#that's as much as i will allow. i have spoken. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

catchastarorten · 1 day ago

Text

—Two sides of a coin.

Pairing: Young-il / Hwang In-ho x fem!reader

Summary: when he went into the games and blended in as a player, he didn’t expect himself to start caring for you so much. However, during Mingle, he realized you might not be so different from him…

Warnings: In-ho & Young-il are interchangeable—I used both in here, violence, death, him being concerned for you a lot, fast-paced, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 2.0k

You had caught his attention early on, long before you had even spoken to him. You weren’t like the others—no frantic alliances, no desperate pleas. You moved through the games like a shadow, calculating but not ruthless, detached but not cold. You held people at a distance, but you weren’t cruel about it. That intrigued him.

He watched how the others in his group gravitated toward you, despite knowing next to nothing about you. You let them in just enough to function as a team, but no further. And yet, there were moments when you let something slip—when your guard lowered just slightly, a half-smile at Jung-bae and Dae-ho, a quick hand extended to steady Jun-hee when she winced in pain, her hands covering her stomach.

It made In-ho wonder. Who were you, really? What had brought you here?

More than that—why did he care?

He wasn’t supposed to. He was here with a purpose. Not to get attached. And yet, every time a new game started and ended, his first instinct was to check on you. To make sure you were still there. Still breathing. Still alive.

Like now.

The platform beneath him whirred as Mingle began again, spinning slow but fast enough to disorient, especially in a state of panic, though he barely felt it. The more players lost, the more chaotic it became. Fear made people desperate, and desperate people were unpredictable.

His eyes stayed on you.

You stood with your usual quiet focus, weight balanced perfectly, already anticipating the moment the platform would stop.

The moment the platform jerked to a halt, the voice crackled overhead:

“Five.”

Panic erupted around him instantly.

People lunged, grabbing at whoever was closest, shoving and clawing to form groups. He ignored them all, moving toward you. His hand reached out, fingers brushing your wrist—

And then someone crashed into him.

The impact sent him stumbling just enough to lose sight of you.

His heart pounded against his ribs.

No.

Shoving past bodies, he searched for you, ignoring the hands trying to pull him into groups, or Dae-ho’s constant call for him. The countdown was already ticking down, but his only thought was find her, find her, find her.

Then he saw you.

You had spotted the others—Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, and Dae-ho. They were waving at you, shouting from the front of one of the rooms they found empty.

Four.

They needed one more.

You didn’t make a move right away, your head turning around as if you were looking for something—or someone. Then, your eyes locked with In-ho, the lingering look told him to go with the group, and he felt his breath hitch.

Before In-ho could try to communicate that you needed to be the one who’s safe—you ran.

Not towards the room, but into the waves of people scrambling to find others to get into a room.

He cursed under his breath and ran toward the other four, who all shouted for him.

The doors slammed shut. His breathing quickened by the thought of you being eliminated. What if you didn’t find another group? What if you didn’t find a room?

A moment later, the final buzzer sounded, and the doors locked.

The ones who had failed to form groups pounded against the locked doors, their screams cut short by the inevitable gunshots. The guards moved in, silent and efficient, dragging the bodies away.

It should have been routine. In-ho had seen this before. He had orchestrated it before.

But he barely saw any of it.

Because all he could think was—was she inside?

Had you made it?

When the clean-up was over, the doors unlocked, allowing the players to come out of the rooms. In-ho’s first thought was to look for you in the crowds of players.

You stepped out from another room. Alive.

He felt the air rush from his lungs.

For a second, he didn’t move. Just stood there, taking in the sight of you, as if his mind needed proof. You walked out with that same composed stride, only the slight rise and fall of your chest betraying the fact that you had almost died.

And then—then you smirked.

That soft, knowing smirk. Like you were telling him, I’m fine. See? You didn’t need to worry.

Something inside him snapped.

Before he could stop himself, his feet carried him forward, fast, almost desperate. He barely registered the others, barely cared if they noticed.

He just needed—

He stopped inches away from you.

His breath was steady, but his hands twitching at his sides. He had almost lost you. The realization crashed into him harder than it should have. It unsettled him, made his pulse hammer in a way he didn’t like. He had known fear before, but never like this.

And you—damn you, you just stood there, watching him with those unreadable eyes. You had no idea. No idea how close he was to pulling you into his arms just to make sure you were real. To confirm you were still here. He forced himself to breathe, to shove the instinct down.

You smirked again, tilting your head slightly. “Missed me?”

“You worried me.” Young-il said simply, trying to calm himself, giving you a smile, though it felt a bit forced.

“I saved you too.”

—

The last round.

The tension was suffocating.

126 players left. Only 50 rooms. It meant 26 people were guaranteed to die if the remaining players were required to form pairs.

You felt it in the way the bodies around you tensed, the way some players shifted closer together, while others eyed their competition like prey.

The platform had barely stopped spinning when the announcement came.

“Two.”

Young-il didn’t hesitate. He didn’t stop to think, didn’t give himself a moment to assess. His body moved purely on instinct. His hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist in a firm grip, and before you could react, he pulled you forward.

“Come on!"

There was no time to wait. No time to look for anyone else. He needed you by his side, needed to ensure that you wouldn’t be swallowed by the chaos erupting all around.

And it was chaos.

Players lunged for one another, hands grabbing, shoving, desperate to form pairs before the rooms filled. The knowledge that not everyone would make it—that some would be left behind to die—drove them to madness. Some scrambled without thought, others moved with purpose, pulling people down, throwing punches, trampling those too slow to keep up.

The room was in sight.

Not far. Just a few more feet.

Then something slammed into him.

A body, heavy and frantic, slammed into his side with brute force, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him crashing to the ground. The grip on your wrist slipped away as his back hit the hard platform floor.

The player who tackled him was bigger—strong, but wild with panic. His hands clawed at Young-il’s teal tracksuit, trying to shove him back down. A split second’s hesitation in a game like this could mean death. He knew that.

But before he could fully react—before he could twist the man off him and take back control, you were already moving. No hesitation. You grabbed the man’s collar, your grip brutal and sure, and yanked him off with shocking strength. Young-il barely had time to register the movement before—

Crack.

A sickening sound, one that echoed in the madness.

Your foot came down hard, precise, against the man’s leg. The force of it snapped the bone like it was nothing more than a twig beneath your heel.

The man screamed—a raw, gut-wrenching sound—but it was already over. He collapsed, writhing, his face twisted in agony. But you weren’t looking at him, you were looking at Young-il.

