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sulumuns-dootah · 2 days ago

Note

In case requests are open, can we get headcanons for Kings and how they react after having a nasty argument with the mc? Bonus if the mc just yells “I hate you!” mid way

Thank you!

WHB kings having an argument with reader

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: Kinda wrote this more as a general argument HC's so I hope you don't mind U.U

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It's kinda hard to have a mutual argument with Satan with his whole anger kink

The moment you start raising your voice at him, he's all red in face and begging for more

Maybe even hit him as hard as you can? *puppy eyes*

Now, if you actually manage to get Satan angry, he'd instinctively prepare to kick or punch you, but stops himself in the last second

He may be pissed, but he still cares about you and doesn't want to hurt you

So instead he'll just stomp away to try and clear his head

Afterwards he'll come back to you like nothing serious happened and try to talk things out with you

༺☆༻

Mammon is another one I can't exactly imagine getting into an argument with you

He's simply too reserved

That still doesn't mean he doesn't care

He does, but he's more apologetic than that

All he simply states is the truth and he understands that it may upset you

Just from the dynamic he has with Satan, it's clear he doesn't take stuff said/done in an affect seriously

But if you were to say some hurtful stuff, he would feel bad and calmly as you to take those things back after you've gotten it out of your system

༺☆༻

Oh, good heavens!

Arguments with Levi go as bad and are as frequent as you can imagine

9/10 of those times end with being hung from the ceiling once he's fed up with you

The words 'I hate you' don't even make their way out of your mouth before you're left gasping for air and pathetically kicking your feet in mid-air

Thankfully, since it's you, Levi won't "forget" about you so you're not at the brink of suffocating

Instead, he'll just let you down, give you a few seconds to catch your breath and ask you to apologise to him

༺☆༻

"I hate you!!"

"Pshah... No you don't. You love me"

Beelzebub's too carefree to actually take anything seriously

You could activelly try to cut him up into pieces and he'd still make jokes about you being kinky

Anger doesn't work on him

Have you seen any of his interactions with Bael?

I HC him having the same ADHD thing as me:

When someone yells at us, we just zone out and wait for the person to finish just to ask them to repeat themselves again, but calmly this time

༺☆༻

Belphie is somewhere between Mammon and Leviathan when it comes to arguments

He's too tired to get mad himself and will just let you express your emotions openly

But when he's fed up, you're quickly swallowed up by his void and kicked out Nifleheim

And not even Beleth can save you if you forcibly wake Belphie up just to pick a fight/yell at him over something

That's a big no-no

His country may be militant, but you're no drill sargeant to pester him whenever you want

༺☆༻

If you're arguing with Asmo, I recommend you watch out for what you're saying

Any iteration of the words 'fuck', 'suck' or a bodypart like 'dick' and 'ass' can veeery quickly turn the whole situation legs up

...Or maybe make Asmo turn you legs up

I mean, you will end up like that eventually (there's nothing better than angry sex), but still, you might wanna voice your point before you're unable to say more than his name, if even that

And what else can possibly follow up a hefty argument?

That's right! Makeup sex!

༺☆༻

I imagine Lucifer being used to arguing and screaming since all the other three Seraphims used to fight for God's favor all the time

So when you come storming into his greenhouse to pick an argument with him, he'll just calmly continue drinking his tea and answer you like it's nothing

But, if something mean and personal slips your tongue, expect to get the silent treatment until you chase him down and apologise with absolute sincerity since he can sense lies from a country away

#what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb satan #whb beelzebub #whb lucifer #whb leviathan #whb mammon #whb asmodeus #whb belphegor

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ignis-sama · 1 day ago

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For my canon self (I mean Yotsuyu)

Gluttony

Lychee (Rokakaka and spicy food too, but he absolutely loves lychee)

2. Rokakacake (yes, you read that right), anything spicy and, obviously, lychee

3. If it's lychee, don't count on him to share it. If it's anything else, he'd let others have it.

4. He doesn't eat a lot.

5. He doesn't care about food that much.

6. Only 1

7. Cherry coke (obviously) and tea

8. Tomoki gives him silicon-infused water. Whether or not Yotsuyu actually drinks it is up to interpretation.

9. Cherry coke... just the thought of it makes him drool.

10. Let's say he enjoys sake a normal amount.

11. No.

12. Maybe?

Greed

He has a manga collection. Most are horror-related (Junji Ito, Shintaro Kago, Usamaru Furuya, ...)

2. No.

3. His job is rather well paid so his financial situation would be considered good.

4. His species don't really care about money (Damo's an exception, but well... it's Damo so it's not surprising)

5. Wu manages his account so...

6. He keeps it a secret because Damo tends to steal money from him.

7. He sometimes goes to the mall with Mitsuba so they can buy stuff for their respective partners. No need to say they always end up carrying bags full of various things (clothes, food, drinks, books, ...)

8. No.

9. Possibly.

10. Would he steal money? No. Would he steal a victim from Damo? Absolutely.

Wrath

cw: sh & sa mention

Only if it's someone he'd really enjoy to make suffer.

2. He doesn't show when he's angry but tends to harm himself a lot, saying it's not that bad since he can't feel pain. If he's really furious, only Tomoki's able to calm him down.

3. Karma? Pff, he believes in calamity and nature. If nature wants to get rid of someone, good or evil, it'll do it.

4. He doesn't like to fight. His methods are more... elaborated.

5. He becomes extremely violent if someone tries to sexually assault him just to "see what's in his pants".

6. Depends on his mood.

7. He makes people suffer for fun, yes.

8. None.

9. Oh, he killed a lot of people.

10. He's a huge sadist. In fact, he's even worse than Damo.

Pride

No.

2. Architecture, obviously, and tormenting humans.

3. No, but only because he doesn't understand human morals.

4. Only with people he likes.

5. If he hurts someone he doesn't like, or even know, he doesn't feel remorse. Rock humans are sociopaths after all.

6. No.

7. He doesn't like to brag.

8. He looks down on humans because they're humans. To him, rock humans will always be better.

Sloth

He doesn't feel lazy, only tired when he's about to start hibernating.

2. No.

3. If it counts : washing Damo's clothes. Couldn't he do it himself?

4. His hibernation period often lasts a month, though he sometimes has to sleep longer.

5. He's a perfectionist so...

6. Depends on his mood and whether his boyfriend's at home.

7. Indifferent

8. He's not the type to complain anyway...

9. Non applicable (he hibernates)

Envy

If someone tries to steal his boyfriend from him, he turns Yukako-mode.

2. Tomoki belongs to him and him alone.

3. No

Lust

Tomoki and him often enjoy intimate moments together, mostly after work when they're both home.

2. Gay and demisexual

3. He's extremely kinky. Between oculolinctus, choking, eye penetration, dollification and medical play, he wouldn't be able to choose his favorite.

4. He doesn't care about words. With how silent he is in the bed...

5. He's unable to (the rock boy has no genitalia, y'see?)

6. Low

7. If his partner doesn't want to have sex, he'd understand. He's not the kind to ask for it anyway.

8. He actively avoids talking about it. To him, it's a human thing he'd never be able to understand.

9. His first time was with Wu Tomoki, when they started dating. Yotsuyu was extremely nervous but it went well.

seven deadly sins headcanons

because i'm tired of sinday memes being all about sex. send a category + a number. warning: some of the questions in the lust section are nsft. that's why it's at the bottom.

gluttony - - -

what could your muse eat all the time without ever getting tired of it?

a feast of all your muse's favorite foods is laid out in front of them. what's on the menu?

is your muse the type to leave the last bit of food for someone else, or to take it for themselves before someone else can claim it?

does your muse frequently overeat?

does your muse go back for seconds? thirds? fourths?

how many meals and snacks does your muse eat in a day?

what are your muse's go-to beverages?

does your muse drink enough water?

does your muse drink many sugary drinks, like soda or juice?

is your muse a heavy (alcohol) drinker? if so, what do they drink? in what situations do they drink? do they know their limits? do they stop at their limit, or go past it?

is your muse addicted to caffeine? if so, what is their preferred caffeinated beverage?

does your muse have a sweet tooth?

greed - - -

what does your muse collect, if anything?

is your muse prone to hoarding anything?

what is your muse's financial situation? what are their financial goals?

is money important to your muse? why or why not?

how much money does your muse keep in their checking account at any given time? if your muse keeps cash, how much do they usually have in their wallet? does your muse carry coins around? what is the limit on their credit card, if they have one? do they have multiple credit cards?

does your muse have good savings habits? how much do they currently have saved up?

is your muse prone to shopping sprees? if so, what do they usually indulge in buying?

is your muse in debt? if so, are they managing it well, or are they struggling?

would your muse throw others under the bus/step on others if it meant they could find more success/make more money?

would your muse steal anything?

wrath - - -

does your muse like to get revenge on those they feel have wronged them?

how does your muse handle anger? do they have anger issues? how do they manage or vent their anger?

does your muse believe in karma?

did your muse get into fights as a kid? do they get into fights as an adult? if your muse never got into fights before, would they in the name of self defense?

what, if anything, provokes your muse to violence?

does your muse believe that violence can solve some problems? or are they more a "violence is never the answer" type? somewhere in-between?

does your muse destroy things for fun, or to let off steam?

was your muse a bully? or were they bullied themselves?

has your muse ever considered murdering someone? or have they actually gone through with murdering someone?

does your muse enjoy hurting others, whether it be physically or emotionally?

pride - - -

does your muse believe they are the best at everything, even if that belief is unwarranted?

in what areas might your muse be a little overconfident? are they overconfident in the sense that they don't have the skills to back it up, or in the sense that they do have the skills but they are obnoxious in their confidence?

does your muse accept responsibility for their actions when they have done something wrong?

is your muse comfortable with apologizing to others?

does your muse feel remorse? if so, how do they express it?

has your muse every blown off preparing for something because they were confident they could complete the task without preparation? if so, what was the situation?

is your muse prone to bragging? what do they brag about?

does your muse look down on others they perceive as being "not as good" at things as they are?

sloth - - -

on what day(s) does your muse feel most lazy? at a specific time of day, or all day?

is your muse prone to procrastination?

what chores/responsibilities does your muse avoid doing at all costs?

how many hours of sleep does your muse get? do they feel rested after, or are they still tired?

once your muse gets started doing something important, do they drag their feet, take many breaks, and ultimately prolong the task? or do they work as quickly as possible, at the sacrifice of a quality job? or do they work efficiently without sacrificing quality?

does your muse put on real clothes every day, or only if they have to go out?

if your muse could get away with wearing pajamas all day every day, would they?

does your muse complain about responsibilities a lot?

is your muse the type to get up on time on their own or with an alarm? are they the type to hit snooze over and over?

envy - - -

does your muse get jealous easily, or does it take a lot for them to feel it?

what kinds of things does your muse get jealous about?

does your muse compare themselves to others often? if so, how does it affect them?

lust - - -

is your muse sexually active? if so, how often do they have sex? how many partners do they typically have at one time? if not, why not?

what is your muse's sexuality? if asexual, are they sex favorable, sex indifferent, or sex repulsed?

is your muse vanilla, or are they kinky? if kinky, what are their top three kinks, and why do they like them? if vanilla, what position(s) does your muse have sex in?

what sex-related words turn your muse on? what words make them cringe?

does your muse masturbate? if so, how often, and how do they get themselves off? if not, why not?

does your muse have high, medium, or low libido?

is sex compatibility a dealbreaker for your muse in a relationship? why or why not?

how does your muse feel about one-night-stands?

what was your muse's first time having sex like? who was it with, why did they choose that person, where did it take place, how old were they, and what happened?

#ask game

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mim16s · 2 days ago

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Survival in Game

Cho Hyun-ju x Autistic!Fem!Reader

This is part two of Survival in Game. In this chapter, I wanted to explore more of Hyunju and the reader's relationship in a softer, more emotional way. I hope you enjoy it! In the next chapter, we'll dive into the second game of the season.

_____

Part 1:

You held the lunchbox in your hands and, as you walked back to your bed, you saw the woman who had helped you in the last game. Your heart raced a little. You wanted to thank her and also stay close to her. You didn’t fully understand why, but something about her radiated safety. In such an unpredictable place, that was exactly what you needed.

Social interactions had always been challenging for you. Words often got tangled, and people’s expressions didn’t always make sense. But with her, it was different. Something about her seemed calm and welcoming.

