 uquizzes

I was tagged by @inafieldofdaisies and @socially-awkward-skeleton for these 2 quizzes, sorry about the delay! I still haven't gotten all the tags figured out apparently!

What is your ocs true role in the story?

The "Oh" quiz

Harley Jane ❤️

the fallen prodigy

hello old friend, it's been a while hasn't it? I remember when you were just a child, gape-smiled and beaming like the sun. where have you laid your youth to rest my love? is it buried beside your heart perhaps? I know how deeply life has wounded you, it took away everything, didn't it? oh poor soul, you held onto happiness with bloody, shaking hands but still fate ripped even that away from you. your past lovers are dead or did some betray you? turning away in fear of what they once admired. your comrades have been slain, or their priorities shifted. I've heard you too have changed your way of thought. the people fear you know, do they normally cower at the sound of your name? ah don't fret, that makes two of us. the masses tend to despise the things they do not have the will to comprehend. the villain finds sympathy for you don't they, well I could have seen that from a mile away. you two are the oldest friends, you made a deal with them correct? to save your late love, they tried to hold their end of the bargain, really, but I fear you are cursed to forever be despondent. oh what a sad and miserable life without love. is that why you chase loneliness? for is it truly a life of sorrow if you yourself has chosen it? but don't become bitter from the pain. trust when I say I have seen wounds unfold a man, turning the gentlest spirits into seething beasts. please, keep seeking love, even if it seems you are forbidden from it. you are the master of your own fate, I see how tired you are. the scars never healed, they twist and wrap around your entire person. your eyes are dark and lifeless, rest. but keep fighting, not with the sword you have forsaken so long ago, but with your heart. I'll be rooting for you my friend.

the late-night talk

Oh. you figure it out when you realize just how vulnerable they are willing to be with you. it isn't everybody who could or would stay up talking into the night with you, not with such affection or easy familiarity. it isn't everybody who is so understanding of you. it isn't everybody who could bare their soul to you in return. that kind of intimacy... it means deep foundations. it means comfort. it means trust. maybe it's a secret, maybe it's a story, maybe it's something you just never thought of before -- but they say something, late at night, and you realize all at once how remarkable they are, and how special it is to exist in the same time and space as them. "oh" indeed.

Why do both of these fit her so well?! 🥹

Evangeline Rose 💛

the supporter

oh gentle comrade, you know what it takes to make others shine. you live your life assisting others to reach their goals, but many say you are lackluster and unnecessary. but alas, do we need the stars any less for their dim light helps the moon glow brighter! you are warm inside and out, perhaps made of sunshine one might ask? but I can see you are as weary and worn as the hero you so desperately cling to. your purpose is to serve? Is it not? it's those moments of undying loyalty that make your bones ring true with honor. "I am right beside you," you whisper, for unlike the ones who lie through their teeth you will be with your ally through joy, through heart ache, through death. it is a difficult thing to gain your trust back if one has shattered it though, you are forgiving yes? you give many chances, but alas, one can only look away from a wrong doing so long. you can't exactly turn your other cheek as once wrings a blade through your middle. you are made of a steadfast heartbeat and a tired, knowing smile. you bring solace to the aching, and comfort to the wronged. but what happens when your protagonist loses? what happens when your valiant heroes fail you? will you pick up a sword and vanquish their enemy or will you wait patiently for yet another savior to appear and save the day? one must live long enough to see their heroes die. but are you brave enough to take their place? the only strings that bind you to your oaths of subservience are your own doubts. "am I good enough?" they whisper in your ears. you answer that yourself love. for the only difference between the paladin and the stable boy are mettle. it is not the question of can you be a hero. it is simply, will you be?

the unrelated moment

you tend to be more preoccupied with practical things, to the point where you've been blinded to matters of the heart. sure, you're close with this person. you like to be close with people. it is rewarding to know and be known in return. you leave realization no choice but to sneak up on you. they're not even in the room when it happens. someone or something else spells it out for you, an observant friend's passing comment or a particular sentence you were reading in a book, and suddenly it hits you, what it all means. the person your feelings have been building themselves around. Oh. it's them. it's time. it's them and you, here and now, and you have to decide what to do at this crossroads. luckily, you're practically-minded.