And for the first time in a very, very long time, In-ho was stunned. Not by the violence. He had seen worse. Done worse.

But by you.

The sheer efficiency of it. The lack of hesitation, the brutal finality in the way you moved. You didn’t even look at the man after you broke him. You didn’t hesitate, didn’t tremble, didn’t stop to think about what you had just done. There was no regret in your eyes. No guilt. Just cold, calculated action.

For a single breath, he just stared at you, trying to make sense of what he had just seen, of who he was looking at.

Then your fingers curled around his arm, yanking him to his feet with a sharp, urgent tug.

“Move!”

That single word shattered whatever had frozen him.

He shoved the thoughts aside and ran with you, the chaos of the game roaring in his ears. He could process it later. Right now, all that mattered was survival.

The room was just ahead, one of the few left.

One last sprint.

Young-il pulled you forward, feet pounding against the floor. Almost there.

You both got inside.

The door slammed shut behind you.

For a moment, the world outside faded, the noise of screams muffled by the walls enclosing you both. The sheer brutality of the game had been left outside the door. Inside was silence, heavy and suffocating.

But then—a presence... A third person in the small room with you and Young-il.

A man stood against the far wall, panting, sweat forming on his forehead.

Young-il’s stomach coiled.

You weren’t safe yet.

“There’s only room for two,” he said, voice calm, controlled.

The man’s breathing hitched. His wild, panicked eyes darted between you and Young-il, looking for a way out, a way through.

“I—I was here first,” the man stammered. His voice wavered.

Young-il stepped forward, his presence looming, his voice quiet but sharp.

“Get out.”

The man flinched but held his ground. Desperation flickered in his expression, the refusal to accept his fate. “No way,” the other player tried to sound firm, his eyes flickered between the two of you again, desperate. “Please.”

Young-il exhaled sharply. There was no point in wasting words.

In a single, fluid motion, his arm shot out, wrapping around the man’s throat. The struggle was brief. Short-lived. The other player clawed at Young-il's arm, his legs kicking as they slowly slid down against the wall.

A sharp, sickening crack filled the air, final and absolute.

The body went limp against him. Dead weight.

Young-il let go of the body.

His breathing was quickened, but his eyes were steady. His heartbeat calm. He had done this before. Many times. It didn’t shake him. Didn’t bother him.

He looked up at you, and once again, you surprised him.

Because you weren’t shocked. You weren’t even remotely fazed. You stood by the door, blocking it, your eyes locking with his as if you had expected this outcome from the moment you entered and saw the other player. You hadn’t gasped, hadn’t flinched, hadn’t looked at him like he just committed some great treason.

You had simply accepted it as fast as it came.

And that—that sent something twisting inside him in a way he didn’t fully understand.

He had seen it in the way you moved, in the way you made decisions without hesitation. He had seen it in the way you had broken that man’s leg without a second thought, in the way you had looked at him after—assessing, calculating, but never afraid.

And now, in the quiet aftermath of the kill, you weren’t recoiling from him either.

No.

You were simply watching.

Like you had known all along exactly what he was capable of. And you didn’t care.

That sent a strange, sharp feeling through him. A curiosity. An understanding.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The doors locked with a click as the timer ran out, the sound of gunshots filled the air, the distant screams beyond the door fading as the game ended.

Finally, he exhaled, his fingers twitching at his side.

“We’re alive,” he said, voice steady. You just gave him a nod, turning your back to him as you looked to the chaos outside through the small space on the door.

Young-il rested against the wall, his mind processing all that had happened.

Then, his lips curled, a soft smirk that you couldn’t see.

316 notes · View notes

iamgonnagetyouback · 3 days ago

Text

run away ⋆˚࿔

synopsis ⭑.ᐟ regulus black x younger potter!reader where the night sirius ran away, so did regulus's freedom and fuck he just needed someone to listen

warnings: black brothers angst like too much angst, mentions of telephone usage, use of y/n once

word count: 1,511 words

author's note: i literally cried while writing this ૮(˶╥︿╥)ა

navigation┆regulus black masterlist┆request here 𝜗𝜚

The house still smelled like rain and warmth and home, but there was something off in the air—something heavy, like the ghosts of words Sirius hadn’t spoken yet. The walls seemed to hum with it, the kind of silence that wasn’t really silent at all, just waiting for someone to break it.

When Sirius stumbled through the door, he wasn’t just tired. He was wrecked. Ruined in a way that wasn’t just about the night or the journey or the cold rain still clinging to his skin. It was deeper than that, something carved into the very marrow of him.

Physically, you could see the damage—the way his hands shook when he ran them through his tangled hair, the way his clothes clung to him, damp and disheveled, the way his chest rose and fell like he had been running for miles and still hadn’t stopped. But it was his eyes that made your stomach twist.

They were empty. Not in the way that meant he felt nothing, but in the way that meant he had felt too much. Like someone had taken a chisel to his ribs and hollowed him out from the inside. There was something shattered behind them, something raw, something that shouldn’t have existed in someone as young as he was.

And beneath it all, beneath the exhaustion and the cold and the ache of everything that had come before this moment—there was hesitation.

Sirius stood in the doorway like he wasn’t sure if he should be here. If he was allowed to be here. His shoulders were curled in, defensive in a way you had never seen before, like he was bracing for something—like the weight of an entire life spent waiting for a slap or a sneer or a word meant to cut deep had followed him even now, even here, to the one place that was supposed to be safe.

He didn’t know how to be wanted.

He didn’t know how to be safe.

And he didn’t know if he was allowed to want those things.

For a horrible, aching moment, you wondered how long it had been like this. If there had ever been a time in his life when Sirius Black had come home and felt like he belonged there. If he had ever walked through a door without the lingering fear that this time, this time, it would all be ripped away.

It made you feel sick.

Because this wasn’t a stranger standing in front of you, looking like the world had swallowed him whole. This wasn’t some distant name in the halls of Hogwarts.

This was Sirius. Your brother’s best friend. Your almost-brother.

And he didn’t even know how to let himself be here.

Your parents didn’t ask questions, didn’t press for details. They just took him in. The way they had always said they would. The way you and James had begged Sirius to believe, time and time again, when he brushed off bruises with easy grins and covered up scars with careless words.