Stopping in front of her, gripping your food tightly, you tried to organize your thoughts. She, already eating, paused her meal and looked up at you. There was something comforting in that look of recognition, but now that you were so close, the words vanished from your mind, as they often did in moments of anxiety.

— Do you need something? — she asked kindly, as you looked down at the floor, trying to muster courage.

— I wanted to thank you... for protecting me in the game — you said quickly, bowing in gratitude. Formality helped you organize your speech. When you looked back at her, you noticed a shy smile on her face. It was a soft smile, free of judgment. She looked so beautiful smiling that it made your cheeks flush, something you couldn’t hide very well.

— Don’t worry, you didn’t need to thank me — she replied calmly. You took a deep breath, trying to prepare for what you wanted to say. The anxiety made your head spin.

— I’d like to ask you something — you finally said, seeing curiosity spark in her eyes. — Can I join you? — The question seemed to surprise her, her eyes widening slightly. She was silent for a moment before smiling again, this time more broadly. It had been a long time since anyone sought her company. Since her transition, people preferred to keep their distance. The fact that you had approached her touched her deeply.

— Of course, sit here — she said, moving aside to make room next to her. You sat beside her, still nervous but relieved that you had managed to speak. As you stared at your lunchbox, she broke the silence. — What’s your name? — she asked curiously.

— My name is Y/N. And yours?

— I'm Hyunju — she replied, with another smile that made your mind feel at ease. Unfortunately, the calm was interrupted by shouting. When you looked, you saw three men fighting violently. Your body stiffened immediately, and fear consumed you. Instinctively, you moved closer to Hyunju, seeking the sense of security she exuded. She noticed the fight but made no effort to push you away, letting you stay close.

You had always hated fights. They scared you deeply, bringing back painful memories from your childhood. You remembered when your mother started dating. At first, he seemed like a good person, but he soon revealed his true nature. He not only abused your mother physically but also diminished her emotionally. You watched helplessly, just a child, unable to do anything as she suffered. She tried to shield you, but you always heard the sounds of violence and shouting from your room.

For years, that violence was a constant weight in your life until he tried to do the same to you. That was your mother’s breaking point. She finally realized she needed to protect you and ended the abusive relationship. However, the scars of that period remained. Those years left deep marks, and any sign of violence was enough to make you relive it all.

Now, with your emotions still raw from the game and the deaths you had witnessed, the fight in front of you felt like the last straw. The loud voices, the sudden movements—it was all too much. You covered your ears with your hands, closed your eyes, and began rocking gently, trying to calm yourself and push away the bad memories that kept flooding in.

Beside you, Hyunju noticed your reaction. Initially confused, she observed closely, trying to understand what was happening. Although she didn’t know exactly what to do, it was clear to her that you were scared, and she hesitated for a moment. Then, carefully, she placed a hand on your shoulder, saying nothing but showing she was there.

— Hey, it’s okay. They won’t hurt you — she said, trying to soothe you with her soft voice, but her attempt didn’t seem to help much. You were still caught in your internal storm, hands pressed to your ears, body trembling. Hyunju looked around, trying to think of what to do until an idea came to her.

— Look at me — she said, and you obeyed, your eyes finally meeting hers. — It’s okay, just breathe, alright?

She noticed a slight relief on your face when one of the players intervened and managed to stop the fight. With the commotion settling, she turned her full attention back to you. — It’s okay, repeat after me — she said, guiding you through breathing exercises. She took deep breaths, and you tried to mimic her, following the rhythm she set. Gradually, your body began to relax, but not enough to completely shake off the weight you felt. You instinctively hugged yourself, seeking comfort, which caught Hyunju’s attention.

— Do you need a hug? — she asked in a calm, careful tone. You hesitated for a moment but eventually nodded.

— May I hug you? — she asked again, waiting for your permission. Another affirmative nod. Carefully, Hyunju moved closer and wrapped her arms around you—firm yet gentle. Something about her size and the steadiness of her embrace made you feel safer, as though she could shield you from the world.

You nestled into her chest, breathing deeply as small tears slid down your face. The warmth and protection you felt there gave you the comfort you needed to begin recovering from the episode.

— It’s okay now — she whispered, holding you firmly but without pressure, giving you all the time you needed.

— I’m sorry — you murmured, voice muffled, trying to rein in your emotions.

— There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s okay — she replied softly, tightening the hug slightly, a silent reminder that she was there for you without rush or judgment.

— It’s just... so much has happened, and I couldn’t handle it — you said, sadness evident in every word. The weight of your emotions felt overwhelming, as though everything had built up all at once. Hyunju sighed softly, understanding the depth of the situation.

— I understand — she said gently, her voice calm and reassuring. — There’s so much pressure here. You’ve just seen so many difficult things, and now this fight... it’s completely understandable. You have nothing to apologize for.

Her words, filled with empathy, eased some of the tension you felt. She didn’t blame you for your reaction, and that gave you a little more freedom to process everything in your own time. Her embrace felt like a silent guarantee that she was there to support you—no rush, no judgment.

Later, when it was time to sleep, she lay down on the bed next to yours, her eyes discreetly watching your movements, a silent promise that she would be there for you if you needed her. Despite her exhaustion, Hyunju couldn’t ignore the strange feeling growing within her: an almost instinctive need to protect you.

As the silence of the night enveloped the room, she reflected on everything that had happened. Tomorrow would be another difficult day, another unpredictable game that would put your lives at risk. But one thing she was certain of: she would stay by your side, no matter what.

#autistic reader #squid game #hyunju x reader #player 120 #hyun ju squid game #Hyunju x Autistic!reader #autistic!fem!reader #Park Sunghoon #Squid game x reader

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skiagraphe0 · 2 days ago

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My father was put on Ozempic. He's diabetic. It being prescribed for a group it was designed for doesn't make it less dangerous. He is 5"9 and currently weighs 130 lbs - and that's after a year and a half of trying to recover the muscle he lost from being on it for six months. Because he's an immigrant whose first language isn't English and he has the equivalent of an 8th grade education, his medical and scientific knowledge is extremely limited. He trusted his doctor. If she said this was good for him, he believed it must be. If she said that being thin was a sign of health, he thought surely she must know what she was talking about - and his parents were olive farmers with thin, lean bodies, so that must be how health works, right?

He had a stroke. He lost 65 pounds in six months. He became so weak he struggled to stand without getting dizzy. At his lowest weight, when he had his stroke, I could see his spine. He had heart palpitations and struggled to speak in English because when your brain is chronically starved of nutrients, it often defaults to your first language/cannot process speaking/hearing others. His short term memory worsened.

I'm the only person here who speaks his first language. As in, there's less than fifty thousand people in the United States who speak it at all, and we're on the opposite side of the country from the one community of Uzbeks in the US. Imagine being too weak to sit up, unable suddenly to understand everyone around you, elderly, in pain you've never experienced before, and the one person who could help you has to rush home from France to Montana to get there. For three days he was in the hospital without any way of communicating with or to the medical personnel there. I blew through my savings to get back to him as fast as possible but I know, deep down, that there's unspoken, vast amounts of trauma from those three days he spent in effectively involuntary isolation.

All because he trusted his doctor, who assured him that thin = healthy, that if she said a medication was good, it had to be good for him. He wasn't even overweight to start with. Muscle weighs more than fat and he used to have muscle, but even with that, his BMI - which is an inaccurate, medically debunked BS method doctors insist on treating like fact - classified him as normal. But normal wasn't good enough. He needed to be thin to be seen as healthy.

Diabetics aren't being put on this to regulate their blood sugar, not all the time. Some of them are. Some of them have doctors who think being thin is the single most important thing/the best indicator of health.

I know I struggle with an eating disorder so this may sound like hypocrisy coming from me but: your life is more important than your weight.

Your life is more important than anything and everything about your appearance.

Just because a doctor suggests something doesn't make it safe.

I have been debating sharing this for some time, but with the new year weight loss ads amping up, I feel it's something I have to say. I'm worried for people's health.

Unless you've been living under a rock, you probably already know about people taking the diabetic drug ozempic for weight loss. You've probably heard the debates about the ethics of taking needed drugs away from diabetes patients and maybe even the side effect of "ozempic face." However, there is one side effect of taking these drugs that, in my opinion, people are not being warned about.

If you carefully pay attention to the television ads, you will hear them mention "pancreatitis" as a possible side effect. If you're like me a decade ago, that word probably means nothing to you. Let me warn you, however, it is no minor thing. My husband suffered from chronic pancreatitis for five agonizing years. The pain is beyond comprehension. Doctors who specialize in the pancreas describe it as the worst pain a human can endure. There is no actual cure. Little is understood about the disease, so treatment is difficult. Doctors who understand it are few and far between. It took my husband forever to get diagnosed. He went through multiple surgeries and procedures, but nothing worked. He had to go on an extremely limiting diet. If he varied from it in any way, he would have an attack. The only way to recover from an attack was to not eat at all for days, then slowly add in broth and jello. Did he lose weight? Yes. As a matter of fact, one day he stepped out of the shower, and I burst into tears at the sight of him. He was skin and bones - I could count every rib. Was it worth it to be thin? If you even ask that question, I'm concerned for your mental health.

They couldn't figure out exactly why my husband got pancreatitis. At that time, they thought only alcoholics and drug addicts got pancreatitis. This made it difficult to get compassionate medical care, unfortunately. Now they know that prescription medication (particularly diabetic medication) and high cholesterol can also cause it. Then there is another group - where they just don't know. But you better believe I would hesitate to take any medication that could cause pancreatitis. I would weigh my options carefully to assess if it was worth the risk. In my opinion, weight loss is not worth that risk.

My concern has been heightened seeing the Hers commercials for these drugs (under different names, but rest assured, it is the same thing). These commercials brag that you can get these drugs from Hers with just a simple virtual call, no questions asked. I wonder if people are fully aware of the risks of these drugs. I also wonder if we even know all of the risks yet. I also fear that the culture around these drugs could develop into an us vs. them mentality. That if it's so easy to be thin, why wouldn't you be? And some are getting dangerously thin on these drugs.

I know some diabetics who are on these drugs, and necessarily so. They tell me that it causes nausea when they eat. That's why they don't eat much. Again, that doesn't sound like a pleasant way to live. If you need it to regulate your blood sugar, that's one thing. But if you don't? Why would you do this to yourself?

My husband is now healed of pancreatitis. It was a miracle. You may not believe in that sort of thing, but I'm telling you, there is no other explanation. We had exhausted every medical solution, then the pandemic hit. We were concerned because hospitals were only taking life or death cases. What if he had a bad attack and needed an iv of pain meds? What would we do? Weeks passed - no pain. A month passed - no pain. Six weeks passed - no pain. He decided to grill a steak - something he hadn't been able to even take a nibble of in 5 years. I watched him take a bite, holding my breath. Nothing. He ate the whole thing. No pain. Five years later, still no pain. The doctors can't explain it, either.

So our story has a happy ending. Not everyone else's does. I hope people take the time to read this. If you do, please, please share it. I don't want anyone suffering needlessly.

#tw weight #tw medical #tw illness #tw ed mention #my dad may have ptsd from this #i'm not even kidding #his whole mindset has changed #he used to be so trusting #and look where that got him

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hellspawnmotel · 3 hours ago

Note

Finally someone acknowledges that toriel isn't actually helping Kris and arguably making it worse by holding their hand to school despite being a teenager and distancing Kris from their father and i hope that is acknowledged

that's........ not exactly what I meant to come across lmao. it's less about either parent's direct actions hurting kris and more about them both trying their best to help but being unable to understand what kris is going through, because there's a fundamental disconnect between them.

idk why you're heaping everything on toriel either I dont think shes a perfect mom or anything and I would also love a deeper exploration of her relationship with kris but divorce just sucks for everyone involved man. not all of kris's problems are caused by her lol

#asks #not that their parents' divorce is kris's only issue. theyre dealing with a lot

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monokoitari · 8 hours ago

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Continuing with my agenda of milfication to Shen Yuan, a Shen Yuan who transmigrates into a woman giving birth. He understands nothing else except pain for a moment, a pain that he barely lasts because just a strain later, he hears the broken cry of a baby.

"My lady" says one of the maids, who has strange inhuman features and grayish skin. "For a moment, we thought we had lost you."

... which is true, but Shen Yuan is not going to address that.

