Helloo it's me, one of your fans!! I have come to answer your call for more requests š«”
May I please request a headcanon/story of Nicholas and a reader who tried to escape, but is now trapped in his house? How would life be like for the reader?
Also, if you really want more primos open commissions im sure others would love to commission you hahahaha just kidding... unless??? š³š³š³
you're really tempting me nwo yikes š¢š¢ i might do it perchance!!! i really want navia .. C1 Kaveh isn't cutting it
"why would you even think of escaping? are you stupid? i always knew you were... unintelligent, but i never took you to be so slow. did you wish to die out there?"
expect to be constantly belittled! who are you to try and leave him? only dumb people try to leave him. are you dumb?
"you think i'm really gonna let you go alone?" he scoffs, rolling his eyes. "don't be so stupid. you lost all your rights when you decided to leave me."
he's constantly following you around the place, and for when he's at work, there's cameras everywhere. you think he wouldn't put a camera in that one corner? you're wrong.
"you want me to do that for you? maybe you should rethink what you just said to me again. maybe then, you'll realize how unbelievably stupid you sound right now."
he won't do anything fun for or with you. wanted to watch a new movie that's been released? you don't get to watch it for at least three months.
"oh, shut up! do you think i have the time to listen to your useless complaints? some people have something useful to do."
he can hardly tolerate you. thought he was rude and impatient before? he's at least, a minimum of a 100 times worse.
follow @suiana for clear skin & watered crops frfr ššš
yandere! prince who got cursed and became a statue for like hundreds of years. only the kiss of his soulmate will break the curse that got cast on him by a silly wizard.
enter, you.
innocent and silly you, walking through the forest (maybe trying to look for your next monster hookup) before bumping into this... this beautiful marble statue of some prince??? what? who even is he?? why is he here???
is this... your main character moment? where you kiss him and the two of you fall in love and- haha! that won't happen! you're just being delusional!
of course, being the silly specimen you are, you still kiss his lips without thinking much of it. i mean, you fucked some monsters before. what's a marble statue gonna do? he's hot, might as well right?
WRONG.
you shouldn't have done that because the second you kissed him this bright light came bursting from his chest and now you were being kissed back by this random oldie who's now supposedly human again.
"ah...ah... are you my soulmate? god you're beautiful-"
"dude i just wanted to fuck some monsters."
unfortunately, no more monster fucking for you :( because this geriatric prince is jealous as FUCK and will absolutely go batshit bonkers if you as much as suggest looking at someone else.
"lol, that drider looks kinda hot-"
"ahaha what drider? *cleaning blood from his sword*"
he's made himself a part of your life, without your consent by the way, and it's going to stay that way. no, he doesn't care if he's from centuries ago, you're his and he's yours. that much is certain to him.
so now you have a god of a prince hovering by your side 24/7. plus side is you get to see him act like a grandpa with all the new technology and lingo!
"my dear, what is... sk... skebeede? skibidi? how do i exit this app? ah, i want to take a picture, how do i- *breaks phone screen*"
he's trying his best :( just love him dearly, won't you?
Hi!! I really loved your recent post featuring yan!murderer seeing y/n with their child. If requests are still open, may you please write that same scenario but with yan!mean ceo instead?
yes ofc šš»šš»
also kikuo is performing near me.. and i can't go im SO SAD GUYS..
you didn't understand how he got in. you haven't seen him in three years, yet, here he was.
"is that my son?" he almost sounded hurt. you knew it was an act though. "let me see him."
"he isn't yours." your voice was full of hatred. you held the toddler closer to your chest, as he babbled.
"i know he's mine." he stepped closer, as you stepped back. you didn't want him near you. "do you take me for a fool?"
you covered the toddlers face from nicholas, you couldn't let him see his face.
"get out." you tried so hard for your voice not to crack, but you felt so weak. "you- you don't deserve anything from me."
"it's really funny," he kept getting closer, eventually causing you to bump into a wall, leaving no room for escape. "you beg me to leave, yet you hold my child."
you hated how he referred to the toddler as his.
"i can easily take him from you, forever. so, if you want to see him, you should listen to me. okay?"
you couldn't say anything.
"he looks just like me, don't you agree? and you go on about how he isn't mine."
but you never showed him his face.
PAIRING: King Callixto x Servant Reader
Warning/s: Surprisingly, none?