Your dad clapped a hand on his shoulder, firm but gentle, the kind of touch that said, You’re safe now. The kind of touch Sirius had never received from a father before—not like this, not without conditions. And your mum—she..she had simply held him. Wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in, like she was trying to shield him from every cruel thing that had ever been done to him. She smoothed his rain-damp hair, rubbed slow circles into his back, just like she had done for you when you were small, when you had scraped your knee or woken up crying from a nightmare.

At first, Sirius had barely reacted. He stood stiff and still, like he didn’t know what to do with kindness when it wasn’t laced with ulterior motives. But then, for just a second, his fingers curled into the fabric of her cardigan. Just for a moment. Just long enough that you saw it—the way his shoulders caved in, the way something inside him caved in.

And then it was gone. He pulled away like it had never happened, like he hadn’t let himself need something, even for a fraction of a second.

James was different. James had never looked at Sirius the way other people did. Not like a Black. Not like a disappointment. Not like anything less than family. Just like a brother.

He didn’t ask if Sirius was staying. He didn’t offer. He decided.

“C’mon, mate. You’re staying in my room.”

No argument. No hesitation. No moment of doubt or waiting for Sirius to earn his place. Just James, just certainty, just the unshakable, undeniable fact that Sirius belonged here.

It wasn’t the first time he had said it. It wasn’t the first time you had said it, either.

If it ever gets too much. If they push too hard. If you don’t have anywhere else to go. Just come here. No explanations. No questions. No conditions.

Just come home.

And now, after all these years, after everything—he finally had.

You had been on your way to your room when the phone rang—sharp, jarring against the hush that had settled over the house. It made you jump, made your breath catch in your throat, the sound so out of place after everything that had just happened.

You had been on your way to your room when the phone rang, sharp and sudden against the silence. You grabbed it without thinking, pressing the receiver to your ear.

"Hello?"

At first, nothing.

Just the distant hum of the line. The faintest trace of static. A breath, maybe—so quiet you weren’t sure if you imagined it.

And then—so small, so broken, so unlike the person it belonged to, you barely caught it—

"…Sirius?"

You froze.

The voice it was- it was familiar.

Too familiar.

The voice was wrong, and yet—not. It was fragile in a way you had never heard it before, stripped raw, like someone had taken all the armor and arrogance and sharp edges and crushed them under their heel.

Something in your chest ached.

And then—soft, confused, uncertain—

"…Y/n?"

Your heart nearly stopped.

"Regulus?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Heavy. Suspended in the space between breaths.

You could hear it—the way his breathing hitched, the way the hesitation deepened.

You had never spoken to him like this before.

Not once.

Not in all the years you had shared a school, a year, a name that carried weight in the world of magic.

Regulus Black had always been something distant. The boy who walked the same halls but never walked with you. The one who never spoke unless spoken to, whose silence had been a language of its own. You had never really known him, never really tried. And neither had he.

But now—now he was here, on the phone, whispering your name like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say it.

Because he was Sirius’s brother.

Because he had always been untouchable.

And now—now he sounded nothing like the Black heir. Nothing like the sharp, cold figure people imagined him to be. He sounded lost. He sounded frightened.

He sounded alone.

You had always wondered what it was like for Regulus. What it was like to be the son that stayed. The one who obeyed. The one who didn’t run.

But listening to him now, you weren’t sure he had ever really had a choice.

You swallowed hard.

"Regulus?" you repeated, softer this time, gentler.

The silence stretched.

And then, finally—almost too quiet to hear, like he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to be heard—

"Is he there?"

And fuck.

The way he said it. Not demanding, not entitled. Just… pleading.

Like he already knew the answer but needed to hear it anyway. Like the words hurt to say, like they physically hurt.

Like he had spent every moment since Sirius left waiting—hoping—that maybe, just maybe, his brother hadn’t really gone. That maybe it wasn’t forever.

"Do you…" You hesitated, unsure how to navigate this. "Do you want to talk to him?"

Regulus didn’t respond right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before.

"No," he said. "He wouldn’t want to talk to me."

It wasn’t bitter. It wasn’t resentful. Just…matter-of-fact. Like he had already convinced himself it was true.

You didn’t know what to say.

And Regulus, maybe sensing it, maybe regretting it, let out a breath. It was barely anything, just the ghost of a sound, but it cracked at the edges.

"You don’t have to talk," he murmured. "Just… just leave the phone open. I—I just need to say it. Just once."

His voice wavered.

"Then you can hang up. I won’t bother you again."

Your grip on the phone tightened.

Because fuck, you didn’t know what he was going to say. You didn’t know if you even wanted to hear it. But you also knew—you knew—that whatever it was, he had never been able to say it before.

And maybe, for once, someone needed to listen.

131 notes · View notes

foolinthera1n · 2 days ago

Text

✮ BORN TO DIE

─ dw x fem!reader

cw! angst, blood, break ups, fighting, mentions of death, slight religious aspects

dean didn't think. he didn't breathe, didn't blink, didn't even take his eyes off the road as he sped the impala down the highway, fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel. he hadn't taken his foot off the gas since he got in the car, not since he heard your voicemail, and he only stepped on it harder when bobby called.

the shakiness of your voice haunted him, the spluttering laugh that turned into a gut wrenching coughing fit echoed like a broken record in his head, only making him push the speed limit harder. bobby's voice had been calm, but dean could hear the undertone of panic in the old man's voice that reflected his own.

so dean drove as fast as he could without burning baby's tires, his heart in his throat as your last confession rang in his ears.

i'm just sorry i wont get to tell you i love you one last time.

it was dean's birthday, of all days─not that he ever really celebrated it. in fact sam had been out grabbing pie and a case of beers for the two of them, when dean had finally checked his phone after being caught up in a shifter case all day, his heart dropping as he saw you had left him a voicemail.

he knew you wouldn't call unless something was seriously wrong, you had told him as much the last time you called, which was mostly telling him to stop drunk calling you. so his hands had shaken as he lifted the phone to his ear, his whole body freezing as your weak voice and self proclaimed last words were spoken through the phone.

it was by some miracle that bobby's call came just as your voicemail had finished, because only god knows what he would have done if he had been left to his own devices after possibly listening to you die in a voicemail. a fucking voicemail.

the only thing that stopped dean from going insane was bobby telling him that he had you, that he thinks you're stable, but he can't be sure, and he thinks dean is gonna want to see you.

so he didn't hesitate, not for a second, to throw his jacket on and grab his keys, only leaving sam a curt note about where he was going. thankfully, they weren't too far from bobby's place in sioux falls, having just come from a pit stop there themselves, so the only thing dean had to focus on was remembering the exit to take in a few miles.