They put the baby in his arms. And it is... a tiny, wrinkled, very pink baby. His tiny mop of hair is fluffy, and his bleary little eyes are half-closed. And even though he is a wrinkled newborn baby like a raisin, he is the most beautiful baby Shen Yuan has ever seen. He's crying without realizing it!

The baby is taken away from him for a quick clean-up. Shen Yuan is guided by the maids who help him with the more eww parts of childbirth, bathing and changing clothes. His whole body hurts as if a truck had run over him. When he returns to a very clean and comfortable huge bed full of pillows and his baby latches on to his breast with hunger, Shen Yuan only thinks: what the fuck, i'm screwed.

Apparently, he has transmigrated into... some wife? With a baby, that's for sure. High society for the quality of the fabrics and the rich and elegant decoration. His hands have no accessories or rings, but it's probably because of his swollen hands from pregnancy (look, Shen Yuan has a little sister!! He met his pregnant mom and her complaints!!)

He doesn't have a name for the baby, definitely, but he hums while the baby eats and relaxes with him. And Shen Yuan is physically unable to put him away. Even if he has to find out something about this body he has transmigrated into, even what it looks like or how old it is, he cannot move.

What he discovers, however, is that this body has some kind of power. It is a cool energy that travels through, easing the pain of his muscles burning from the effort. Something that is healing him. This body... she had been a cultivator? Well, that might have made sense... and not at the same time. Because half of those maidens were demons, then...

Shen Yuan looks at his sweet, cute baby. And thinks: if you were the protagonist, it would make sense. Even if he doesn't remember recently reading anything like that... His only regular reading had been PIDW, and it's not like he's transmigrated to...

Shen Yuan looks at the baby. He is so cute. His little head of fluffy hair. His round pink cheeks. His beautiful dark eyes now deflating. This child... This child cannot be Luo Binghe. Because Luo Binghe was born without help and his mother died after giving birth to him, not before, but he has the traits and characteristics, which implies that...

With too much effort and walking like a penguin, Shen Yuan stands up. He looks out the window.

There are gardens below. Circular gardens with red pavilions, lanterns, bridges and a small artificial pond. Even in the distance, he can see that in the lake there are Moon Koi Fish, pretty fish that glow in the dark when bathed in moonlight. He sees other women with beautiful robes and beautiful faces.

Shen Yuan goes back to bed with his knees shaking. Yes. He is definitely in PIDW. He is in PIDW as one of the many, many flowers in Luo Binghe’s harem.

And he just gave birth to his son.

He remembers that plot. A cruel parallel for Luo Binghe: up until now, Luo Binghe had only had daughters, cute and powerful girls. His first son was born to a mother (wife 47, if Shen Yuan remembers correctly) who died in childbirth, earning Luo Binghe the dilf label by responsibly taking care of his child (and winning wives using the adorable baby as bait). Poor Luo Binghe, an orphan, taking care of the baby who looked most like him, and at the same time, Luo Binghe wanted the child the least to grow up feeling so alone.

Plot that Airplane obviously screwed up eventually, because not even a fifty chapters later little baby wasn't mentioned at all. Until the fucking end, Luo Binghe had had enough children to field two entire soccer teams, and they all seemed to not care.

Shen Yuan would not allow that.

Look, he's known this baby for five minutes and if anything happens to him Shen Yuan would probably throw himself off the balcony. No exaggeration. He had to push that baby out of his body, he's not going to allow Luo Binghe to try to pretend to be a good and kind father and then traumatize the baby with an anxious attachment to coming and going as if nothing happened.

No. Shen Yuan would wait for his body to heal and take matters into his own hands. He was going to teach Luo Binghe to be a good and responsible father so that his babies would not grow up traumatized and create a harem of 300 wives just because they lacked the love of their daddy and mommy. In addition, Shen Yuan is not sure there are enough women in the PIDW world for Binghe's traumatized children to create their harem. It is a great service to the community!!

Shen Yuan will teach Luo Binghe how to be a good father. Even if he doesn't know how to be one. But hey! He practically raised his sister since she was in diapers. He knows a trick or two. He's going to figure it out.

Plus, he's a mother. His body must have those... motherly instincts and abilities. Magical mommy powers. How hard can it be?

#svsss #mxtx svsss #shen yuan #fanfic ideas #svsss fanfiction #luo bingge #pidw #pidw harem #pidw luo binghe #original luo binghe #I love putting Shen Yuan in the harem you can't blame me #Poor Luo Binghe doesn't know what awaits him #Shen Yuan neither #does this technically count as forced paternity?#Shen Yuan gets attached quickly though #milfy Shen yuan is my new religion currently #bingyuan #a lot of bingyuan lack of communication and assuming things because that's how they are

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invinciblerodent · 3 days ago

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I'm gonna just come out and say it, if you don't mind me adding a bit of tongue-in-cheek, bitter commentary.

I think in hindsight, Bioware may have made a bit of a mistake with revealing as much about their concept for Joplin as they did.

Not in the slightest because it wouldn't have been a fun game if it had been made real, or because the creative process wouldn't be interesting to see, or because I wouldn't understand them wanting to share something they worked on so much and obviously liked before it got canned. I really enjoyed thumbing through the artbook and toying with the thoughts it sparked, and I too thought it was a clever idea that would have been nice to play. The mistake part of it has nothing to do with what it is.

I think sharing it was ultimately a mistake because by including Joplin's concept art, they put their trust in their audience's ability to look at something that has very little- to fuckall to do with anything else, go "huh, neat", and move on.

Which, turns out, is something many seem categorically unable to do.

"But Dragon Age Joplin would've been the game we WANTED-"

Dragon Age Joplin doesn't exist. Didn't exist. Never would've existed. Dragon Age Joplin was an idea, it was a collection of what ifs and concept art. It wasn't a game. If it had become a game, it wouldn't have looked anything like the concepts we see in the art book (which are very cool and pretty!). The PRACTICALITIES hadn't been considered yet. The issues around writing, casting, sculpting, animating, all the very expensive and time-consuming realities of making a game. It was just ideas

If Joplin had been allowed to continue without any of EA's interference, would it have been a better game? Maybe! Part of me wants to say probably! But we CAN'T KNOW because the game DOESN'T EXIST and NEVER EXISTED

It wasn't snatched out of our hands. It was never there! It's easy to look at ideas and fill in the blanks yourself perfectly, but it wouldn't have BEEN perfect regardless. I can promise you that

Maybe it would've been better. It also could've been worse. We will never know because the game was never real

#dragon age #i'll tag this as #squirrel plays datv #because it's my only veilguard-specific tag for my own thoughts at the moment #but yknow. it's not. technically that.#and again i'm just. still over the bloody moon that it's not an MMO or a LAAAIVE SEEEEE'VICE

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greyeyedmonster-18 · 23 hours ago

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Five Times Sirius Black Fucked James Potter and One Time He Didn't

(in a slytherin!sirius au...part 3/5. read parts one, and two here)

James could hear his mother's voice in his head telling him to stop fidgeting as he continued to adjust the shoulders of his new Healer’s robes. Allegedly, this was how they were supposed to fit, the typical loose sleeves of other robes an occupational hazard. Apparently. As he waited in front of the double doors past the reception of St. Mungos, he was already counting the days until he was no longer a trainee and respected enough to show up to St. Mungo’s in robes far more comfortable.

But as it was, today was a special occasion at St. Mungo’s, the entire hospital buzzing around him, in preparation for the arrival of a donor--investor?--someone who wanted to sign over too much money St. Mungo’s to support the development of a children's ward. Most of the trainees were given the sage orders to stay out of the way and not do anything stupid. One of James’s colleagues was actually given the day off in lieu of coming it at all, to avoid any major catastrophes, everyone eager and anxious to impress.

Except James.

Not you, Potter. People like you. You have that kind of face that people like. And James was given two orders from his supervisor in preparation for greeting the donor at the entrance of the hospital: 1) look presentable and 2) be charming.

Both of which would’ve been a lot easier to do if he hadn’t felt like he was crammed into his robes like stuffed sausage, and if the mysterious donor wasn’t already ten minutes late. Nearly fifteen. He sighed, glancing up at the clock on the wall for the hundredth time.

“Did I miss them, Grace?” he asked the receptionist witch, leaving his position behind the desk to stand in front of it.

“Who, Mr. Potter?”

“I’m not exactly sure, I wasn’t given specifics,” he said, “Only to be here at 10 am sharp to greet some…old, rich, prat, and they are the ones who are late.”

“I’m not--”

“And why wouldn’t they be? It makes perfect sense. They can just buy back the time they lost, and surely everyone else has nothing better to do than wait for them.”

“Sir--”

“I’m sorry, I know, this isn’t your fault,” James sighed, “It’s just the principle of it all. I understand they’re giving us money, doing us a favor even. All that gold in a vault, and they couldn’t buy themselves a watch?”

“James--” she stressed, dropping formalities to give him a look with wide eyes and a polite smile.

“Sorry, you’re just trying to work. I’ll keep my mouth shut, don’t worry,” he teased, turning back around to resume his waiting for the selfish, rude, prick, he was supposed to be meeting, but his pasted-on smile quickly faded from his face. “No.” he whispered under his breath, so soft James barely registered he had spoken at all.

The years had been kind to Sirius Black.

Too kind. Too. Kind.

Dark curls skimming his shoulders now, and skin more golden than James remembered it being five years ago, like he had just finished a holiday. Well-fitted grey suit and a black tie, expensive robes draped over his shoulders with casual elegance. The same dark eyelashes. The same cocky smirk. The same burning in his finger tips, confident voice suddenly caught in his throat at the sight of Sirius.

Nearly twenty-five, and James felt all of seventeen again. Or nineteen.

“By all means, please continue. I am eager to hear what was coming next after old, rich, prat,” Sirius said, counting off the descriptors on his fingertips, “Unfortunately, only two of those things are correct.”

“So you admit you’re a prat,” James said instantly, unable to stop himself.

“I was admitting to being old,” Sirius responded, rolling up the sleeve of his robes to reveal a gold watch with a handsome teal face. “As you can see, I do own a watch, and I am perfectly on time, early even. My correspondence indicated I would arrive at half-ten.”

James felt insane staring at Sirius, starched Healer robes becoming hotter and more stifling by the minute, “Your correspondence said ten.”

“Did it?”

“I--” James didn’t have a rebuttal. He did not see the letter, he hadn’t even known who this investor was going to be and was merely following instructors from Healer Bones. For all James knew, he was sent to stand out at reception a half-hour early just in case. For all James knew, no one was expected until noon, and he was just supposed to say “yes!”.

“No matter. What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.”

“Sirius Black,” Sirius said, grey eyes twinkling with unreleased laughter as he put on a show for the receptionist, extending his hand to James as if they had never met. Meanwhile, Grace had made herself quite busy with paperwork, keeping a smile on her face, cheeks tinted pink.

“James Potter.” James extended his hand to meet Sirius’s, shaking it briefly. Black didn’t break eye contact, their warm palms meshing together. “Welcome to St. Mungo’s, we are so…honored to have you,” he managed. If Sirius was going to put on a show, so was James.

“Are you a Healer here?”

He pulled his hands away from Sirius’s, carefully placing both behind his back, “Trainnee, and given the responsibility of greeting you. If you can follow me, Mr. Black, Healer Bones, and Healer Fletscher are waiting for you, and will be thrilled to speak with you further.”

“Oh, but we were just getting to know each other.”

“What a shame,” James replied, with a fake smile, and watched as Sirius rolled his eyes in response now that they were further away from reception, walking through the double doors together.

It was primal.

But James could smell him. Feel him as they walked in pace, shoulders brushing against one another, perhaps intentionally. Every inch of James was screaming, and he barely contained his sigh of relief once he saw the faces of his supervisors, rushing to greet Sirius and make a good impression.

“Mr. Black, we are so pleased you could make time for us today,” Healer Bones said, presenting her hand to Sirius. James had to stifle his own eye-roll as Healer Bones’s cheeks even flushed as Sirius began speaking. Because why wouldn’t they?

The charm.

The smile.

James knew. Of course, James knew. Even after five years, of no contact-- not a letter, not a run-in on the streets of Diagon Alley, nothing-- James knew how disarming Sirius Black could be without saying a single word.

James had made a vow, though, at the front of an aisle, his family and friends gathered around him, holding hands with a beautiful, kind, caring, woman, that the night before his wedding was the last time. And it was.

A marriage.

A war.

A child, who was now almost five years old.