Read the series: [ ONE ] | [ TWO ] | [ THREE ]
Note: I might publish this series and other future releases in advance somewhere. Also, if I were to write a book, will you support me? Just wondering before releasing something.
TIP JAR | COMMISSION
For the first time in a long while, your days were quiet. Peaceful.
The shack, though small and weathered by time, had become a sanctuary. The morning sun spilled through the cracks in the wooden walls, dust motes dancing in the golden light as you stirred awake to the soft chirping of birds. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine, a stark contrast to the stifling perfume and candle smoke that clung to the walls of the palace you had once called home.
Here, you woke to silence, not the murmurs of servants or the distant chime of the courtās bells. Here, you chose how to spend your days.
You had found a rhythm in your solitude. Each morning, you would step outside, feet sinking into the damp soil, hands brushing against the wildflowers growing in the clearing. The wind carried the scent of honeysuckle, mixing with the distant smokiness of burning wood from a village far beyond the trees. You would gather what you couldāberries, roots, herbs that you recognized from your motherās teachingsāand return home with your hands full, your child growing steadily beneath your ribs.
At midday, you would sit outside, weaving. A half-finished sweater lay in your lap, the wool coarse against your fingers, but you took comfort in the act of creating something. A gift for the child who had no name yet, who stirred within you when the sun was at its highest, reminding you that you were never truly alone.
Evenings were the most beautiful. When the sun dipped behind the trees, the world turned golden, the leaves burning in hues of amber and rust. Fireflies blinked to life, flickering like tiny stars caught between branches. The air smelled of earth after rain, of moss and damp bark, and in the distance, the distant hoot of an owl signaled the coming of night.
It was a quiet life. A small life. But it was yours.
For the first time in so long, you felt⦠safe.
No whispered court gossip, no watchful eyes lingering on your every move. No suffocating presence lurking just beyond your reach.
You dared to believe you had finally escaped him.
But peace, as you would soon learn, was a fleeting thing.
It came first as a sound.
A knock.
Loud. Desperate.
Your heart seized.
Another knockāno, pounding now. Fists striking against the wooden door, heavy enough to rattle the walls.
Your breath hitched. Hands trembling, you set the half-knitted sweater aside, gaze darting toward the door.
The knocking didnāt stop.
You swallowed down your panic, muscles coiling with the instinct to hide.
Thenā
āHelp me, please!ā
A voice. A womanās voice, raw and desperate.
āHelp!ā
Your body moved before your mind could catch up. In two quick strides, you were at the door, hand hovering over the latch.
A plea like thatāyou knew it too well. The breathless panic, the urgency, the weight of something unseen pressing against the voice.
You had once been on the other side of that door.
With a final glance around, you unbolted it and pulled it open.
The woman before you was disheveled, dressed in tattered cloth, her hair clinging to her damp forehead. She stumbled forward, barely catching herself. Wild eyes met yours, and something in themāa deep, unshakable fearāsent a chill skittering down your spine.
She had been running.
And somethingāsomeoneāwas coming after her.
"Hurry," she gasped.
Without thinking, you pulled her inside.
Your peace was over.
She sat hunched in one of the old wooden chairs your father had carved, hands curled around a steaming noggin of water. It wasnāt much, but it was the only comfort you could offer.
She clutched it as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.
The flickering candlelight revealed the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead, the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Her fingers, dirtied and trembling, were curled tightly around the mug, the heat of it seeping into her skin. The moment she had stumbled inside, she had sunk into the chair as if her body had finally given out.
You watched her cautiously, standing by the small counter, one hand still resting against your stomachāa protective reflex.
The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken questions.
When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse. "How far along are you?"
You blinked at the suddenness of the question, then hesitated, glancing down at the curve of your belly. "I⦠donāt know."
Her lips parted slightly, as if she meant to say more, but she simply nodded. "Ah. My apologies."
A beat of silence. Then she took a sip from the mug, the warmth chasing away some of the tremor in her hands.
You werenāt sure why, but you found yourself speaking. "Iām not a lady."
Her gaze snapped to yours.
You gestured toward the tattered drape over her shoulders. "The quality of that fabric alone could feed an entire village. If anyone here is a lady, itās you."
Something flickered across her face, a shadow of something old and weary, but she didnāt deny it.