as he drove though, he thought about you. he didn't want to think about your weak, shortening breaths that could be heard through the speaker of the phone, or the spluttering of blood from your mouth that he heard when you had coughed, so he focused on the last time he saw you.

you were beautiful. even when you were angry, especially when you were angry, like you were then, you were beautiful. and although his own anger simmered under his skin, he found himself lost in the way your lips moved as you spoke, and how the dim lighting of the motel room you were staying in cast a glow over you that formed a halo around your head, making you look angelic.

dean hated angels, he really did. and ever since finding out what brainless dicks they really were a few years ago, he doesn't like to compare things to them, but you. oh, you. dean thought that if he went back to the first days of existence and asked anyone what they thought an angel was, they would draw a picture of you.

you, with your eyes narrowed and lips pursed, shoulders tensed as you yelled at him, calling him overbearing and accusing him of not trusting you. god, he had wanted to kiss you so bad. he knew he could, you'd said before with a giggle that you loved when he shut you up by kissing you, but he'd figured in that moment that he wasn't allowed to do that.

it was only when you suggested that maybe things weren't going to work out anymore that he snapped out of it.

"what?" he had asked, heart dropping to his stomach as his eyes went wide. "what the hell are you talking about? we just need to talk it out."

"that's the problem, dean," you had argued, and dean had never hated himself more than when he saw the tears welling in your breath taking eyes. "we always say we're gonna talk it out, but we never do. it ends with us in the sheets, and just builds until we fight again, because you're too afraid to face your goddamn feelings!"

that had snapped something in dean, the accusation hitting right on the money as the natural instinct to push you away bubbled to the surface, rearing it's ugly head. "oh, i'm too scared?" he had spat, taking a step closer to you. "well, sweetheart, you're the one who is so incompetent that i have to save your ass every goddamn time!"

every second of every day since that moment, he wished he could take that back. he had said a lot of things during your relationship, but the one thing that he never insulted was your ability as a hunter. that was something that you just never did. and he knew he fucked up as soon as he had seen your face fall, tears welling so thickly in your hurt eyes that he hadn't been sure you could still see.

"is that how you feel?" you had asked, your voice small and breaking slightly.

dean had swallowed, trying to force down the self sabotaging words that were crawling up his throat, but they spilled out before he could stop them. "yeah. it is."

you had just looked at him with a searing hurt in your eyes that had burned a hole in his weeping heart, a tear finally slipping down your flushed cheek. "well, if that's really how you feel, then maybe i should just leave."

his bleeding heart had begged, cried, and screamed for him to take it back, to grab you in his arms and hold you until you stopped crying, for him to get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness until his bones ached and you smiled at him again.

but he didn't.

he just looked away from you, fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as he fought off tears of his own and muttered through gritted teeth, "maybe you should."

dean hadn't looked at you, but he had felt the weight of your stare as it burned through his bones. he still hadn't looked at you when you had muttered a broken, "fine", and walked over to the bed, and threw your stuff into your beat up duffle bag without a word.

you had stormed past him, your shoulder brushing his, but dean didn't stop you as you reached for the door. he only turned to face you when he heard you stop, forcing himself to keep a stoic expression, even as his aching mind, soul, and body begged him to grab you and not let you leave.

you had turned to face him then, your hand lingering on the doorknob, and he thinks a piece of his soul was chipped away when he saw the tears streaming down your cheeks.

dean had never used the term devastatingly beautiful, but that's what you had been then. because although the pain he had caused you was written on the features he cherished so much, tears dragging your makeup down your face, you still looked beautiful. devastatingly beautiful.

and even though the next words you had spoken had torn him into pieces, the beauty of you, inside and out, never left his rotten mind.

"i wish it wasn't so easy to love you."

dean snaps out of it as a mile sign whizzes by, and his vacant eyes flick to the speedometer to see that he's doing about twenty over the speed limit. he doesn't care though, all he cares about is that your heart is still beating. whether it's for him or not.

dean bursts into bobby's house, not bothering to knock as he rushes in, slamming the door behind him.

"bobby?" he calls out, trying to keep his voice level as no answer comes. "damnit, bobby, where are you?"

he's about to completely tear the place down when there's a rustling followed by heavy footsteps and a familiar voice. "don't blow the house down, boy, i'm right here."

bobby comes around the corner, into the hallway, and though usually there's a comfort in seeing the man dean considers a father figure, this time there's still an aching panic in his chest.

"where is she? is she okay? what happ-" dean cuts himself off as his eyes drift down to bobby's hands, which are covered in blood. your blood. "oh god.."

the old man seems to notice the look of pure terror on dean's face, and follows his gaze down to his hands, sighing at the sight of the blood.

"she's okay, dean," bobby tells him, taking a step towards him, and dean thinks he might be shaking. "there was a moment where-" he cuts himself off, looking away for a moment, as if debating what to say before he meets dean's gaze again. "there was a moment where i thought she wasn't, but she pulled through. she's okay now."

the moment the sincerity and truth of bobby's words rang through dean's head, he felt like he could finally breathe again. he let's out a deep exhale, wobbling slightly on his feet as he runs a hand over his face, cursing to himself softly.

after he takes a second to collect himself and calm his racing heart, he looks up at bobby, brow furrowed as he swallows down the suffocating panic. "can...can i see her?"

the old man hesitates, a protective edge in his eyes that makes dean realize that you probably told him everything. he watches as bobby thinks it over, before the old man sighs, his shoulders dropping slightly as he nods.

"yeah..you can see her," bobby agrees, but as dean takes a step forward, he holds up his hand, stopping dean in his tracks with a pointed look. "but i'm not so sure she's gonna want you there when she wakes up, kid. so if she opens her eyes and freaks out when she sees you, then y're gonna have to leave."

that chips another piece of dean's heart away, the fragment falling further into the pit of self despair that has been building in dean's chest since he hurt you and let you walk away from him.