James kept his vow, staying clear of Sirius, no matter how many times a tiny thought crept into the back of his mind, wondering where he was, how he was, what he was doing, who he spent his time with, every question under the sun. And now Sirius was here, wiggling his way into his supervisors’s minds the way he had done with James.

Good luck getting him to leave.

Healer Bones turned into puddy in Sirius’s palm, Healer Fletscher seemed to be standing up straighter, gesturing proudly and broadly to the conference room, talking in a voice much louder and lower than he usually did. Did James look the same when he began to unravel around Sirius?

Absolutely foolish?

“I hope you’ll forgive my lateness, I was merely engrossed in conversation with Mr. Potter here, and completely lost track of the time,” Sirius’s voice cut into James’s thoughts.

So he was late. Bloody prick.

“No trouble at all. I am glad to hear Mr. Potter was a pleasure. He is one of our finest trainees, has a bright future ahead of him,” Healer Fletscher said.

“Is that so?” Sirius asked, tilting his head and looking at James. “Well, then I’d love to take this opportunity and have Mr. Potter give me a tour of the hospital. Hear more about this bright future and, of course, the future of our collaboration together.”

“I really don’t think that's necessary,” James said quickly, “Healer Bones, didn’t you say you wanted me--” but James stopped short, noticing the expression on his supervisor’s face that clearly indicated shut up, if he wants a tour, you’re giving him the tour.

“Nothing that can’t wait until this afternoon, if you don’t mind, Potter,” she said, unblinking.

James smiled, thinking he would rather die than be left alone with Sirius Black, “Of course.”

If Sirius heard the nearly pathetic, whispered whine James made in the back of his throat, sounding an awful lot like his toddler when he didn’t get his way as he walked back down the hallway to begin the tour, he didn’t say anything.

Just smirked.

Dragon hide boots clicking on the tile floor as they made it past the double doors once more.

“You know who I am, you twat.” James remarked, as soon as they were out of earshot and heading into the magical elevators to the second floor. All facades dropped.

“Sure, I do, Jason.”

“You’ve been to the hospital before, you don’t need a bloody tour,”

“Maybe,” he mused.

“And I knew you were late. Fifteen minutes! You’re such a bloody arsehole.”

“Now, that’s no way to speak to someone who is about to generously donate hundreds of galleons to this hospital.”

“What are you doing here anyway? Sudden change of heart and surge of kindness? Quarter-life crisis? Finally got bored of tucking yourself in with your piles of money and thought you’d take pity on some sick kids? Good publicity? Need to clear the Black name? Or did you just come here to see me?”

“Your ego is showing, Potter. Careful, someone might notice.”

“You’re one to talk. People have jobs to do, you know. This is a hospital, with sick people. Who need us. We can’t just drop everything to cater to you--And this is the Magical Maladies and Injuries Wing, it has approximately 200 beds, and is usually our most impacted unit.” James said, half-heartedly gesturing to the wing as a small group of Healers walked by them, nodding to Sirius, “--and your empty promise to build a new bloody ward or cure Dragon Pox, or whatever else you told them you would do. It’s rude, and it’s cruel, and--”

“Are you going to let me speak?”

“Not if I can help it,” James said quickly, and louder than he intended.

It was a strategy and the best of options James could think up in such a short time. The quickest tour known to man, and stop Sirius from talking to him. Because that was the problem.

He had been just fine. With his wife, and his kid, and his home in Godrics Hollow, and his blossoming career.

He was fine.

Sirius was the problem, and they were both better off.

Except.

“Okay, fine, this one time, you can talk because I actually do want to know the answer of how you got here, but after that…”

Sirius laughed softly, slowing down the pace of his steps, and the sense of urgency James had to get this done as soon as possible. “My parents have both passed, my Uncle is deceased, which means the Black vault finally belongs entirely to me, and I get to choose what to do with it,” he said, “I’m looking for some worthwhile investments, and this seemed like a good place to start.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Sirius asked back, shrugging, “As you might say, I can tuck myself in with my bags of gold and donate to a hospital that is in need at the same time. There’s more than enough to go around.”

“...Galleons?”

“Yes,” Sirius stated simply, “Merlin knows I don’t need all of it.”

“Well, now I feel like the arsehole.”

“Good.”

“I take it back.”

Sirius grinned, as they stepped into the elevator to the third floor, and his heart turned upside down in his chest. It was just a smile.

This was just a tour.

You have a life. You have a wife.

“You really didn’t know I worked here?” James asked cautiously, all too aware of how stupid he sounded.

For Merlin’s Sake.

“No,” Sirius said, “That was a pleasant surprise.”

“Oh.” pleasant.

“Why did you decide to become a Healer?”

James swallowed, taken aback at the question, and looked down at the floor, running a hand through his hair, “I was forced to go into hiding…and it’s a helpless feeling to know people are out there fighting and you’re trapped inside, and so many people were injured and killed…I just told myself if I got out alive, I’d try to save more lives in the future to make up for it.”

“How noble.”

“I was being sincere.”

“So was I,” Sirius stopping their walk in the middle of the hallway, just outside a group of patient rooms. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you're okay.”

“Not worth anything,” James replied briskly, tugging at the stiff collar of his robes, and pulling down the sleeves.

“Stop pulling. They look good on you.”

“On the right, you’ll see a wing dedicated in the name of Griselda S. Harrington, she was a Healer who--” James began loudly.

“It’s just you and me now, Potter.”

“Exactly.”

“How’s your wife?” he quipped.

“Exactly,” James repeated and stopped in his tracks at the end of the hallway near the annex. “Can we just…can I just give you a tour? Can I just fulfill this obligation I have to appease the hospital, and you can give us your money, and we can go back to…”

“Pretending the other doesn’t exist?” Sirius finished, with a raise of his eyebrow. James closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Was that what he was doing? “That was…nice, wasn’t it?”

He felt Sirius’s hand on the side of his face and opened his eyes again. Sirius’s robe sleeve was hanging down his arm, and just beneath the cuff of his shirt sleeve, at this angle, James could make out the beginnings of a tattoo. That was new.

What else is new?

“I don’t need nice,” Sirius said, but James grabbed Sirius’s wrist, taking his hand off his face and pushing it down. “Hm. I guess I didn’t realize you did. Guess somethings change, Potter…”

Forgive me.

“Let’s take the stairs this time around,” James offered, inclining his head to the door they were closer to, rather than making their way back toward the elevators.

“I can’t care, Potter.”

Forgive me, please.

James pulled Sirius’s arm roughly through the doors before shoving him against the wall of the stairwell. It was satisfying to see grey eyes grow wide with surprise; to hear Sirius’s breathing hitch just slightly. James slotted one of his legs between Sirius’s, grinding his hips into Sirius’s and biting at his ear.

“P-Potter,” Sirius gasped, head inclining backward onto the wall. Five years later, and maybe this time James could finally have the upper hand.

James’s hand moved slowly down Sirius’s chest, expensive dress shirt beneath his fingers, until he reached the waistband of his trousers secured with a dragonhide belt. Gold buckle.

He pulled the it upward, unhooking it, the metal prong clanging against the frame of the buckle.

“Potter,” Sirius said again lowly, head still against the wall, chest rising and falling rapidly. One of his hands on James’s forearm.

“Hm?

“This is--” James undid the fly of Sirius’s trousers. How easy they fell to the ground, sitting crumpled around Sirius’s ankles, undoubtedly expensive material simply ruined, collecting Merlin knows what else from the stairwell floor. Bare thighs covered in dark, dark hair.

“You were saying, pretty boy?” James asked, before pressing his hand firmly against the visible bulge in Sirius’s briefs. “About not needing nice? You think I need nice?”

“I don’t, I didn’t--” Sirius breathed, but couldn’t manage the rest, James’s mouth cutting off his words. Tongue darting deep into Sirius’s mouth with such force, he felt Sirius’s grip tighten around James’s arm.

This was better.

The moaning, the dark curls sticking to the wall behind his head, crisp white shirt pulled halfway up his torso.

“You’re going to be death of me, I think, Black,”

James wanted nothing more than to make a mess of this man.

“I can live with that.”

#a prongsfoot au #everyone say thank you arlieee #thank you arlieee!#though i did run wild with this one now and have diverted from the beautiful universe arlie created with auror james #but i will aways hc healer james #and well #again #very fun to write #i love these idiots #prongsfoot #sirius black #james potter #hope everyone enjoysssssss

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secondarysefikura · 2 days ago

Note

can you write something about what would happen if jenova (which lets just say it's conscious and genuinely cares for sephiroth) spends most of the game saving energy to return to their original form which I imagine is something akin to an eldritch monster (since they are a literal space alien that lives by eating PLANETS) and instead of the final battle against safer sephiroth, the AVALACHE group just goes to sleep one day and when they wake up cloud is nowhere to be seen and a gigantic tentacle monster and sephiroth are inhalating the planet.

Meanwhile Cloud wakes up in one of jenova's tentacles just to be greeted by the Alien talking about how they are about to be done whit this planet and not to worry because "Cloud is their son's chosen mate", Cloud obviously tries to scape, to no avail because the G cells inside his body are making movement impossible, so he just sits there and is unable to do anything but listen to jenova while the the two destroy the world.(sephiroth and jenova win)

Jenova is just happy to be done with this god forsaken planet, but hey, at least they've got a son and his mate now, jenova just has to teach sephiroth the correct ways of mating for thir species.

This one is a doozy, haha

“Wake up little one, it would be a shame for you to miss your first planetary destruction.”

Half awake and suffering from a pounding headache, Cloud barely registers the words spoken into his mind. Instead, he somewhat registers the odd sense of security he is feeling—almost as if he is being held securely in someone’s arms—and a strange inner peace he hasn’t felt for years.

“Open your eyes little one, you do not want to miss this.”

Once again coaxed by the voice in his mind, Cloud opens his eyes with a few sleepy blinks. Instantly, the feeling of security and peace are shattered by the sights around him. Rather than being in the bed he fell asleep the previous day, (or whenever he fell asleep. Who is to say it’s been only a day since he went to sleep?) he’s being held several thousand feet off the ground by a large tentacle thing. Everything is…

“Finally being destroyed.” The voice in his mind finishes, “It has taken a long while, but your little planet is finally fulfilling its purpose.”

No, this is absolutely not the purpose of his planet. This planet was not designed to be destroyed and eaten by an alien and a wannabe god. Struggling to move, Cloud can just barely turn his head to look behind him at the massive creature behind him. Instinctively, he knows that this is Jenova’s true form. Once he heard someone talk about the concept of eldritch horror—the sort of thing that your mind cannot even begin to comprehend just due to the sheer size of it—and he realizes he never fully appreciated the concept until now.

Jenova is more than eldritch. Jenova is…hurting him to look at. With great struggle, Cloud manages to turn his head back towards the planet’s destruction. In the distance, he catches sight of what he thinks is—once was—Sephiroth. Even from afar, he can tell Sephiroth’s new form is just as massive as Jenova’s is.

Seeing Sephiroth like this, Cloud can almost understand why Sephiroth thought Jenova to be his mother. Although he has wings where the alien has tentacles, the sheer size of both of them is enough to make them related.

Just then, Sephiroth turns to them and waves almost shyly. Strands of the lifestream drip from his mouth like blood.

“Ah, he’s a bit of a messy eater.” Jenova hums happily, still in Cloud’s head, “A violent one too. He has wonderful potential.”

Cloud wants to throw up, or scream, or both, but he can’t seem to make his body do what he wants. Even as a large chunk of the planet collapses in on itself with a sound that should have Cloud cowering, he remains still and silent in Jenova’s grasp.

Jenova pats his head with the top of one of her tentacles almost as if she is comforting him.

“You have nothing to fear, little one. You are my son’s chosen mate. In my grasp you will be more than safe from the destruction of what you once needed to live.”

“I-I-”

“Oh, I see, you wish to be with him.”

No, he absolutely does not wish to be with Sephiroth, but he can’t make himself protest. Instead he remains silent as Jenova makes her way over to Sephiroth in order to pass him off.

Reaching Sephiroth, Cloud finds himself unceremoniously dropped in the mans(?) hands. Then Sephiroth lifts him so he’s directly in front of his giant face, all the while smiling like a predator who was never taught not to play with their food.

“Cloud, isn’t this wonderful? I have fulfilled my birthright, and we can now be together forever.”