"You could stay," you offered quietly, watching her reaction carefully. "This shackāitās safe. If you need somewhere to hide, youāre welcome to it."
Her eyes widened, caught between gratitude and suspicion. "And you?"
You shrugged, already gathering what little you owned into a cloth bundle. "I need to get further away. If you found this place, itās only a matter of time before someone else does too."
Her head bowed, shame and guilt evident in the way her hands tightened around the mug. "Iām sorryā¦"
"Donāt be," you said simply.
She hesitated, then set the mug down and looked up at you. "Please⦠take care of yourself. And ifāif we ever meet again, I hope I can return the favor."
A wry smile tugged at your lips. "I hope so too."
And with that, you turned toward the door, pulling your hood low over your face.
You didnāt look back.
The journey was grueling.
For days, you moved through the forest, guided only by fading memories of old maps and the sun's slow arc across the sky. The dense canopy above swallowed most of the daylight, leaving you to navigate through shadows. Your feet ached, blistered and raw, and the weight of exhaustion pressed heavy on your shoulders.
But you kept moving.
Every rustling leaf, every snap of a branch in the distance set your nerves alight. The paranoia never faded, not even when the trees thinned and the scent of burning wood and fresh bread filled the air.
And then, at long last, you saw it.
A village.
Small, tucked away beyond the treeline, its lantern-lit streets brimming with life.
The sight made your knees weak.
You pulled your hood lower, adjusting the strap of your bundle, and stepped forward.
The village was a sanctuaryāa place untouched by the cruelty of men who sat upon thrones and dictated the fates of those beneath them. Here, the air was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, the laughter of children filled the streets, and the golden hues of sunset painted the rooftops with warmth. It was the kind of place where people looked after one another, where neighbors shared meals without expectation, and where secrets were hidden beneath smiles rather than steel.
It was the kind of place you could imagine raising your child.
Life had been kind since you arrived, a stark contrast to the gilded prison you had once called home. You had your own little room tucked away above the restaurant owned by Mia and Taren, two retired adventurers who had seen enough of the world to know when to walk away from its chaos. The couple had taken you in without question, providing a roof over your head in exchange for helping around their small yet bustling establishment.
And for the first time in a long while, you felt safe.
Mornings were spent preparing the restaurant for the day aheadāwiping down tables, slicing fresh loaves of bread, and brewing pots of strong tea that carried the scent of herbs and spices through the air. The afternoons were busier, filled with the chatter of travelers passing through, adventurers boasting of their latest feats, and villagers exchanging gossip over steaming bowls of stew.
Evenings were the best. By then, the restaurant would settle into a comfortable hum of low conversations, the lanterns casting a soft glow that made the space feel even more like home. Mia would lean over the counter, eyes twinkling as she spun stories from her days as an adventurer, while Taren would shake his head and grumble about how she exaggerated every detail.
It was an ordinary, simple life. And it was yours.
You had begun to hope that maybeājust maybeāyou had escaped the past for good.
āDid you hear?ā Mia leaned in conspiratorially as she set a steaming bowl of soup in front of you. āThe king has returned from his campaign.ā
Taren scoffed, taking a long sip from his mug before setting it down with a dull thud. āHmph. More like another bloodbath disguised as a campaign. Every time he rides out, he leaves behind a trail of bodies, and when he returns, the nobles praise him as if heās the second coming of the gods.ā
You blinked, gripping your spoon a little tighter. āThe king?ā
Mia nodded. āKing Aurelian.ā Her voice dropped lower, almost hesitant, as if speaking his name too loudly might summon him. āThey say heās taken a new interest in somethingāor someone.ā
You swallowed, trying to ignore the unease curling in your stomach. āWhat do you mean?ā
Taren exchanged a glance with Mia before exhaling sharply. āRumors. Thatās all. But the capital has been restless ever since he returned. People whisper about a woman, someone he dragged back from the outskirtsāā
Mia elbowed him. āEnough. We donāt want to be accused of treason, do we?ā She turned to you with a reassuring smile, but there was something tight about it. āDonāt worry about it, dear. It has nothing to do with us.ā
You forced yourself to nod, even as the conversation left a lingering chill on your skin.
Nothing to do with us.
And yet, an unease settled deep in your bones.
Two months passed in peaceful monotony.