"please, bobby," he rasps, his voice breaking slightly as emotions blur in his head. "i just need to see her. i...i just need to see she's okay."

the old man looks slightly shocked at the desperation in dean's voice, and something softens in his gaze. "she's been through a lot, boy," he sighs, giving dean a pointed look, though this time it's less menacing. "and i love you like my own, but right now she's my priority and if you being here is gonna stop her from healin', then i'm sorry dean, but y'cant stay."

dean nods, forcing himself to swallow the lump in his throat that threatens to choke him. "i don't wanna hurt her," he responds, his voice dropping to a pained whisper. "not more then i already have. i just- she called me, and hearin' her on the phone like that? thinkin' that might be the last time i ever hear her voice, on a fucking voicemail?"

he cuts himself off, averting his eyes from bobby as he forces the tears that burn behind his eyes to stay hidden. "i need to see her, bobby. please."

there's a moment of silence, and when dean lifts his eyes, bobby is staring right back at him, his expression slightly shocked at the rare display of emotions from him. but after a moment, the old man nods, stepping back and gesturing for dean to follow him.

at first he just stands there, but then he's rushing after bobby, each step determined but shaky as he follows the man into the main room.

dean's eyes scan the room, frantically searching for you, and when he finally does, he freezes.

you're laying on the couch, eyes closed and so pale. your skin is void of almost all of its usual color, your cheeks sunken and your lips chapped and sullen. the only thing keeping dean from passing out or falling to his knees in front of you and praying until you wake up is the shaky rise and fall of your chest that he can see under the blanket that bobby's placed over you.

said man places a comforting hand on dean's shoulder, but dean doesn't turn around, even as he hears bobby's footsteps echo down the hallway. he can't move his eyes from you, scared that if he does, you'll somehow slip from his grasp again.

he takes a couple hesitant steps closer and something curls in his gut, gripping his heart and wrenching it until it bleeds as he lets his eyes roam over your face. your familiar features are pale and sullen, but still, dean can't think of anything he's ever seen that's more beautiful than you.

devastatingly beautiful. that term pops into his head again, and this time, the words stab at something deep inside him, something he's always been too afraid to name.

because you are. and it's not just your features─though dean swears you could power a whole city just from smiling, the way it lights up your face─it's your mind, your soul, the way you laugh, the softness of your voice. it's everything. it's you.

you are devastatingly beautiful because you devastate him, crashing your way into his heart over and over again, making him high off you, making him never want to come down.

dean has to remind himself to breathe as he tentatively walks over to where you're laying, exhaling shakily before falling to his knees on the floor in front of you as if he was sitting in front of an altar, about to worship.

his now teary eyes scan over you, and before he can stop himself, he reaches a shaky hand out and brushes some of your hair out of your face.

lightning strikes through him as his skin touches yours, and he fights the urge to pull back, letting his fingertips lightly trace your cheek before his hand drifts down, finding your own and intertwining your fingers.

when he doesn't feel the familiar squeeze back of your hand, something in him breaks.

his head drops to your shoulder, his body shaking as quiet sobs tear from his chest, his teats staining the flannel you wore, his face buried into the fabric.

"i'm sorry,” he rasps through sobs, turning his head into your shoulder, burrowing into the skin of your neck, nausea creeping up his throat when he doesn’t feel your familiar warmth. he presses his lips against your skin, unable to stop the million apologies that spill from his lips. “i’m sorry, sweetheart, i'm so sorry. i love you, i’m sorry. ’m sorry, im so sorry.”

dean stays there, head pressed against you, sobbing quietly into your skin as he clings to you, praying to anyone that would listen that you would wake up. that you would come back to him and he could hold you in his arms and sob a million more apologies into your skin until you forgave him, even if he didn't deserve it.

he needed you to come back to him. he needed your touch, your kiss, your laughter, your stupid jokes that always made him laugh, your whispered words, and your loving stare.

he needed you.

and in that moment dean decided that when you woke up─not if, because he didn't know what he would do if he let himself think about that─he would try his damn hardest to get you back, because even though he doesn't think he deserves happiness, he knew he had it with you.

when you left, and took that piece of him with you, he broke. and all he wanted was to let you fix him again.

but you couldn't. because even as dean cried against you, you didn't stir, didn't flinch, the only reason he knew you were still hanging on was the shallow rise and fall of your chest under where his hand, intertwined with yours was rested firmly, and dean didn't know if he'd ever get that happiness back.

and as he sat there with you, at the foot of the altar he would give his all just to be worthy enough to worship, all he could think about was how he was begging for whatever God or being was listening that if they took you from him, they better fucking take him too.

because even if you hated him, even if you cursed him out, screamed at him to never talk to you again, dean didn't want to live in this world if you weren't in it.

bri's thoughts!: okay so this took me kinda long to finish, and was lowkey supposed to be out for my baby's birthday, but oh well. i don't rlly know if i like this, but i already started a part two, so lmk if anybody wants that! also my first time writing from dean's perspective and like angst so i apologize if this is bad, but i hope u enjoyed! (ps this is not proofread, and as always, was written at 1am, so this might be bad..)

TAGS!: (i don't rlly have a taglist so i just tagged some of my mutuals, but lmk if u wanna be added or removed) @ultravi0lence14 @bluemerakis @titsout4jackles @floralscented @soldiersgirl

#⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ foolinthera1n #bri writes #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #supernatural #jensen ackles #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #angst

89 notes · View notes

hanibalistic · 1 day ago

Text

HIT DOG HOLLER, HIT DOG'S COLLAR | JAKE SIM.

genre | fluff, angst / hurt comfort au

synopsis | when a dog was surrendered to the shelter you worked it, you had no other choice but to call your ex-boyfriend for help.

word count | 4.2k+

warning | mention of abandoned pets, pet urine / dog is referred to as 'it' in narration / mention of insecurities

note | i kept telling myself i am allowed to finish this even though i can't find any point in the story.

Jake bolted out of his dorm room when you texted him for the first time after six months.

The annoyed complaints of his half-asleep roommate were fleeting. Strings of curses bounced off his hurried figure as he scrambled to put on a pair of sweatpants. When he snatched the keys off his desk, he knocked over the water bottle on the edge and earned another earful before he slammed the door shut.

The roads were empty and dark so late at night, allowing him to speed without potential repercussions. He checked his phone repeatedly during the drive for new messages, but the only text you sent after finally unblocking him was ‘help. shelter.’ It was radio silence after, like it had been the past six months.

It had been a mistake.

Jake knew he wasn't the type of man to take a bet. During his university years, nonetheless! But the effect of alcohol, his aversion to confrontation, and his friends' rowdiness pushed him to keep at the lie.

One year ago, he drunkenly confessed to you at a party, and you gave him a chance. Twelve months into dating each other, his friends drunkenly told you the truth, and you cut him out of your life without so much as a tear.