Using all his willpower, Cloud forces himself to speak.

“Why would I want that?”

Sephiroth’s grin falls at the same time Jenova laughs.

“Pay him no mind my child, he’s merely restless. Once you properly mate him he will settle and be plenty happy.”

Cloud doesn’t need a mirror to know he’s gone white as a sheet.

#sephiroth #cloud strife #jenova #ffvii #ff7 #sefikura #mini fic #or something like that

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yanderejustforyou · 1 day ago

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Oh The Hurt

Peter Parker x Reader

You never asked for this. You didn’t ask for the love that coursed through your veins like molten lava, fierce and all-consuming. You didn’t ask for Peter Parker, the boy with the soft smile and eyes that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand unsaid words, to be the one to make your heart ache in ways you never thought possible.

But here you were.

You had always known that loving him would be a kind of torment—like dancing on the edge of a razor blade, feeling the cold metal graze your skin every time you took a step. His secrets were buried deep within him, a wall he built high and strong, and you knew that one day, that wall would break. And when it did, it would bring both of you to your knees.

You didn’t need to know all the details. You didn’t need to understand the full scope of his responsibilities as Spider-Man. But you did. You understood that every moment you spent with him was precious because it was fleeting. It was borrowed time, given to you in stolen seconds between the chaos and the danger that followed him wherever he went.

And every time he left, every time he disappeared into the night, part of you died a little more.

You hadn’t meant for it to come to this, for the relationship to unravel in the way it did. But love, for all its beauty, often burns the brightest right before it fades.

It started small. A quiet distance, a hesitance in his touch, the way his eyes would dart away from yours as if he couldn’t bear to look too long. You told yourself it was nothing—just the weight of his dual life, the mask he wore in both his worlds. But deep down, you knew the truth.

Peter was slipping away, and you couldn’t stop it.

The first time you saw him with her, your heart shattered.

You had caught a glimpse of them together, her laughing as Peter touched her arm, his fingers lingering far too long. It was nothing—nothing more than a harmless moment between friends, or so you convinced yourself. But then you saw the way he looked at her, the way his smile seemed to shine a little brighter, and that was when the walls you had built around yourself started to crumble.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. Your world tilted on its axis, and for the first time in your life, you realized you were losing him.

The confrontation came after a night spent pretending everything was fine, pretending you hadn’t seen the way his eyes had softened when she spoke to him. You could feel the weight of your emotions pressing down on you, suffocating you. It had to be said. You couldn’t keep living in this silence.

“Peter,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you stood in front of him. “Please… don’t do this.”

He looked at you, and you could see it—the guilt, the sorrow, the part of him that knew this was wrong. But it was already too late. He had already crossed the line. There was no going back.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the words themselves would wound both of you.

“You’re already hurting me,” you shot back, your chest tight with pain. “I see it in your eyes. You’ve already chosen.”

His face twisted, and for a moment, you saw the boy you loved—the one who would do anything to make things right. But even that wasn’t enough. His shoulders slumped as if the weight of his choices had finally crushed him.

“I didn’t mean to…” Peter trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

“You didn’t mean to,” you repeated, your voice raw with a bitterness you had never known. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re choosing her. You’re choosing someone else.”

He reached out to you, his hand trembling as it hovered near your arm, but you took a step back, the sting of his touch a reminder of the distance that had already formed between you. A touch you couldn’t bring yourself to feel, not when the reality of it all was too much to bear.

“I can’t…” he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. “I don’t know how to choose.”

You didn’t know how to respond. How could you? You had spent so long pretending that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for you both. But the truth was, Peter had always been torn. Torn between the man he had been and the hero he had to be. Torn between the love he had for you and the guilt that would never leave him. And in the end, it wasn’t you he would choose.

The night stretched on, an endless black void that swallowed you whole. Every step you took, every thought you had, led back to him. To Peter. To the way he had looked at her, the way he had touched her, the way his heart seemed to beat for someone else.

And yet, even as the tears burned your eyes, even as your chest threatened to collapse under the weight of the ache, there was something inside you that couldn’t let him go. You hated him for it. You hated him for choosing her. But more than that, you hated yourself for not being able to hate him. You still loved him. Even as he tore you apart, piece by piece, you still loved him.

And that was the cruelest part.

You hadn’t expected him to show up at your door that night. You hadn’t expected him to come crawling back after everything had already fallen apart. But there he was, standing on your doorstep with the same haunted look in his eyes, the same broken boy who had once made you believe in something greater.

“Please…” he whispered, voice cracking. “Please let me fix this. I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Please, I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

Your heart twisted, and for a moment, you thought you might break in his arms. You could feel the weight of everything he was saying, the desperate plea in his eyes. But no matter how badly you wanted to believe him, you couldn’t. You couldn’t because you knew that it was already too late. The damage had been done. And in the end, love wasn’t enough to save either of you.

You stepped back, shaking your head, and before you could say the words, the tears had already begun to fall.

“I can’t do this anymore, Peter,” you whispered, your voice trembling with every syllable. “I can’t keep waiting for you to choose me. I can’t keep pretending like everything will be okay when it never will be.”

His hand shot out, reaching for you, but you were already too far gone.

“I love you,” he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper now, like a prayer. “I love you so much. I never wanted to hurt you.”

But you could see it—the truth in his eyes, the lies wrapped in his promises. The love he had for you had never been enough to make him choose you. Not truly. Not when the world needed Spider-Man more than it needed Peter Parker.

And that was where it ended.

You closed the door quietly, your heart cracking in a thousand places, and you let the silence swallow you whole.

There was no happy ending. No redemption. No moment where Peter would choose you over everything else. He would always be torn between the man he was and the hero the world demanded him to be. And no matter how much you loved him, no matter how badly you wished for a different outcome, it would never be enough.

Some loves were doomed from the start, and you both had always known it.

Days passed, though they felt like an eternity. Each moment dragged on, every breath you took heavy with the suffocating weight of your decision. There was no closure. There was no peace. You had tried to erase him from your life, to let the wound heal, but his absence only made the pain more unbearable.

You walked through the days in a haze, numb to everything around you. The world had become a blur of colors and sounds, but none of it mattered. You couldn’t focus. You couldn’t think. All you could do was replay that night over and over in your mind—the look in his eyes when you closed the door on him, the rawness in his voice as he whispered that he loved you, and the way his hand had trembled as it reached for you, only to fall short.

You hated him for what he had done, for making you feel like you weren’t enough. But you hated yourself more for still loving him. Even after everything. Even after the way he had chosen her, even after the way he had torn you apart.

The nights were the hardest.

It wasn’t just the silence. It wasn’t just the emptiness that seemed to seep into every corner of your life. It was the memories. The way he used to laugh, the way he would pull you close and kiss you like the world could end at any moment, like the love you shared was the one thing that would keep it from falling apart. Those moments replayed in your mind with painful clarity.

You could still feel him, his warmth, the softness of his touch, the way his voice would soothe your fears. And it was those memories that hurt the most because they reminded you of what you had lost.

And then, just as you thought you might crumble under the weight of it all, he came to you again.

The knock on your door was soft but unmistakable. Your heart skipped a beat, and a familiar coldness crawled up your spine. You didn’t want to see him. Not like this. Not after everything. And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from opening the door.

There he was, standing on your doorstep, eyes haunted and bloodshot, like he hadn’t slept in days. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair disheveled, and there was an almost palpable desperation clinging to him.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Peter said, his voice breaking, sounding so fragile that it made your chest ache. He took a step forward, but you instinctively stepped back, the distance between you both a painful reminder of everything that had transpired.

"Why?" You couldn't help the bitterness in your voice. "Why now, Peter? After everything? Why come back when you've already broken me?"

His face contorted with pain, his hand reaching out toward you, but you flinched, the rawness of your emotions surfacing all at once.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry. I know I hurt you. I know I screwed up. I can’t undo it, but I need you to understand something. I... I can’t live with the thought of losing you. I thought I could handle it. I thought I could do this alone, but I was wrong. I need you, and I’ll never forgive myself for how I hurt you.”

Your heart hammered painfully in your chest, each word tearing through you like a fresh wound. You wanted to scream, to push him away, but the truth was, you couldn’t. Not entirely. Because despite the pain he had caused, despite the deep wound he had left in your soul, you still loved him. And you hated yourself for it.

“I can’t keep doing this, Peter,” you whispered, the tears finally spilling over. “I can’t keep waiting for you to choose me. I can’t keep being your second choice, your backup, your convenience. I deserve more than that.”

His face crumpled as he stepped closer, his hand finally brushing against your arm. It felt like fire. You recoiled instinctively, the warmth of his touch searing through you, burning you in ways that felt too familiar. You wanted it, and yet, you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because every touch, every word, every glance from him was a reminder that this wasn’t love—not anymore. It was an illusion, a broken version of something that had once been real.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter said again, his voice thick with emotion. “I never meant to hurt you like this. I don’t know how to fix what I’ve done, but I can’t keep pretending that this—” He gestured between the two of you, his eyes full of guilt and longing, "—isn’t what I want. It’s always been you. Always."

You swallowed hard, stepping back again, your chest tight, your breath ragged.

“No,” you choked out, shaking your head. “No, Peter. It’s not enough anymore. You can’t just come back when it’s convenient for you. You can’t just waltz in and expect everything to be okay. You’ve already chosen her. And I can’t—I can’t keep being the person you come to when it’s easier. I won’t let you destroy me anymore.”

Peter flinched as if your words physically struck him. You saw the hurt flash in his eyes, but there was also something else. Something darker, more painful than you’d ever seen before: regret. And it was almost unbearable to watch. Because in that moment, you realized that no matter how much you loved him, no matter how deeply he cared for you, you would always be the one to suffer.

This—this broken, painful thing between you two—would never heal. You both had tried to pretend it would, tried to hold on to the pieces, but the cracks had already run too deep. You could both feel it, the inevitable unraveling of a love that was never meant to be.

And so, with one last, lingering look, Peter turned to leave. You didn’t stop him. You couldn’t. The weight of everything you had gone through together, and everything you had lost, was too much. The air felt thick with sorrow, suffocating, and as he walked away from you for the final time, you felt the fire inside you flicker and die.

You tried to move on. You tried to walk away, to let the pieces of your broken heart fall where they may, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t escape him. Every part of you still ached for him, still wanted him. But the truth was, there was no way out of this. There was no way to make it right. You had both tried to hold on, to make it work, but love was never enough. Not when the world was constantly pulling him away from you.

And as the days turned into weeks, you realized—some things were just never meant to be.

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aishangotome · 21 hours ago

Text

[Azel] The Mean Unicorn's Greedy Desire (Bday Story) - Part 3

Part 2

To appease the hungry god, I skewered a piece of apple on a fork and offered it to him.

Azel: My heartfelt gratitude to the merciful you.

Emma: ...You could have said that from the beginning.

(Wait, eh...?!)

For some reason, Azel grabbed my hand and gobbled down the apple.

Emma: Please hold the fork yourself!

Azel: Huh? You're the one who offered it to me.

Emma: I didn't say "aahhh"!

Azel: Well, don't do anything confusing.

Emma: ...Eh?

Azel: ...?

Emma: Did you really misunderstand that?

(I thought it was some kind of mean trick...)

Azel swallowed the apple he was chewing and furrowed his brows dramatically.

Azel: I didn't misunderstand. You looked like you wanted to feed me, so I reluctantly played along. For a fee.

Emma: A fee!?

Azel: I need more apples. Offer more. Then I'll waive the feeding fee.

(His fast talking is suspicious, but oh well.)

Emma: Please hold the fork properly this time.

Azel: ----......

I thought I heard a small voice like the whisper of the wind, but I couldn't make it out.

I peeled another apple and this time handed it to Azel on a plate.

He must have been very hungry, because the plate was empty in no time.

(He's a demanding person, but the way he eats so deliciously might be one of Azel's good points.)

Now that the god had stopped demanding food, I started preparing the cake in earnest.

Whether he wanted to keep an eye on me or was simply curious, Azel followed my every move with his gaze.

Azel: ...........

Emma: ..........

(Hmm... This is awkward.)

Emma: ...What kind of ritual is it that you have after this?

Unable to bear the silence, I asked, and Azel shrugged his shoulders lazily.

Azel: It's nothing much. It's a simple job where I just have to receive congratulatory words in the throne room.

Emma: ...You have work to do on your birthday?

Azel: That's right. Isn't it pitiful?