Your belly grew heavier with each passing day, and though your movements had slowed, you were grateful for the stability the village provided. The people here were kindāoffering remedies for your aching feet, slipping extra portions of food onto your plate, and treating you as one of their own despite your foreign accent and unfamiliar past.
The world outside these borders felt like a distant nightmare, something that belonged to another life entirely.
Until the night he arrived.
The moment the doors swung open, you barely registered the gust of cold air that followed. It was the silence that struck firstāthe sudden, crushing weight of it. The air in the tavern shifted, thick with unspoken tension, a hush so absolute that even the crackling fire seemed subdued.
And then, the man stepped inside.
You didnāt recognize him, not in the way you had once memorized names and faces back in the palace. But you recognized something else. The kind of presence that did not belong in a quiet village like this. The way everyone around you reactedāMia shrinking behind the counter, Taren stiffening as his fingers curled tightly around his mug, the way the remaining patrons averted their eyes, some even lowering to their knees as if bound by an unspoken law.
Your breath caught in your throat, something primal and urgent seizing your gut. Your fingers clenched against your lap as you forced yourself to breathe, to stay stillābecause a reaction would only draw more attention. But it was useless.
His gaze swept the room, deliberate and slow, and thenā
He saw you.
The moment his eyes met yours, something inside you recoiled, the hairs along your arms rising. You didnāt know this man. Had never met him. And yetā
Your stomach twisted.
The way he looked at you, the way his lips curved into something almost lazy, almost amusedāit was the look of a man who had found something valuable. Something he wasnāt supposed to have, and yet here it was, sitting right in front of him like an offering from fate itself.
You felt sick.
He doesnāt know who you are, you told yourself. He canāt. You had left that life behind, abandoned it in the dirt along with everything else. You were just another villager now, another nameless woman hidden away in a place the court had no reason to look.
And yet, instinct screamed at you that it didnāt matter.
Because he didnāt need to know your name.
He only needed to know that you didnāt belong here.
That someone, somewhere, would pay handsomely to have you dragged back.
Nausea clawed its way up your throat.
āI never thought Iād find her here,ā he murmured, his voice smooth, almost indulgent, as if he were savoring the moment.
Your stomach clenched.
His gaze drifted, lower now, to the curve of your belly. Something flickered in his expressionāsurprise, intrigue, and something deeper, unreadable. Then, a slow, dark amusement settled into his eyes.
āAnd a bonus.ā
The floor seemed to tilt beneath you.
Your pulse roared in your ears, and for a split second, you couldnāt move. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to run, but your limbs felt frozen, locked in place by the suffocating weight of knowing.
He wasnāt here for you. Not specifically.
But he would take you anyway.
And once he knewāonce he realizedā
Your stomach twisted violently.
You didnāt think. You moved.
The chair scraped against the floor as you shot to your feet, your heartbeat thundering. Taren inhaled sharply, but you barely heard him. Every instinct was screaming now, every muscle coiling with the need to fleeā
Then, he stepped forward.
Unhurried. Certain.
His guards shifted in tandem, just enough to remind you that the door was no longer an option. And suddenly, you knew.
They werenāt going to let you leave.
Your breathing came fast, too fast, and for the first time in months, you felt truly trapped. Not by walls, not by distance, but by the simple, cruel reality that you were prey.
Your hands curled into fists at your sides.
You had made a mistake.
You had let yourself believe you were safe. That peace could be more than just a fleeting dream. That no one would ever come looking.
But safety has always been a lie.
And freedom?
It had never been yours to keep.
TBC.
noirscript Ā© 2025
Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @kthehoeforfictionalmen @yamekocatt
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theres bikes around the city you can rent but you have to use an app that needs your drivers license. theres buses that drive right to your destination, but if you dont have change you need the app. you can wash your car here if you sign into the app. you can go to the bathroom here you just have to unlock it with the app that needs your location on. you can order at this restaurant if you scan the code and download the app. im losing my freaking mind
Hi!! I really loved your recent post featuring yan!murderer seeing y/n with their child. If requests are still open, may you please write that same scenario but with yan!mean ceo instead?
yes ofc šš»šš»
also kikuo is performing near me.. and i can't go im SO SAD GUYS..
you didn't understand how he got in. you haven't seen him in three years, yet, here he was.