Tonight was the first time you've voluntarily spoken to him. He didn't care that you only did it because you needed his help. He would have learned every skill under the sun if it meant you'd talk to him again—plumbing, repairing, installing, modifying, you name it.

Tires screeched over the white line and stopped. He turned off the engine and got out of the car, unfazed as the cold air hit him until he reached the door of the animal shelter you worked at.

The lights were on inside.

He breathed through his mouth because that was the only way to accommodate how much air he needed.

You were inside, waiting for him.

A moment passed after he knocked. You opened the door carefully, peeking over the door frame not because you were cautious of the visitor but because you weren’t ready to face Jake yet.

His hair was disheveled, and his small eyes were hidden behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. He did not wear enough for the cold weather, but the shelter was warm enough, so you tried to stop worrying about him.

Veins ran softly along his hands and arms, parts you’ve let touch you all over, inside and out. His limbs used to be confident and bashful, playfully reaching for your waist and shyly searching for your face.

Jake wouldn't dare to touch you now, not even to shake hands, not without your permission. He pulled at his fingers and watched you intently. His gaze traced your face, and his downturned eyes mimicked a dog on its death bed—timid, wishful, pleading.

"Hey," he greeted. "Is everything okay?"

You stared at him, subconsciously reminded of the first time you invited him to accompany you during a day shift at the shelter. Biting back a sob at the question, you shook your head and opened the door wider for him to enter.

“He’s back," you said. "Pluto is back."

Pluto was the golden retriever you and Jake fostered over the summer last year. He was adopted, returned, and adopted again after almost making it to his euthanasia day. It has been months since you last saw him so you thought he had found his forever home.

But, this afternoon, he surrendered again because the parents couldn’t handle having him and more than three children in the home.

You kept him company for most of your shift to ease his anxiety, but when it came time for you to close up and leave, he refused to enter the cage.

You attempted to lure him with toys and treats to no avail. It was as if he knew it would be over once he was locked up behind the metal bars.

“That’s...” Jake swallowed the frustration. He stopped hearing news about Pluto after you broke up. He had no idea it was given up once already. “That’s horrible.”

“I know. My coworker said she tried to convince the mother to bring Pluto home, but...” You trailed off in exhaustion. You rubbed your eyes and sunk your shoulders. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have asked you for help if I hadn’t run into a dead end. I don’t know what to do.”

"No, don't even–" he waved his hand dismissively with a soft chuckle– "don't even apologize. You didn't do anything wrong."

You smiled. He always told you that. You couldn't remember a time when he was mad at you and demanded an apology, even when some of your decisions had been questionable.

If he was ever upset, you remembered all it ever took were hugs and kisses to make him feel better, the things you give your pet dog to brighten your day and theirs.

Sometimes, you wondered if he was easy or if it only worked for you because he was in love with you.

He told you otherwise, though. After dumping him, he spent two months pestering you however possible with a variety of apologies and only ever one confession: I love you. I love you more than anything.

He stopped after you snapped at him in public, practically humiliating him for your subconscious fulfillment.

You had given him everything—all of your firsts, all of your mind, and all of your body. He had deserved it. He stopped bothering you afterward, which was understandable.

A dog beaten and bruised enough would never return.

“Let's see what I can do," Jake said.

You pursed your lips and gestured for him to follow you.

The shelter remained the way it had been since the last time he visited. White ceiling lights, disorganized papers on the reception table, stacked metal cages, dirty food trays, narrow spaces, a dirty whiff of air, and abandoned pets everywhere.

He didn’t expect otherwise. There were never enough donations or government funds to make it a better place. People wouldn’t even do that for other people, let alone animals.

Jake spoke to the animals along the way, ignoring the ones asleep and cooing at the ones who jumped to greet him. As you led him to the back of the shelter, a sullen mass of fur curled up in the corner came into view.

"Pluto!" he exclaimed with considerate joy as he crouched with open arms. "Do you remember me, sweet boy?"

Pluto remembered. It got up from the corner and pounced on Jake, scraping its paws on his shoulders for a hug and licking his face. He laughed and rubbed its back, letting the affection attacks continue as Pluto pleased.

It got distracted when you also neared. Barking once for good measure, it bounced between your feet and Jake’s embrace, reliving how it used to be when he was still living with you both.

“He looks healthy," Jake said.

“He wasn't abused, just abandoned," you clarified.

"Same difference."

You peered at him like a hit dog about to holler.

In the depths of your conscience, you admitted that you were the one who gave up. Maybe you were well within your right to, or maybe you didn't believe in clarification and second chances.

You tried not to think about it too much. It made you feel bad.

"Where is his cage?" Jake asked offhandedly.

You motioned your chin toward the corner without thinking. You’ve already placed a cartoon blanket inside as a makeshift bed, and the dog bowl was filled half way with dry food.

“Alright, buddy,” Jake said, hopping onto his feet. “Let’s get you inside so we can go home.”

Pluto jumped up to meet Jake’s knees. He played with the dog, swinging his hands around its peripheral vision and playing bitey. You discreetly reached for the cage to open it. When he noticed, he stopped to hold Pluto’s face in his hands before lifting it up by its paws.

Jake was always the good cop. You made Pluto wait for dinner, didn't let it jump on your bed, and never fed it food under the table. Jake was easier. He took it on morning jogs, ran with it when it had zoomies, and sometimes cooked it a small plate of steak.

A little affection and a wide-eyed gaze could go a long way for Jake, but not so much for you.

You always knew the dog liked him better than you. You didn’t realize it would be easy for Jake to pick it up. However, just as you thought your ex-boyfriend would succeed, Pluto dropped its whole weight onto the floor and refused to budge.

Jake yelped at the sudden pull. His feet stuttered to balance himself, forcing him to release Pluto onto the floor. Not giving up, he shook his hands and reached down to try and pull it up again. The dog still wouldn’t budge.

Deciding to try another approach, instead of pulling Pluto up by its torso, Jake thought he could begin with its front legs. Once he gets them through, the rest should follow.

"Come on, buddy," he encouraged. “I know it's scary, but you gotta sleep somewhere warmer than the shelter hallway."

Pluto began to whimper when its front legs reached inside the cage. It used them to support itself, weighing itself down onto them to avoid being pushed inside wholly.

You furrowed your brows as you listened to Jake’s fading encouragement. He was a mirror of who you were a few hours ago when your shift began. He wasn’t growing impatient, only frustrated that this was how it had to be for a beloved pet.