Azel: By the way, the pitiful story continues. There's a party to worship me after the ritual.

Azel: People try to praise me with good intentions and entertain me with fine wine and food, but it's troublesome—no, it's too much for me.

Azel: I'd love to refuse, but it's my birthday, so unless there's a very good reason, people won't let me off the hook.

Azel: Oh, I wish there was a kind-hearted soul somewhere.

Azel: If there was a woman with the most beautiful heart in the small country, she would surely extend a merciful hand to this poor god––

Emma: ...If I get you out of there, will it repay all of today's unreasonable debts?

Azel: Yes, thank you very much.

(I can kind of understand why Azel hates parties.)

The way people surrounded the god in the city could be called a "celebration," but it's quite different from what I know.

(It's like they're forcing their good intentions on him...)

Azel: But you agreed more readily than I expected?

Emma: ...Because it's strange, isn't it?

Emma: Why does the birthday person have to do things they don't want to do on their birthday?

Azel: ...........

(...Perhaps that was a slip of the tongue.)

(Depending on how it was taken, it could have been like denying another country's culture.)

Emma: I apologize––

Azel: You... do you enjoy it when your own birthday comes around?

Azel rested his cheek on his hand and looked at me with interest.

He didn't seem to mind what I had said earlier.

Emma: ...Yes, I enjoy it. My friends celebrate with me every year.

Azel: So that's how it is.

Emma: Yes, that's how it is.

(What's normal for me is different from what's normal for Azel.)

(It's not that one is better or worse than the other, but... this year, I want to give Azel the kind of celebration I have in mind.)

(Not a celebration as a formality, but one that comes from the heart.)

(I want to celebrate Prince Azel, who tries to be a god for the sake of the people, even on his birthday...)

The finished birthday cake was a rose-shaped tart piled high with fruit.

Azel, who had never eaten a birthday cake in his life, was overjoyed, and he ate every last crumb, looking very pleased as he headed to the throne room.

Emma: ––So, why the oasis?

After rescuing Azel, who had finished the ritual as promised, I was taken to this relaxing spot near the city for some reason.

(I thought we would say "goodbye" once we were done...)

Azel: Someone made me eat so much cake that I'm stuffed.

Azel: I felt like I was going to burst if I didn't move.

Emma: You didn't have to eat it all...

Azel: No, I felt pressured to eat it.

Emma: Don't say that as if you were me.

Emma: But, it's true that I might have gotten a little carried away.

(Fruit tart... I made two of them...)

I ate some too, but it was too much for the two of us to finish.

(Even so, Prince Azel ate it all.)

(...Maybe that was his way of showing sincerity, in his own wicked god way.)

Emma: Thank you.

Azel: For finishing it?

Emma: Yes. As the one who made it, it was worth the effort to see you eat it all.

Azel: ...........

Emma: Why are you looking at me with such pity?

Azel: Have you already forgotten that I forced you to do this?

Emma: ...I think I'll forget about it.

Azel: You're too nice. Good people just get taken advantage of.

Emma: I'll be careful not to let that happen.

Perhaps having nothing more to say, Azel closed his mouth and started kicking the sand.

I walked half a step behind him, looking up at the moon floating in the night sky.

(The moon of Tanzanite is always so bright and beautiful...)

As I was admiring it, I bumped into Azel with my nose, who had suddenly stopped.

Azel: This is far enough.

Emma: What...?

As I held my aching nose with my hand, Azel suddenly turned around and brushed my bangs aside––

(!?)

His lips pressed against my exposed forehead, and my mind went blank like an empty desert.

(Wh-...)

(...What... just... happened...?)

It seems that when people are too surprised, they can't even speak properly, and something unreliable, whether it was a sigh or a voice, spilled from my lips.

As I opened and closed my mouth, Azel gave me a god-like, benevolent smile.

Azel: The god of Tanzanite is a being who protects and guides all people equally.

Azel: Protecting the country in this wasteland is the very meaning of my existence...

Azel: It's normally unthinkable for me to favor an individual, especially a girl from a foreign land.

Azel: But, yes, just for today...

Azel: It wouldn't be bad to lavish blessings as a special service only to those who have offered their congratulations.

(...Does that mean... what just happened was a divine blessing?)

If this situation, where my cheeks are flushed, my heart is racing, and all my thoughts are stirred, is a divine blessing...

My heart leaps at this unknown sensation.

(Azel's blessing seems incredibly effective.)

Azel: Well, it doesn't come cheap.

Emma: There's a fee!?

Azel: Of course.

(I want a refund on that touching moment!)

Emma: That's a scam...

Azel: A complaint? You've got guts. It's amusing to criticize a god's blessing.

Emma: .......

(No... that's not it. It's not a scam.)

(I see, that's what it is.)

(I'm glad it's a bright night today.)

Once I realized it, I couldn't help but smile.

Azel: ...What is it?

Emma: Nothing, it's nothing.

(If I take his words literally, he's just his usual wicked scammer, but...)

The bright moon bathed Azel in a soft light.

I didn't notice it at first, but the change became more apparent as time passed––

Azel: Stop that face.

Perhaps I was grinning too much, because Azel pinched my cheek with a stern expression.

Emma: Ow, that hurts...!

Azel: The god will never protect you again. Goodbye.

The fingers pinching my cheek loosened, but I panicked and grabbed his sleeve, afraid he might actually go somewhere.

Emma: Please don't say goodbye! I was happy!

Emma: It means that my cake was worthy of a blessing, that it was that much of a celebration for you.

(I think it's probably rare for Azel to give a blessing to an individual.)

As proof, the god's ears were red, and he couldn't hide his embarrassment.

Even though he pretends to be a scammer with his words, he doesn't seem to be skilled enough to hide his expressions.

(When Azel is acting as a god, he hides everything behind a smile...)

(When he's being himself, he might be a surprisingly easy person to read.)

Emma: That blessing just now, was it a thank you for the birthday cake?

He put strength into his fingers again, and my cheek stretched.

Azel: ...That's kind of annoying.

Emma: Ow, that hurts!?

Azel: You're seriously misunderstanding. It's not like I want to thank you.

Azel: I just thought I'd add to your debt since I had the chance.

(He usually looks me in the eye when he talks, but...)

Azel, who was blatantly averting his gaze, blushed even more.

Emma: ...I-I understand.

Emma: I'll... I'll pretend that's what it is.

Azel: You don't understand at all.

(Ow, ow...! )

When I put strength into his fingers as a sign of surrender, he finally loosened his grip.

But Azel's expression was still sullen.

Azel: You disrespectful person.

Emma: ...S-Sorry?

Azel: Don't make it a question.

Azel sighed dramatically and made a bitter face.

He must be aware that he's not fooling anyone.

Azel: It's not a thank you, but... it wasn't bad.

Azel: You're the only one who would dare celebrate a god's birthday as a human.

Azel: ...You're the only one, unique to me.

(Unique...)

(That's the highest compliment there is.)

Azel, who finally let go of my cheek, quickly turned his back on me.

Emma: I was also happy to make an important discovery today.

Azel: Doesn't sound worth hearing. Goodbye.

Emma: Prince Azel is actually shy--

Emma: Ow! Ow, ow, ow!

Azel: Say that again. I'll sue you for insult and throw in a divine punishment as a bonus.

Azel, who started pinching my cheek again with a demonic look on his face, was completely different from the figure he presented in front of the people.

(If he's this happy, I hope I can celebrate with him again.)

Whether my pounding heart was due to the blessing or the after effect of seeing his unexpected side...

The cold desert night wind felt more comfortable than usual.

Part 4 (Let Me Tell You a Secret About God) - His POV

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#azel radwan #ikepri jp #ikemen prince translation #ikemen prince azel radwan #azel radwan birthday story #azel radwan birthday event

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sickeddyville · 11 hours ago

Text

I love you, Im sorry

Pair: zayne x reader

Prompt: you leave to protect him from Astra's curse

Note: this is the part 2 for the 'Guilt' fic, and yes it's still angst 😊. full on angst with a kiss at the end. The title was 100% inspired by gracie abrams i love her sm😞😞

Warning: not a happy ending (again) bcs being a zayne main means eating angst 24/7

Part 1 | Part 3

The plan is simple. Get away from him as far as possible.

As the taxi pulls up to the train station, your heart races. You have to do this, for his sake.

You walk towards the doors of the platform when, out of nowhere, you hear a voice.

"You think I didn’t know what you were planning?"

You freeze.

Zayne stands a few feet away, his eyes stern with a mix of hurt and disbelief. There’s an edge to his voice that you’ve never heard before.

Your breath catches in your throat as you turn to face him, unable to form words. You can only stare, heart pounding, as he steps closer. His gaze doesn’t leave yours.

"I thought I made it clear," he continues, his voice low but trembling with emotion. "You can’t just leave without telling me. Not again."

There’s pain in his voice, raw and real. "You think I wouldn’t notice? You think I wouldn’t know what you were doing?"

You open your mouth, but no words come out. You try to speak, but your throat feels tight. The guilt gnaws at you as you realize just how deep this is cutting him.

"Im doing this for you" you finally manage to whisper, but even then, it feels like the words aren’t enough. "If I stayed away, you will no longer suffer. From me." The words feel wrong, but they spill out anyway.

Zayne steps closer, his face inches from yours now, but you still can't find the strength to say anything. His hands reach for yours, and despite your inability to speak, he gently clasps them, his grip firm yet comforting.

"I don’t care about the curse, All I care about is you." His voice softens, but there's no mistaking the emotion underneath.

"How could you not care about the curse?" you ask, your voice breaking under the weight of the question.

You try to back away from him, but his grip only tightens, pulling you closer. "I can’t just stand there knowing how this will end," you add, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I can’t. If I stay—if I stay, the curse will keep following you. It will never stop."

Zayne’s expression falters for only a moment, but the determination in his eyes doesn’t waver. "Y/N, I don’t care about the curse," he repeats, his voice steady but the emotion evident in his gaze. "Listen. What I care about is you. I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Not like this."

"You can't just say that, Zayne..." The words leave your mouth in a strangled whisper, full of desperation, and Zayne’s grip tightens on you as if he can keep you from slipping away. His arms pull you in, and suddenly, everything you had been holding back—everything you had been running from—comes rushing forward.

Tears flood your eyes, hot and overwhelming. You can't hold it back anymore. Your sobs are muffled in his chest.

Zayne doesn’t speak, but his hand runs gently through your hair, his touch grounding and soothing. "You’re not hurting me, Y/N," he says softly, though the strain in his voice betrays the emotion he is fighting to keep in check. "I’d never want you to think that. You’re everything to me. And I’ll fight through this, no matter what it takes."

"There is no fighting it, Zayne..." Your voice is barely audible, the words slipping out of you to make him understand the impossibility of what he is trying to do.

"No." His voice was firm, unwavering. "I won’t accept that. I won’t accept losing you, Y/N. I don’t care what happens— We’ll find another way, together."

"We can’t..." The words caught in your throat, heavy with finality, but Zayne was still holding you close, his face inches from yours. He wouldn’t let go, his determination unwavering as he searched your eyes for any sign of hope. But you knew the truth. No matter how much you loved him, no matter how desperately you wished for a different ending, this was the only path that could be walked.

"Y/N..." he whispers, his voice shaking just slightly. "I don't want to lose you. I’m not going anywhere. Please."

"I care for you so much... this is why I’m doing this, Zayne," you say, your voice cracking. You pull back slightly, but you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. "Please understand."

Zayne is silent for a moment, his hands still resting on your arms. His grip tightens, but there is no anger, only something softer, more broken. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks again.

"How can I understand if you’re pushing me away? It’s killing me." His words sting, but there is no malice in them—just raw emotion, as if the weight of your distance is slowly suffocating him.

"You don’t—understand..." The words catch in your throat, heavy with emotion, and you can barely form the sentence. You pull back slightly to look up at him, your hands trembling as you wipe your eyes.

"I understand you think you’re protecting me," Zayne says gently, his voice low but steady. "But I choose you, no matter what the future holds. I care about you. Don’t shut me out like this."

You shake your head, your chest tightening as if the air has suddenly grown thicker. "You don’t get it, Zayne..."

"No, you don't get it" Zayne says softly, his hand lifting to gently cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him. "You’re my choice. You always have been. Always will be."

“Final boarding call for train 731 to Solivara City. All passengers please proceed to Platform 12 immediately.”