Okayyyy but these ones are perfect, too. Especially "the unrelated moment"...iykyk 😏

Tagging my usual peeps because honestly I can't remember who did this and who didn't. So, SUPER apologies for doubles and no pressure!!! @wrathfulrook, @trench-rot, @jacobsneed, @vampireninjabunnies-blog, @ladyoriza, @cassietrn, @redreart, @hotmessteaparty, @g0dspeeed, @silenthqll, @the-silver-chronicles, @malefiquinn, @strangefable, @psyren-psyrpent, @noodlecupcakes, @neverthesameneveranother and anyone else who wants to play 🥰

#uquizzes #tagged 🖤#oc: harley jane #oc: evangeline rose #okayyy but they are so perfect!#for both of my girls!

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crystallinearts · 1 year

Text

the image, I tell you... the image

of Xiao, trying to sleep for the first time in a while, because you were able to gently coax him into resting, "you need a break, my love" this and "you work so hard, aren't you tired?" that and "come here, lie down beside me, we can sleep together tonight, okay?"

but then you wake up an hour later, because he's holding you so tightly, because you can feel the weight of his karmic debt pressing against any good thing it finds, never allowing him a moment of peace, because your poor Adeptus is whimpering in his sleep

"don't go," he cries as he clings to you, "don't go, I can be better, I'll do better, I won't hurt you..."

a nightmare. for a being who devours dreams, (he's eaten more than one of your bad ones on occasion), it must be disorienting for something he can literally eat for breakfast to have so much power over him

and you wake him carefully, reminding him in an instant where he is and that it wasn't real, that he's safe and you're safe and you're here and that it's over now, you kiss his head and rub his back and hold him just as tightly

he tries to squirm away at first, with this haunted look in his eyes. like he's seeing your ghost when he looks at you. don't let him fool you; he wants to be held, to know you still love him despite how bad he thinks he is for you. don't let him go. as soon as you pull him back into your arms and hold him like you never want anything else, he crumples. he's useless against your touch. he can't pretend it's not everything he's ever wanted

and you know even before his explanation what the dream was about. he's terrified he'll hurt you, that just being near him will doom you and irreparably stain your soul. he's afraid that one day you'll see him for the monster he is, and you will leave, and he doesn't know what he'll do then. you've given him so much love, what would he do if you just took it all away?

he just wants to be good. good for you. good for other people. good for something other than to destroy. worthy of being loved. if he isn't good for you, how can he live with that? how can he not tear himself to pieces knowing that he's bad for everyone?

"this is why I don't sleep," he tells you, a bitter and self-conscious admission murmured into your chest as you hold him. "the karmic debt takes everything that might not be so bad and turns it into something that makes me suffer. the sun's warmth becomes a sunburn. giving rains soak into me and make me sick. ... dreams become nightmares."

the bad karma itself is overwhelming in moments like this, when it seems to leak out of him and taint everything. it makes you feel sad and nauseous, like the weight of everything in existence is pressing down on you, demanding your suffering to pay back some wrong which was never entirely your fault in the first place.

you push. you force yourself to keep going despite it, and you hold Xiao close to you so that maybe your lack of a karmic debt, your soul's neutrality, can soften the price he's being made to pay. you kiss him and tell him you love him, even now when being near him isn't easy. you don't care. you love him.

love itself isn't easy. it takes a lot of work sometimes. this is the challenge you face with Xiao, but you refuse to let it scare you away.

you will love him without fear, and you will make that choice as many times as you have to. and you will tell him how much you love him and that you won't abandon him. his nightmare will never, ever come to pass.

you don't love him because it's easy. you love him because you love him.

even if you can't make it all better, you can be here. that's what love is, isn't it?

#Bellum babbles #Xiao #I MINI FIC'D #I FUCKING LOVE HIM P L E A S E!!!!!!

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kingdom-mechanics · 1 month

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[Massive graphic trigger warning]

............

...........

..........

.........

........

.......

......

.....

....

...

*Hexe removes her witch's hat and veil.*

So it shall be. Fine.

*Ramona's hands suddenly clamp around her throat, growing hotter and hotter as if the sun is being focused directly into them. The metal sticks to and smolders her skin, the scent of smoke once again meeting her nose.*

*Something- no, two things- suddenly stab through her stomach and up through her ribcage, hooking onto her lungs. Instantly, Ramona loses the ability to breathe as Hexe's nails sink around the tissue and rip each lung out through her stomach, taking several ribs and other organs with her.*

*Ramona looks down at Hexe's hands, covered in organ matter and blood, before a bright flash of yellow and orange catches her attention. Flames through the entire throne room leap up, clamoring to the blood like hungry sharks.*

*She's slammed against the wall next to the throne, right beside the corset, as the blaze continues to chase her. Black and red cracks take over and break the architecture of the room, not collapsing only due to sheer willpower while the fire clings to Ramona's exposed organs.*

You are a pathetic person, Ramona.