Your shoulders sunk in defeat when you noticed droplets on the floor. Jake paused when you curled a hand around his arm and gently pulled him away.

“Let’s stop. He’s scared,” you said. “He peed on the floor. I’ll go get the mop.”

He glanced at the floor, but he was trying to see if you touched him again. And then he looked up at you, nodding in grim agreement. When you released his arm to clean the floor, he rubbed the spot with invisible desperation, trying his best to somehow keep your hold

"What do we do?" he asked, pressing a firm hold over where you touched him. "Shit, I feel horrible."

"You and me both." you sighed as you watched Pluto shrink into a corner. “I'll stay over with him."

"At the shelter?"

“It's not any worse than my apartment," you said. “Actually, I might be safer here with all the animals around. They’ll look out for me."

He wanted to protest. This was less about safety and more about comfort.

You looked exhausted, and he knew why. Midterms were happening left and right before the winter break, so you must be burning the midnight oil already. You’ve also got a difficult job to juggle with your classes.

He used to have to pull you away from your desk and trap you in his arms to get you to sleep.

Regardless, you needed to sleep somewhere soft and warm, and the animal shelter didn't have anything remotely similar to that besides the furry babies.

The furry babies and him, he supposed.

“I'll stay with you," Jake said.

You shook your head. This would ruin your plan to get over him, which has been going on for over half a year yet has garnered no real progress.

You still thought about him day and night, seeing him in the shadows of your once-shared apartment and whispering his name into your pillow. You blocked and avoided him because you knew he could lure you back so quickly because you had unfortunately been in love with him the entire time.

“It’s fine. You should go home,” you said. “I’m sorry I called you up so late.”

"No, I don't mind," he protested. “It’s not like I was sleeping anyway."

He visibly gulped, swallowing any sentiment because you’ve rescinded his right to love you. And you bit your tongue to keep the fight and the cries in because it wasn’t easy to look at him and not do something.

You couldn't kiss him, you couldn't fight him, and you didn't want to hurt him.

"Do whatever you want," you muttered.

Jake watched you leave the room. He heard cabinet doors opening, and he moved against the wall to sit down. He reached a hand out, his palm facing skyward, and he gently lured Pluto onto his lap. When you returned, it was with two thin blankets, one for yourself and one for them.

You reached for the cage to take the food bowl out and closed the door, locking it. You sat next to Jake, across from his side, and wrapped the blanket around you.

"What are we going to do now?” You eyed the dog.

"What are the protocols?" he asked.

"We hold and look for housing," you said. "But–" you reached out to rub Pluto’s head–"he's getting old. It took long enough to find a family who's willing to adopt him, so there's no guarantee we will be able to find anything before he's put on the euthanasia list."

As Jake ran over what you said in his head, you took a small handful of dry food to feed Pluto, who released itself from pressing on Jake’s chest to eat. You smiled at its eagerness, but your brows were furrowed with unspoken sorrow.

It seemed you could already predict Pluto’s fate, but you needed to device a course of action for good measure. Anything to make sure you didn't give up immediately, even when there was nothing you could do.

There was nothing worse than being at the bottom. Knowing that after taking so many turns, you ended up at the dead end you were meant to reach anyway. Looking at you was almost like looking at himself—both of you have exhausted all your resources.

But Jake was known for going above and beyond. At least for you, he would.

“I can adopt him."

You perked up slowly in bewilderment. The reason why you two decided to foster Pluto back then was because of a dual income. If it was so affordable to own an old dog, you would have done it already.

"You live on campus. The dorms don't allow pets," you said. "You also don't have money. What are you gonna do if he gets sick?"

“I’ll move out. I’ll get a second job and pick up more shifts at the current one,” he said with a shrug. “There are cheap places to live, and I’m sure Jay will be willing to help me if it comes down to it.”

"Jake–"

“If push comes to shove, I’ll move back home,” he said, his voice slightly louder to drown out your worries with his optimism. “Let this be the last disappointing thing I do to my mom!”

You wanted to hold his face and talk him out of it. His optimism was both a friend and a foe. Sometimes, it pushes him to do amazing things, but mostly, he ends up embarrassing himself.

No, your coworker wouldn’t want to talk to you after being denied their vacation time over yours. No, your mother already thinks you buy enough unnecessary things; she won’t appreciate this. No, that won’t help anyone like you think it would.

You’ve often had to be his voice of reason for the most trivial things. It usually worked. His brain fries and he turns all putty when he’s being held, but he’s extra impressionable in your hands. He’d agree to anything just to keep you talking.

“You’re going to struggle," you warned.

“I'd rather that than have you feel guilty that you couldn't do more for our dog."

“You don’t know that I will,” you scoffed with a brief glare.

His eyes were on you. It has been on your since the moment you saw each other.

“I know you will. I know you," he retorted.

He was right. No matter how much you played up the role of a bad cop, or the nonchalant pet owner, ultimately, you cared. Maybe not as much as he did, maybe not as much as he could, and definitely not as openly as he could. But you loved the dog.

It was your dog. It was you and Jake’s dog.

Pluto stayed with you for a few of the happiest months of your life. The months when you woke up seeing Jake and went to sleep talking to him. Losing the dog is a significant progression to an end.

"This isn't about me." You shook your head. “Don't do this for me.”

“I can’t not,” he said. “I want to."

“Why?" It came out before you knew it. It was a trap.

The room went quiet, accompanied only by the sound of chewing and the impossible thoughts of escaping such silence. You focused on the food disappearing from the metal bowl, doing your best to keep away the tremors from knowing his eyes were on you, from already knowing his answer to your question.

Something has to happen when the food is gone.

A distraction, an apology, a reconciliation, a blackout.

"Because I love you."

A confession.

You dropped the bowl and rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand. Heat released from all corners of your body, traveling to the base of your neck where it pulled at your nerves, souring all the way up to your tear ducts. He kept saying that; it was the last thing you wanted to hear from him.

His breathing quickened at your dismay, and the corners of his lips arched down in shame. He looked away from you at Pluto’s head, wondering what about his affection was so genuinely sickening that you had to reject it with so much force.

If it was about his bet with his friends, he had already attempted to explain that multiple times.

“I'm sorry I kept the bet from you. I really am. I will never deny that it was a terrible decision, that I was drunk when I first confessed to you," he said defensively, a whimper catching in his voice.

“Won’t you just–“ you rolled your eyes– “just stop. Stop explaining it to me.”