It was the last call. You had no more time to argue, no more time to pretend you could change fate.

You closed your eyes, squeezing them shut against the tears that had been threatening to fall. "I have to go, Zayne." Your voice wavering while forcing a smile.

Zayne stiffened, his hand gripping your arm as he pulled you closer, his voice hoarse with the emotion he was struggling to hold back. "Y/N. Don’t do this. Please..."

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t let him follow you into this mess, couldn’t bear the thought of him carrying that burden again.

"I love you, Zayne," you choked out, and before he could respond, you gently pulled away, turning towards the platform.

He stood there, frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief, his heart breaking in silence as you walked away.

The final call to board echoed in the air, but the weight in your chest grew unbearable with every step you took.

But then, just as you reached the entrance to the platform, a hand shot out, grabbing your arm gently but firmly. You froze, your heart pounding as you slowly turned to face him. Zayne was standing there, breathing heavily, his expression desperate.

"Y/N..." His voice cracked. The words he tried to say were lost in a tide of emotions, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. There was only the sound of your hearts beating in sync, yet miles apart. You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the depth of the pain you were trying to avoid, reflected in his gaze.

But this—this wasn't just about him. It was about you, about the curse that had haunted your lives, about everything you were trying to protect him from. You blinked away tears that threatened to spill over, your heart torn between the overwhelming need to be with him and the crushing guilt that had held you captive for so long.

"Please..." Zayne whispered, his voice barely audible. "Please don’t leave me."

The final call for boarding rang out again, but you couldn’t make yourself move. Everything in you screamed to stay, to let him pull you back into his arms, to forget about the curse, about everything you were running from.

But then you remembered—if you stayed, it would be the same story as before. He would suffer again, and you couldn’t bear to watch him sacrifice everything, again.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice shaking. "I’m so sorry, Zayne."

Zayne's face crumpled, his hands trembling as he reached for you, his grip desperate. "Y/N..."

Without a word, you grabbed his face in your hands, pulling him down as you kissed him, fiercely, desperately— You poured all your love, all your regrets, and all your pain into that kiss.

But your heart was made up, and you pulled away, forcing your legs to move, your footsteps the hardest you had ever taken.

As you entered the train, you could still feel his presence. You could still feel his eyes on you. All you could do was shut your eyes, and ignore the ache building up inside your chest.

#zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x mc #zayne x reader #zayne angst #lads zayne #lads #lnds zayne #lnds #l&ds #l&ds zayne #angst

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catboymettaton · 1 day ago

Text

heaven is a place on earth 💖🍓

Misa and Matsuda friendship, 3.5k words, rated T. read on ao3 Valentine's Day 2011: Misa jumps from a building, hoping to reunite with Light. And then wakes up, still alive.

Tokyo looks so small from up here. Misa reaches out a gloved hand, traces the line of the street below. Cars honking, people scurrying, everyone in such a rush to go somewhere, to do something.

Misa is in no such hurry.

A man below is carrying flowers, so many they spill out of his arms. Another man has just emerged from a chocolate shop, bursting bag in tow. Women giggle as they pass by.

It is Misa’s second Valentine’s Day alone. It will also be her last.

She still can’t understand what the men kept saying. Light, her Light, couldn’t possibly be a killer. He loved her. He loved her so much. He would never lie to her, he would never put her in danger, he would never do anything to harm her. Light loved her.

And she still loves his ghost.

Perhaps, by the end of the day, she won’t be alone any longer.

She hikes her skirt up and clambers over the barrier. Her dress is awkward and makes it hard to move but that doesn’t matter because it makes her pretty. Misa is pretty. Light always told her that. It was okay when he was too busy to touch her, because he made sure she knew she was still pretty.

She’s wearing her contacts today. It’s the first time in a while, since she quit acting to be with him. He never even had the chance to give her a ring.

She touches her cross necklace. She’s never believed in that god, especially not since learning Shinigami were real. But she hopes all the same that heaven is just how it’s described in the books.

Misa is hungry, she realizes. She doesn’t know when she last ate. But it doesn’t matter, because heaven or not, soon her body will no longer need to be fed.

She’s craving apples.

She’s drawing this out too long. If it were Light up here, he’d have a grand speech to make for the world. He’d go out beautifully and gracefully and powerfully.

She declined to see the photographs. Couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her beloved all torn and bloody. Better to imagine him dignified and elegant, all poised on a crucifix.

The sun is beginning to dip below the horizon. It’s time.

Misa realizes, now, that she never planned her last words. Not that it matters, since no one will be close enough to hear. But with another moment’s thought, it becomes obvious.

She shuts her eyes. “I love you, Light.”

And she jumps.

…

Everything hurts and everything is bright and everything is so, so loud. This can’t be heaven at all.

Under the aches, she feels her heart beating away. Her chest rises and falls, with spikes of pain on every inhale. There’s no doubt about it: somehow, she’s alive.

I’m sorry, Light.

Her vision is blurred with pain, but she can make out machines beeping next to her. There’s tubes in her arm, and a tube down her throat, and maybe if she can knock one machine out of place then everything will go quiet and dark again, the way it’s supposed to be.

She reaches forward and the pain jolts all the way up her arm. She lets out a scream.

A nurse is there. “Oh, Miss Amane, you’re finally awake! I’m so glad to see you’ve pulled through. Here, let me help you with that pain.”

She reaches for a button. Misa wants to cry out, to beg her to end this, but she finds herself unable to speak.

The nurse pauses. “We were trying to find your next of kin, but we couldn’t locate any living relatives in the country. Is there a friend you’d like us to call?”

A name slips from her lips. It’s not a name she expected, or one she would have thought of if it weren’t for the drugs, surely.

“Touta Matsuda.”

The painkillers carry her away once more.

…

The next time she comes to, he’s hovering just inches from her face. She yelps in shock and then again in pain.

“I’m sorry, Misa-Misa! I didn’t mean to scare you! I just wanted to make sure you were still breathing, is all!”

Misa shuts her eyes. “Matsu… you came.”

“Of course I came! I was so worried when I saw the caller ID… I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Everything hurts,” she slurs.

“The nurses said it was a pretty nasty fall. You’re lucky you made it.”

“Lucky, huh…”

He places his hand over hers, gently, trying his best not to hurt her.

Light and Ryuzaki always called him an idiot. Called him the stupid one. But somehow, he seemed to know what to do when no one else did.

And he’s made it longer than both of them, hasn’t he?

“Misa.” His tone is serious this time. “Misa, when you get out of here, will you come home with me?”

Her eyes shoot open. “Um, you’re way too old for me and I-”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant at all!” He looks ashamed. “I just - I don’t want you to be alone, okay? They told me you don’t have any family, and with Li - I just think you must be pretty lonely now and I don’t want you to be lonely, okay?”

To not be lonely…

Misa has nearly forgotten what it was like to not be lonely.

Even when she and Light were living together, he was so busy, and she saw so little of him, and she knows he loves her but it was still hard to not miss him and she misses him so much and she was so lonely and he was so tired after work and he barely touched her at all and he loved her. He loves her! She knows he loves her!

But.

But she was still so lonely. Is so lonely.

She had friends before all this, but they’ve moved on, grown up, gotten married, settled down, had kids, stopped caring about ghost stories, stopped getting dressed up all fancy just to go get groceries, stopped caring about pop stars like Misa-Misa.

It would be nice to have a friend again.

“Okay,” she murmurs.

The nurse comes back. She sleeps again.

…

Her hospital stay is a blur. She can’t tell how long she’s been there, when one day ends and another begins. She’s fed through a tube and she pees into a bedpan, which is so yucky but she knows she can’t stand.

And Matsuda is there by her side day in and day out.

“You don’t have to stay,” she mumbles. “Go back to the police. They’ll call you when I’m all better.”

He shakes his head. “No, Misa. I - I want to know you’re okay. I need to know you’re okay.”

So he stays.

After some time, she can sit up. They take the feeding tube out while she’s asleep and Matsuda feeds her congee, one spoonful at a time. It’s all plain and kinda gross but the doctors say she needs to be gentle with her stomach.

Matsuda watches the nurses transfer her to a wheelchair so she can pee in a real toilet. It feels good.

In the evenings, he brushes her hair. It’s gotten horribly knotted from all the lying around, but he does his best to tease out the knots.

“Maybe I should just cut this all off,” Misa muses. “Would make it a lot easier for you.”

“But it’s so pretty.” He eases a comb through the back of her head.

“I’m not gonna be pretty with all these bruises anyway.” Misa thinks it over, and decides. “I want you to cut it off.”

The nurses provide scissors, and Misa’s bleach-blond crown falls to her feet. She wonders how far her roots have grown out now. She hasn’t been brunette since her parents were alive.

She gets stronger. She’s allowed to eat eggs again, and then even some sweets.

She thinks about Ryuzaki and his cake. She can tell Matsuda does too. Neither of them brings it up.

Finally, Misa is discharged. She can walk a little, but needs crutches. Matsuda takes her home to his apartment, where he’s set up his spare room for her. The bed is lush with comfy pillows, there’s a table next to it just how she likes it. She realizes he must have remembered from Task Force Headquarters.

Six years ago feels like a different lifetime.

…

She’s been living at his place for a week when he brings it up over breakfast.

“Misa,” he begins. “I know this is really hard to talk about. But I need to know.”

She takes a bite of her rice and nods. She already knows what’s coming.

“It was Valentine’s Day. You climbed over the railing. You were trying to die, weren’t you?”

“Yes.” She’s not upset. She feels numb to it, actually. “It was Valentine’s Day. I wanted to spend it with my Light.”

Matsuda shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“It’s just not fair,” she continues. She knows her voice is whiny and it’s not cute when a grown woman is whiny when she isn’t an idol anymore but she can’t help it. She misses him and everything hurts. “It’s not fair that he’s gone, and I’m still here, and I just wanted to see him again. I was supposed to see him again.”

“Misa. I know how you felt about Light. I know you want to believe he was good, but -”

“But he loves me! Loved me. He loved me so much. And I loved him too and I loved him so much, more than anyone else in the world so you’re wrong you can’t possibly know how I feel.”

His voice is shaking. “Misa, I loved him too.”

There are many ways to love. You can love your friends, you can love your family, you can love the color pink and pretty dresses.

But the way he said it can only mean one type of love.

She squints at him, trying to detect if this is some weird joke. “But you - but -”

“I fell in love with Light Yagami years ago. Of course I didn’t tell anyone. I don’t even think he knew. But… I trusted him. I thought he was honest, I thought he was righteous. He wasn’t scared to call Kira evil.” He takes a breath, trying to steady himself. He’s looking down at his bowl, not meeting her eyes.

“I - I had my doubts, you know? Not about him. About Kira, I - he stopped wars. He stopped crime. And that was good, I couldn’t convince myself that it wasn’t. And he didn’t get mad at me for that, and I thought it was because he was being gentle with me. But he wasn’t.”

He looks up at her, and she can tell it hurts. “Misa, Light was a very cruel man. Even if we both loved him.”

“But he loves me! He loves me! He could never do all the things they said he did.” She’s had this conversation before, with her reflection. She’s had it many times, and it always goes the same. “I know my Light, he would never do anything to hurt other people, and he definitely wouldn’t do all that killing!”

“He confessed it all to us before he died. He thought he’d won.” He’s starting to cry now. It’s his fault for bringing it up, so she doesn’t feel bad. “His plan was to kill us all. We were the last thing in his way, that’s all he ever thought of us.”

His voice is breaking, his words are barely coming out clearly. “I thought - I don’t know what I thought, but - I thought he cared about me, I - of course he didn’t feel the same but I thought we were friends. He was my best friend, Misa. He was my best friend.

“He was my best friend and I - I was just - I was just another pawn, I - He - he wanted me to be his little attack dog, he wanted me to - to shoot -” He loses his composure completely here and Misa averts her eyes.

“No.” She stumbles to her feet, clutches her crutches. “No, you can’t - he couldn’t have. He wasn’t -”

She trips and he catches her. “Misa. I’m sorry.”

…

Misa looks in the mirror. Her deep brown hair has grown just enough that she can run her fingers through it.

It occurs to her that soon it’ll look like Light’s.

Her chest aches whenever she thinks of him, and she’s sure it isn’t because of her fractured ribs.