"is that my son?" he almost sounded hurt. you knew it was an act though. "let me see him."
"he isn't yours." your voice was full of hatred. you held the toddler closer to your chest, as he babbled.
"i know he's mine." he stepped closer, as you stepped back. you didn't want him near you. "do you take me for a fool?"
you covered the toddlers face from nicholas, you couldn't let him see his face.
"get out." you tried so hard for your voice not to crack, but you felt so weak. "you- you don't deserve anything from me."
"it's really funny," he kept getting closer, eventually causing you to bump into a wall, leaving no room for escape. "you beg me to leave, yet you hold my child."
you hated how he referred to the toddler as his.
"i can easily take him from you, forever. so, if you want to see him, you should listen to me. okay?"
you couldn't say anything.
"he looks just like me, don't you agree? and you go on about how he isn't mine."
but you never showed him his face.
tw; yandere, noncon, not proofread.
Superhero! Yandere with a coworker darling in the same line of work. Sure you seem like equals in the eyes of the public but you both know that isnāt the case. Not when his word is law and yours is a suggestion to be kept in mind. Heās the country's golden boy, their sweetheart and yeah, youāre cute but youāre just eye candy.
Superhero! Yandere who knows this, even now as he speaks softly into your ears with a grip tight enough to shatter a normal person's wrist. Even as the public goes wild speculating on whether you are a couple or not.ā He just thinks youād look adorable, in a frilly pink apron. None of this saving the world bullshit, not when he can handle it alone just fine.
Superhero! Yandere who corners you every chance he gets. Whether itās in interviews talking about your relationship status or at parties after youāve had one too many drinks. Lucky for you he doesnāt drink! He will take good care of you. You kick and scream a little, he was sure youād be out cold by now but thatās just the issue with dealing with heroes. Any normal man wouldāve been long dead by now, this is why you need him. No ordinary bastard would ever be able to handle you like he does.
Superhero! Yandere who ignores your pleas and instead gives you what you really need, a kid! Not just any kid, his kid. After all, the public love a caring father just as much as a shining bachelor, and it gives him reason enough to keep you contained in his home, of course heās taken precautions to make sure you canāt escape. Good luck getting away now.
tonight i discovered i shipped this
(Apologies if I accidentally misread & requests are closed - English is my 2nd language š³)
Please, I'm begging, please - requesting a story with Idris and a fem!y/n. Where y/n finds out they are pregnant with Idris's child & their overprotective instincts go into overdrive & they say "I'm escaping, no way is my child going to be raised with that monster!"
yan!king x fem!preg!reader TW: unbalanced relationship dynamics, mentions violence, mentions death, infantilization, domestic abuse, minors DNI
ā
You puked in the toilet, grateful that no one was around to see the upheaval of what you had just had for lunch. It was hard to hold it down as he spoke. Your face was most likely tight, and your smile was more of a grimace as you fought to maintain a neutral expression, but the moment you were released to do what you wanted, you all but ran to your room to release the contents in your stomach.
Attempting to back away, your hands slapped the edge of the toilet bowl as you felt your body lurch once again before you were gagging and food was expelling itself from your body like a plague.Ā
Worried thoughts crawled over you.Ā
Did you remember to lock the door? If someone came in to witness this, how would you convince them that nothing was wrong? Convince them not to call the doctor to give further proof of what you didnāt want to believe. Of what you didnāt want to find out.Ā
You were pregnant.Ā
All the signs were there, but you ignored them. You closed your eyes and prayed to the Mother that it was a trick of the mind, a figment of your imagination. Your period was late because it just does that sometimes. You would get it. Even if two days, two weeks, a month passed by with no sign. This sickness was just a bug you caught from spoiled food. Even if it came no matter what you ate.Ā
You told yourself whatever you needed to rationalize the situation. You werenāt hiding your symptoms from the maids or from Idris for any particular reason. You just didnāt want them to worry about it. About you. It would pass, and everything would be alright.Ā
But it was harder to convince yourself of that as time passed, as you thought of what his expression would look like when you began to wear baggier clothes until your stomach swelled to the point where you couldnāt hide it anymore. When you felt kicks that would give you an undeniable sign of the life growing within you. When it was too late.Ā
You didnāt want to get pregnant.Ā
Not by him. Not now. Especially not here.Ā