*Hexe's voice is deafening, but still only somewhat audible from the cracking of marble and roar of fire.*

Though, I must thank you for your time with us..... You were the perfect individual to remind everyone why you do not disobey my rule. Now they all gather to watch as your own misdeeds lead to not only your death, but the destruction of the last remnants I have allowed to exist of Icia. They have lost those items, thanks to you.

There is once again no one to protect these fools, and no hope. It dies with you, Ramona. Thank you, for killing any hope these poor souls have of recieving what you, Icia, and Achilles fought so hard for: Salvation... from me. Goodbye.

*god everything hurt so much, and she couldn't stop it, she couldn't stop the pain, she wanted it to stop so badly yet she didn't show any of it, not and ounce, not a tear nothing*

*she's not going to give that satisfaction, and she never will*

*she can't speak she can't breathe, the only thing she does is mouth out the words;*

"Its not over"

*she closed her eyes, kinda hoping it would end there, that she would actually die, that she wouldn't have to deal with this pain much longer*

*but as she said, it's not over, and she's not actually dead*

#thehandlessmechanic #tw blood #Tw gore #tw death #tw murder #tw sui implied

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querren · 6 months

Text

I found this on another blog a month or so ago and knew I wanted to save it for today. I'm reposting it as my own so that the poor blog I found it on doesn't suffer this long confession/ramble/whatever-this-is being attached to a reblog. Even though I already reblog a lot of sappy/romantic crap on this page, this is highly personal, so I'm a bit hesitant to post it but I really want to say it somewhere. So, here goes.

Today used to be the day I'd look forward to most every year. A year ago today, you said "Yes" when I asked you to marry me. I drove past the cabins a few hours ago and couldn't help but think of that morning, the bitter cold and the beautiful skies. I never once thought that I would ever dread this day. I have been stressing about today for months, and now it's here.

It's been more than a month since I said goodbye to you, and at this point I have spent the better part of this year (a terrible way to describe a unit of time in this instance) separate from you. I thought that it's what I needed in order to heal, but so often I'm afraid I've made a mistake. I thought it was the right call; professionals said it was; those closest to me said it was. But I don't feel any better than I did a month ago; I often feel worse. And sometimes it feels like I never even said goodbye at all, because you haunt me every night when I go to sleep. Whether the space has helped at all or not, I genuinely can't say, but I think my heart would say that it hasn't. I want to come back so badly, but I'm terrified, and I don't know what decision is the right one. I keep hoping that I'll wake up one day and see that you've reached out, but I know that that's not going to happen.

I still very much believe that this poem describes us. Seven months since we separated and, despite everything you've said, everything you've insisted, I still believe this. I don't know if that's because I'm still in denial (which I know I am), or if it's because of all of the things that you've said during this process that changed down the line—it's likely some combination of the two—but I still believe this poem describes us.

I decided that today, I'm wearing my ring.

I'm still angry. I'm still so angry, but more than anything else I feel alone. Because at the end of it all, there's nothing you could ever say or do—nothing that could ever happen between the two of us—that would take away how much I love you. Even if I do one day move on, as you may have, I know I'm destined to search for you in everyone I meet in the future.

I still don't fully believe you, that you've moved on. That you're okay with this. It's not that I think you lied to me, not intentionally, rather that I think you still don't know for yourself how you feel; that you feel some passing certainties in the moment that fade when one instant turns into the next. That you're just afraid of the possibility of getting hurt again and having to experience all of this pain anew, which I understand. And maybe that's simply me projecting (I know it is to some degree). Maybe it's just my denial. But... part of me believes that you believe this, too. That our souls can't part.

It's as you yourself said on the night I said goodbye: "We're not most people." We never have been. For seven years, we always beat the odds; what's stopping us from doing it this time, too?

Or maybe I'm just insane. Maybe I'm still clinging to a fantasy that doesn't exist anymore. But for now, I will continue to believe that it's true, because it's the only thing that I can do. It's the only thing keeping me going.

I'm almost certain that you'll never read this, which is part of the reason I have the courage to send this out into the ether at all, but if you do see this: I hope that you're okay. I hope you've made the most of the time you've had since we parted, that you're not just surviving but thriving. I hope you've created wonderful memories and that you continue to do so, and I can't wait to hear about them some day.

I'm sorry that I've been gone, sorry that we ended up here at all. I miss you more than you will ever know or understand. I hope you've remembered to give Alec a hug whenever you've missed me, too.

To Charon and back. Happy anniversary, love.