Nothing Matsuda says makes sense, except it makes perfect sense, horrifying sense, at the same time, and she doesn’t want to believe it, she can’t believe it, except -

There are things she can’t ignore. Pieces that don’t quite fit together.

He says Light took her memories away to keep him safe. Her memories of being Kira. He says she helped him as Kira, that she killed people.

She wants to deny it. She wants to say no, Misa-Misa is a good girl, Misa-Misa wouldn’t kill.

But she remembers. She remembers how good it felt to see her parents’ murderer’s name and body on the news. She remembers her passion growing as Kira’s kills ramped up further and further.

Of course, she was young and dumb and she has grown up since then. Light dedicated his life to catching Kira, and nothing was more important than making Light happy, so that meant catching Kira was a good thing. She realized it was wrong to idolize a murderer, that Kira was evil, that Kira had to be stopped. She realized that killing was bad and murder wasn’t justice at all.

But Light didn’t believe any of that.

She’d restructured her mind around a total lie. Light didn’t go to America to catch Kira, he went to protect himself.

Her memories of their overseas stay are fractured. She remembers sleeping alone in a big hotel bed. She remembers coming home from her Hollywood shoot to an empty room, not even a note. And there are stretches of time she can’t remember, which is normal because it’s been three years, except she cherished every minute she had with Light, so why can’t she remember half of their conversations?

He had gotten colder and colder as time went on. In the beginning, they made love nearly every night, but they hadn’t slept together in three months by the end.

He must have been too busy with Kiyomi.

He told her Kiyomi was just another part of the investigation. That the feelings weren’t real at all.

But if he was on Kira’s side after all, then - he had lied about that. It wasn’t part of the investigation. And did he lie about the feelings?

Did he lie about loving her?

She tries to focus on the beginning, when everything was good. Wasn’t everything good? She remembers finally leaving confinement, finally being able to rest in his arms, back where she belonged.

He had said something then, something that bothered her. What was it?

He said… he said that she wouldn’t leave him alone. But that didn’t make any sense. Why wouldn’t he want to spend time with his girlfriend? Why would he want her to leave him alone?

She tried not to think about it. She tried to focus on after they got out, when they moved into their apartment and finally got to have a normal romance. Finally got rid of that creep Ryuzaki.

But if he really lied about wanting to catch Kira, if he really lied about all of that -

But he told her he loved her so much. He told her he loved her all the time.

If he didn’t love her, then what was she doing these past six years?

If he didn’t love her, then why did she jump?

…

“When did you fall in love with Light?”

She can walk with a cane now, and Matsuda takes her out to the park on weekends. He’s gone back to work, now that he trusts her to make it through eight hours alone. He doesn’t talk about it and she doesn’t ask.

He looks away from her, breathes a heavy sigh. They try not to talk about Light, but his ghost hangs heavy in the air.

“I met him as a teenager. He was brilliant for his age, but of course I saw him as a kid. During the investigation, once he took control -” His voice breaks a bit. “It - it felt so wrong, he was like a little brother, but… I saw his confidence, his competence, his brilliance. He was so damn charismatic.”

Misa knows. Misa understands completely.

“And then when we were alone in LA… he trusted me… and I trusted him too. He seemed so committed.” He swallows. “And - he was so handsome in that damn turtleneck.”

Misa nods. She also liked the turtleneck.

He sighs. “But it was all an act. All of it. He called his father a loser and a fool in the end. His father, his hero.”

Light loved his father. Light loved his father so much. Light was devastated when he died.

“He called you an idiot.”

He’d said it to her face before too, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because he loved her.

Didn’t he love her?

He said he loved her. He told her she was cute. He told her she was a great girlfriend. He’d even asked her to quit acting to marry him.

He was such a sweet talker.

But had he ever really looked at her? Had he ever touched her without her reaching out first? Had he ever asked her about how her shoots were going, or taken her somewhere nice without her asking?

He hadn’t even remembered her 25th birthday. 25 on December 25th, a big number, and he’d been too busy hunting down Kira.

Not hunting down Kira. Hunting down the people trying to stop Kira.

Hunting down the people trying to stop him.

Would he have turned on Misa, too, if he’d lived?

She reaches for Matsuda with her free hand. His arm fits nicely in her palm. They walk together in silence a little longer.

…

Misa’s bangs get in her face. She cuts half of them off so she looks like Matsuda. Matsuda puts his hair up in tiny pigtails.

Misa swims in Matsuda’s suit jacket. Matsuda’s shoulders strain against Misa’s shirt.

They look at each other like clowns in a funhouse mirror. They touch their palms together.

In each other, they see that cursed love for Light Yagami.

They change back. Misa shaves that side of her head.

Somehow, life goes on.

…

On Valentine’s Day in 2012, Misa bakes a cake.

Matsuda offered to take the day off, in case it was too hard, but Misa insisted she was fine, and she is. And she wanted to surprise him.

Misa is an awful cook. She always has been, and she’s accepted that she always will be. But baking seems straightforward. If she reads carefully, measures slowly, everything will be okay.

It’s messy. She spills flour all over the counter. She has to start over when she puts in too much salt. She hopes Matsuda didn’t need all that sugar.

She’s never going to act again. She can walk mostly fine, but she can’t run or jump or push herself too hard. She’ll never model again, with the scars that haven’t quite healed.

She’s gotten into writing ghost stories. She posts them anonymously. Her blog isn’t popular, but that’s okay. It gives her something to do.

Matsuda is nice to her. He seems to care about her in a way that Light never did. They aren’t in love, not romantically, but they fit together well. He reads her blog and he likes her stories. He thanks her when she cleans the house. And he remembered her birthday, and took her to a Christmas market so she could pick out her own gift.

She stirs the batter. She realizes she forgot to preheat the oven and rushes to set it. Matsuda says preheating is very important.

She thinks about how small the city looked. She thinks about her last fleeting thoughts of heaven. She touches her cross necklace; that’s one thing that hasn’t changed. The dress was wrecked, but that’s okay. She’s okay.

Maybe she was looking for heaven in the wrong place. Maybe heaven doesn’t come after death. Maybe heaven is now, in this little kitchen, where she’s still breathing and her heart is still beating.

When Matsuda comes home, she’s just finished icing the cake. It’s bright pink for the holiday (and because it’s Misa’s favorite). She cuts them each a slice even though they haven’t had dinner yet.

She got it just right. It’s the best strawberry cake she’s ever had.

#misa amane #touta matsuda #death note #death note fic #my writing #suicide

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andy-15-07 · 2 days ago

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Ok i have this idea and I wanted to ask if you could write it: You’re mother is a friend of Lucilla and she send you to live with Lucilla too keep her company when Acacius has to fight wars for the emperors you’re mother fought it was an win win situation as you can learn from Lucilla and you can keep her company. The night of the day general Acacius returned you find yourself wandering trough the Villa you walk past the bedchamber of Lucilla and Acacius and can’t help but stop in you’re track as you hear noises from the room but they are not of talking they sound more like someone was in pain you never heard something like that. The next day you take all you’re courage together and ask an servents which gets red like an tomato and try’s to explain to you the concept of sex.❤️

Echoes of the Villa

Pairing:Lucilla x reader x platonic! Marcus Acacius Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The villa was alive with celebration, the sounds of laughter and music filling the air as General Acacius returned triumphant from yet another victorious campaign. Your mother had long been a friend of Lucilla, Acacius’s wife, and in the wake of his departures for the emperor's wars, she had sent you to live with the family. The arrangement seemed perfect—your mother believed it would be beneficial for you to learn from Lucilla’s wisdom and experience, while you could also provide her with some much-needed company in her husband’s absence. It was a win-win situation.

You had settled into life in the villa over the past few months, adjusting to the beauty of the sprawling gardens, the hum of everyday life, and the quiet elegance of your host. Lucilla was everything your mother had described—graceful, composed, and full of knowledge. She was a beacon of calm, always ready with a gentle word of advice and encouragement. Yet, as the night of Acacius’s return stretched on, there was a feeling in the air that you couldn’t quite explain—a sense of curiosity mixed with the unease of unfamiliar things.

Unable to sleep after the feast, you found yourself wandering the villa’s grand corridors, the silence of the night pressing down on you. Your sandals whispered against the marble floors as you walked, your mind still buzzing with the sounds of the celebration. It was then that you passed by the grand bedchamber of Lucilla and Acacius.

You had heard their voices before, their quiet conversations, soft laughter, and shared moments. But tonight, something was different. As you neared the door, you froze in your tracks, your heart thudding in your chest. There were sounds from the room, but they weren’t the sounds of conversation. They were strange, unfamiliar, almost like... someone in pain. Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t the kind of sound you’d ever heard before, and it filled you with confusion and a sense of discomfort.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, trying to make sense of it. Were they arguing? Was Lucilla unwell? Your cheeks flushed with heat, and after what felt like an eternity, you hurried away, your mind racing with questions. You had never imagined that something like this could happen in a house as peaceful as Lucilla’s.

The next morning, the memory of the night clung to you, making it difficult to focus on the breakfast table where Lucilla greeted you with a warm smile. She was every bit as composed as usual, giving no sign that the night had been anything out of the ordinary. Yet, you couldn’t shake the questions from your mind. You needed to understand what you had heard.

Summoning all the courage you could muster, you sought out one of the servants—a young woman who had always been patient with your endless inquiries. You had spent weeks getting to know her, and she seemed kind-hearted and willing to help. You approached her quietly, glancing around to ensure no one else was nearby.

“Tell me,” you began, your voice low. “Last night… I heard something from Lady Lucilla’s room. It sounded like... pain. Is she unwell?”

The servant’s eyes widened, and she immediately turned bright red, her face flushing to the color of ripe fruit. She shifted nervously, glancing down at the ground, before finally meeting your gaze with a mixture of embarrassment and hesitation.

“Well, my lady…” she stammered, looking like she wanted to be anywhere but here, “what you heard wasn’t what you think.”

You furrowed your brow in confusion, unsure how to respond. “Then what was it?” you asked, a slight quiver in your voice.

The servant glanced around once more, her face still flushed. “It’s... well, it’s a private matter between a husband and wife,” she explained, her voice dropping even lower. “When they... share affection.”

You blinked, the words taking a moment to sink in. Then, like a sudden wave, understanding washed over you, and your cheeks instantly turned a bright shade of crimson. “Oh,” you whispered, feeling suddenly embarrassed for even asking. “I see.”

The servant let out a small, relieved sigh, though her face remained a shade of pink. “It’s not something to be ashamed of, my lady. It’s perfectly normal. Just... startling if you’re not used to it.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to process what she had told you. The villa’s mysteries were far more intricate than you had imagined, and your newfound understanding of the private lives of adults left you feeling both enlightened and awkward.

Later that day, as you sat in the garden, the soft scent of blooming flowers filling the air, you tried to focus on the lessons Lucilla had been teaching you about managing a household. But your mind kept returning to what you had learned, your cheeks still warm with the memory of the conversation.

Lucilla herself joined you shortly after, her graceful presence grounding you as always. She sat down beside you, her gaze gentle but perceptive.

“You’ve been quiet today,” she said, noting the distant look in your eyes. “Is something on your mind?”

You hesitated, unsure of how to broach the subject, but then you remembered her kindness and openness. “It’s nothing,” you murmured, though the words didn’t feel entirely true. “I didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all.”

Lucilla gave you a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling with understanding. “The walls of this villa are thin,” she remarked lightly. “The sounds of the night often carry farther than we expect. I remember when I first came here after my marriage. It took some time to get used to it.”

Your eyes widened in embarrassment, but Lucilla simply placed a gentle hand on your arm. “It’s natural to wonder, my dear. There’s no shame in curiosity. We all have things we don’t understand, things we’re hesitant to ask about. But know this—what happens between Acacius and me is something private, something sacred we share.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words. The confusion that had gripped you the night before began to ease, and you realized that you had much to learn, not just about running a household but about life itself.

“If you ever wish to talk about such things,” Lucilla continued, her voice gentle but firm, “you can always come to me. It’s better to ask than to remain in the dark.”

You looked at her, grateful for her openness. “Thank you, my lady,” you said softly. “I appreciate your kindness.”

Lucilla smiled and stood, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Come, let’s take a walk,” she suggested. “There’s much to life in this villa beyond what you’ve learned so far.”

As you walked together through the garden, the questions that had once seemed so overwhelming began to feel less daunting. With Lucilla’s guidance, you knew you would grow, both as a person and in your understanding of the world around you.

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