Not with maids who treated you as if you should be grateful to your lover. The lover who showered you in gold and gifts. The lover who would go to any lengths to please you. The same lover who murdered your family and reminded you of it anytime you tried to pull away from him. It was your fault, he would whisper despite giving the order.Ā
His interest was your fault. His obsession, his tyranny, and the consequences if you didnāt answer every whim with unflinching obedience would always be your fault. And this child would be the icing on top of your shackled cake. .Ā
You couldnāt imagine Idris as a loving father. Not a true one, anyway. Not when heād killed everyone you held dear and his own father when he couldnāt have his way. He would smile at your child, hold them, laugh, beautiful and radiant as he always was, but the moment you stepped out of line it was their life he would use to threaten you.Ā
Heād mentioned making the mistake of taking everyone you held dear too quickly because he no longer had anyone to threaten you with. The only remorse he felt was his own short-sightedness that you didnāt remain docile for as long as heād hoped.Ā
And you could only imagine the eyes.Ā
Theyād follow you up and down the corridor, their whispers traveling to cut your ears no matter how fast youād waddle, walk, or run.Ā
A bastard child, they would call it.Ā
An abomination.Ā
They would claim the father came from unknown origins despite knowing no one would be brave or stupid enough to touch you, knowing the punishment in store if the King ever found out. But it wasnāt you, you were worried about.Ā
You could only imagine their fake smiles, plastered as they cooed at your baby before their expressions melted into disgust, calling you an upstart and your child an unlovable leech. Their words would pander for approval even as they plotted to destroy you the first moment they got. It was the same people who would comfort you if something ever happened to your child, knowing full well that the blood was on their hands. The same people who would laugh as they washed their hands of assassination attempts, tying up loose ends so things would never be traced back to them. A rival faction, a jealous maid, any and every excuse valid except those pointed in their direction.Ā
You couldnāt do it.Ā
You couldnāt stay knowing the kind of life you would be raising your child into. You couldnāt stand to see them look at their father with love and admiration despite the things he did and was still doing with unflinching ease. You couldnāt bear to see them grow up to become just like themālike him.Ā
You didnāt want to see the look in his eyes when he found out.Ā
You didnāt want to know if shock would turn into joy that would morph into raving glee at his new bargaining chip. Or if he didnāt care for an addition to your disjointed family. Choosing to feed you drugs that would take care of the problem quietly or allow you to have the child raised out of sight to strengthen his political standing.Ā
How lucky you were to want for nothing.Ā
But you wanted to give this child a normal life. A happy one, full of unadulterated laughter. You didnāt want this child walking on eggshells, torn between temporary peace or isolated happiness. It wasnāt something you could offer here.Ā
Your child had the chance to live in a luxury that not many others could even hope to dream about, but you would run as far away from it as possible if it meant they didnāt have to learn that all things that shined werenāt gold. That their father, the king, was a monster hiding behind sweet words and a smile. They wouldnāt learn that love required obedience. That affection, consideration, and care were only reciprocal for those of value.Ā
You had to run. While you still could, you had to run.Ā
Idris would be angry. There was no doubt in your mind that he would try to drag you back, treat you like a stupid, troubled thing that didnāt understand what you were doing. A foolish mistake was all he would amount your disappearance to before attempting to placate you with false promises or violent threats, whichever worked, but that didnāt matter.Ā
He hadnāt noticed that anything had changed; at least, you hoped he didnāt. Youād slowly been gathering things he wouldnāt miss if they suddenly disappeared to barter with when you finally escaped, and now was the perfect time to collect your stash and escape on a random afternoon.Ā
You almost felt bad for the maids who would have to deal with his anger when he found out that you were missing, but then again, they never seemed to care, no matter how many bandages covered your body after one of his fits of rage. Some of them went so far as to lock the door so they wouldnāt have to hunt you down and drag you back to his mistreatment.Ā
Dragging yourself from the bathroom floor, you flushed the toilet as you wiped the side of your mouth. Placing a hand on your stomach, you couldnāt help but clench it into a fist.Ā
Your bleeding heart would dry up.Ā
May I get a cursed Artoria x Gil lovechild during this trying time? šš»
Good luck with everything going on rn! Yes life is though
I am not creative enough to make art, so I shitpost (she/her, 31 years oldšµš» )
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