#Spotify

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babydook · 2 years

Note

*yeets into existence cutely* Hello, can I request yandere headcanons for Junko, Izuru, and Tsumugi from Danganronpa?

Yandere Junko, Izuru

& Tsumugi

separate

Danganronpa

A/N: 3 terrible people let's gooo

> Headcannons

Junko

Yandere type: Dominant, Sadistic, Possessive

Difficulty: Impossible

First things first: I am so sorry for you.

Let's make this clear: it's going to be miserable for the both of you. Yipee! Just the way she likes it!

It doesn't take very long for her to realise what's happening, you're exquisite! The despair you bring her is radiant! She'd love nothing more than to drown you both in it.

It's a pretty instantaneous reaction, you've piqued her interest you poor, unfortunate soul. You don't have the sense or the ability to stay away from her. If you'd known it'd turn out like this then you'd have avoided her like the plague she is.

It's both annoying and frightening having her cling to you. There's no need for formalities, your introduction will be skipped.

What's even more frightening is that she just can't make her mind up. She wants you to be grovelling at her feet! And yet she has to grip your shoulders and steer you away from other insignificant people completely unworthy of her time.

She's playing with you. Getting a feel for what it's like having you as a toy. If she can't make you stay away from other people then she'll just have to make them stay away from you.

Public humiliation! She'll make you so awful to be around that nobody else will even want to. She loves how despairing you find it. She just can't help herself!

You're her delightfully delicious darling. Yes, her darling. You read that right. Don't pretend to be shocked, so what if it's been half a week?

Oh you're so lucky that she gives you the time of day - but what else is she supposed to do? Everything is so boring! Utterly useless in every way, they pale in comparison! People should just stop trying. They're outmatched.

The moment she makes her mind up on it, whether she's actually taken you or not yet (because she will) you belong to her. That's really all it takes. It's (more than) kinda scary.

Hurting you hurts her, and that's exactly why she does it. It drenches the both of you in such a devastating amount of despair, oh what you do to her!

This is love! This is love! It makes her want to sing sick. You're sickening, you know that? How dare you, you're just too cute for your own good! She'll fix that. Then she'll be the only one able to stand you, that's exciting right? :)

Whatever you love is gone, It's a necessary evil. How else will she milk your pain? She craves every last drop and we all know she's a greedy girl.

Nothing you hold dear to you is safe. Nothing. You like your hair? She does too! She's shaving it.

If you have a talent expect it to be rendered useless. She'll immobilise you if she has to. Whatever makes you most miserable.

Hate her for this please, she gets off on it more than you could possibly fathom.

Who knows if you're going to make it out of this alive, let alone at all? You're stuck with this maniacal bitch. You belong to her.

She still doesn't know what she wants, it's frustrating for the both of you. That's how she likes it.

As long as you're both ruined by the end of whatever this is... she might finally be satisfied. Maybe you can be proud of yourself for that.

Izuru

Yandere type: Possessive, Lucid, Controlling

Difficulty: Master

What is wrong with you?

It's not his fault, is it? He'd be confused, but he doesn't care enough to be. He shouldn't care enough to be and it's becoming a problem.

Why is he constantly drawn back to you? Is it something to do with his past self? The uncertainty that he's grown so used to is becoming somewhat unbearable.

He doesn't get this surge of interest.

What he DOES get it the way that your skin reddens in his grip, how you're so much weaker than him, that you don't have a say in it.

The silence is suffocating. You're gonna get real tired of it and quick.

He just doesn't talk, or more so he doesn't initiate conversation. Which would be fine in any other circumstance, but it's taking the piss when you're leg locked and being crushed against him.

You never knew someone could hold you so tightly and yet so tenderly. It's awful. You'd give anything to make it stop.

It's just the slow rising and falling of his chest against your back. Focusing on his breathing makes you realise how you haven't been.

It doesn't matter so much if you're rigid against him or if you aren't enjoying this at all. He doesn't even know if he is to be honest, he just knows that this contact has to happen.

There's no fighting him off, have you seen this man? At least he's not doing anything particularly horrendous to you, as uncomfortable as his sudden stiff half-hugs are.

It's so impulsive... So random. There's no pattern or reason to these moments with him. There's no warning. They just happen.

And they're not so bad if you think about it really hard, I mean, he's not hurting you is he? And the guy's probably just lonely. He's not... done anything yet.

It's uncomfortable and unwanted he hasn't hurt you. He's never gone further than this. He just... holds you? Is that what he's doing? You've learnt not to ask because nothing gets a response.

You could be walking down the hallway or in the middle of eating something, maybe you're just standing up from your seat when you'll suddenly be trapped against the wall for an indescript amount of time. It's become routine at this point. You've gotten better at not flinching. (You didn't even see him there!)

In your presence the boredom subsides, these are like a pick-me-up; or an extreme urge that makes him almost claw his skin off at times. Same difference.

This closeness is doing something. He's not sure what it's doing, but it's something. He can feel it and that's a feat of its own.

He can't go without it for too long, trust me, he's tried. These rushed encounters will become more and more frequent, no explanation is given.

You can just be quiet and wait for it to be over.

One day it won't be.

Tsumugi

Yandere type: Manipulative, Obsessive, Possessive

Difficulty: Advanced

If you asked her to pick out just one of your features, she wouldn't be able to. It's everything about you, from your flaws to your mistakes. All of it. You're so... You.

She's observed this. You didn't catch her eye at first, an extra of sorts. She'd see you as background noise like her, something to help make the room look fuller, but she doesn't see you at all. Doesn't pick up on you other than that the more she runs into you the more familiar your face gets.

You're something she notices when she's just idly dawdling or stuck in her head. The incubation period is strong on this one. Her eyes will graze your form and something will stick just a little. Everytime it'll linger longer, project stronger. The imprint you leave on her mind will burn somewhat deeper. And then it's stuck there.

She does a brilliant job of fading into the background, something that helps her with everything she does a lot. You won't even notice her loitering around you more often, her presence isn't picked up on unless she makes it known.

Being plain is something she has at times resented, but now it can be used in her favour. An opportunity, assisting to be the perfect base for what she's figured out she wants to be: more you.

She wants to mold herself after you. All in your image. It's somewhat of a joke at first, a small prick which popped into her head that she couldn't quite shake off. Sure, even if you're a real person there's this essence you hold. Something that keeps her fixated. Something she envies.

She's concerningly quick to shrug off everything else in your presence no matter what she was doing before. This can differ from ignoring class the second you walk in or almost running over pedestrians if she catches a glimpse of you on the sidewalk while she's driving. Forget that important trip she had to make, let's u-turn to see what you're up to!

She already knows so much about you by the time she actually starts making an impression on you.

You were honestly never even aware that she knew your name, the first time you had a conversation she was the one to initiate it. By then she had already planned 65% of it out, only because she's working on her improv skills.

You'll feel bad for not knowing how to respond to the compliments she showers you with, they always seem so genuine and yet you can't come up with anything to say back.

"I LOVE your hair, it suits you perfectly."

She wonders if she could find something nearly as luscious for a wig.

She desperately wishes she could cosplay real people, she'll just have to make do with the bare minimum (which is still way too much)

What are your interests? Oh you like this thing? She does too! Since when...? About half a second ago. Suppose you'll just have to teach her more about it then huh? :)

What are her interests? You Yours! She already told you that didn't she? Are you that interested in learning about her..? She's beyond flattered. Let's talk more about how you're so good at flattering her. Now let's keep the convo on you.

You won't realise quite what she's doing, or at least the extent.

Yeah you've picked up on her talking to you more often and the fact that she always seems to pop up in your private hangouts. Did she sit that close to you before? You'd never really paid much attention to the seating arrangements. Are those glasses new? You don't remember them being your favourite colour. That's nice though!

The friendship bracelet girl. She may invite you out somewhere to go and make them. Not only is it a super cute, niche bonding experience to share with you and you alone, but it's a statement.

You'll wear something that she's made for you, exactly to your liking may I add, and it'll work better than any collar ever could. Every time that she makes a request which seems too uncomfy or odd you'll get a look at that bracelet on your wrist and remember your place to be a good friend. And in turn, she can wear something that you've made her. On her own skin. Touching her. On her skin. She's never taking it off.

She'll mold you into what she perceives to be the best version of you, whilst simultaneously imitating you the whole way. You're growing as people together! Identity theft is not a joke, Tsumugi.

She had to get closer eventually, there's nothing else like being in a 1 on 1 conversation with you. After all, now she can get a closer look at your behaviour, hear about your opinions from the divine source.

What better opportunity to see how you interact with the world around you? She's already picked up on most of your little mannerisms, imitating your body language so seamlessly that you're almost one in the same. How could you two not be seen as a pair?

A/N: hope you've had a lovely day, thank you for requesting! It was a challenge to write some of these characters so I had some fun. <3

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere danganronpa x reader #yandere danganronpa #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa #yandere izuru #izuru x reader #yandere tsumugi #tsumugi x reader #yandere junko #junko enoshima x reader

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