“No! I need you to understand that I never lied about how I felt after!” he exclaimed.

It never changed. His story wouldn’t have a contradiction even if he tried to rip it apart on purpose. He lied to you because he was drunk, he pretended to be your boyfriend, and then he ended up becoming it. His friends told the same story, and he repeated it multiple times. You’ve heard it all.

A tear rolled down his cheek, and he wiped it with intention. When he realized his eyes had begun to cry, his voice and movement followed. Looking down at the floor helplessly, his shoulders hunched up as if to shrink small.

You blew air into your cheeks and bit the inside of your lip. Seeing him cry made you cry. You never wanted to hurt him again. You didn't think that you could, and oh, how you were proven wrong.

“How come you don’t believe me?” he asked, his voice timid as a child wronged by his parents. “I fell in love with you. You have no right to take that from me.”

Feeling a sob come up, you dropped your head and stared at the floor. Goosebumps lined around your heart, suppressing its beating with unease. That was the problem. He told the truth, which was the problem because you couldn’t handle it.

"Do you know how I felt when I found out?" you asked. "I wasn't angry, or frustrated, or even sad. I was just disappointed that it made sense."

Jake wasn’t a man of your caliber. Even when he first confessed to you, you mistook it as an act of aggression. Hence, you double-checked with him the next day through text; surprisingly, he didn’t deny it.

He was a great boyfriend. He was kind and supportive, handsome and strong, charming and considerate. The whole nine yards. He stumbled once in a while, but he never did anything wrong.

It was both agony and relief when you discovered that he initially stayed for a bet. While it was hurtful to know you and him would have never happened otherwise, it fulfilled your growing itch that needed a reason to feel bad. While you lost the love of your life, the loss helped you make sense of a greatness you didn’t think you deserved, all by forcing you to let go of it.

Jake didn’t do anything wrong. He couldn’t if he tried. It was just easier when he didn’t love you back. Because then you wouldn’t feel like you were taking up too much space, and your inferiority has a reason to exist.

“It was hell to hate myself,” you said. “If I made it seem like you never loved me at all, then all the pain wouldn’t be for nothing.”

“I don’t understand.” His voice was tearful, and he played with Pluto’s fur so his hands wouldn’t claw at his skin to peel himself to death, knowing that you felt like hell when you were with him. “Did you always feel like that?”

You went around the answer but remained truthful. Yes, you felt like that all the time. No, it had nothing to do with him.

You told him how great he was, how you appreciated everything about him. The fact that he remembers every little thing, how his voice is soft, and his willingness to always be the bigger person.

Self-hate was an accumulated skill that can never be unlearned and only worsens. He was in the wrong position when it decided to show itself.

You simply didn't love yourself enough to have him. That was it.

Irregular drops of tears rolled down his face. He began to hiccup away the knots of air stuck in his throat that were supposed to be violent sobs. He looked everywhere but at you, and his hands curled and uncurled to catch pressure in the air.

He suffocated with every word you said. It didn’t matter that you admitted he wasn’t the reason; he was horrified that you thought his love would be better stored anywhere else than with you, his keeper.

For six months, he stayed cooped up inside himself, uncomfortable but unwilling to burst just in case you would come back to drain his soul out of him. He would return to where he belonged, through your mouth into your skin.

The dog on his lap had become a nuisance, but he kept it there.

Jake pushes nothing away. He stretches and pulls until someone snaps him in half to stop him.

"Please don't be upset," you whispered after cutting yourself short. “I'm sorry for everything. It wasn't your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either,” he said. “The mind is–is a weird thing. It’s a weird thing. Sometimes you can’t help it. I understand. It’s not your fault, either. I don’t want–“ he pursed his lips, his hair shaking with his head– “I don’t want you to blame yourself. It hurts knowing you did something–something bad. I don’t want you to–uh,” his voice became smaller, “I don’t want you to hurt anymore.”

Scooting to sit next to him, you took off his glasses and set them on the floor next to you. You pulled at the hem of your sweater to wipe the tears around his tired eyes. You cleaned him and yourself, wetting your sleeve with mutual suffering.

“What do I do?” he asked, leaning his head against the wall with a faint shake. “I miss you.”

“I'm sorry," you said, disarming your mind.

“I won’t say anything. You don’t have to believe I love you. We can just be friends,” he bargained. “I just want to be around. Please let me.”

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you pressed closer against his side and smiled bitterly at the notion that you’ll never find someone like him again. That was why you gave him a chance a year ago, but instead of his dashing looks and fit physique, it was his extraordinary affection this time.

Who else would love you enough to pretend he doesn’t love you at all? It’s just him.

“I should probably go see a doctor, huh?” you joked, wiping under his eye with your thumb. “They can help me come around.”

Jake raised his hand. It shakily hovered around your wrist, waiting for permission.

You pushed the back of your palm toward it, allowing him to engulf your hand with his, and then you brought it to his face, holding him gently. He smiled a little; he couldn’t help it upon the familiar, long-awaited touch.

“I’ll wait for you,” he said. “I’ll help you.”

You glanced at his lips. Stained with tears, like it was rained on. You nudged his nose with yours, and you kissed him. He shuddered. His mouth was metallic and sour; you realized there was a canker sore in his mouth. It must be painful. He kissed you anyway, resting his whole life on your lips.

Pulling away, he bumped his forehead against yours, his features softening in relief.

It was always the same confession. He never deviated from it.

I love you. I love you more than anything. I love you more than me.

“Do you want to take care of Pluto together?”

And that was your version of it.

#enha imagines #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enha x reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #enhypen x gender neutral reader #jake sim x reader #enhypen jake imagines #jake imagines #jake x reader #jake x y/n #enha x y/n #enha x you #jake sim x y/n #jake sim x you #jake sim imagines #enhypen jake scenarios

138 notes · View notes

opalblade · 1 day ago

Text

01 FEBRUARY 25.

𓂀 HASTA NAKSHATRA THEMES .

AN: click "alt" to see the astrological placements

🪬 HASTA AS GOD'S VESSEL .

savitar (hasta's deity) desired "may the gods place their faith in me"

✧ i have a theory that hasta natives look to bring god onto earth in their own ways and channel god and god-like power. hasta possesses "the power to manifest and place it in one's hands" and since hasta is in virgo, the sign that represents the material plane, their focus is primarily to channel god and god's presence onto earth.

✧ nuns are a very well known hasta association as many actors that play nuns have hasta placements and many real life nuns also have hasta placements. this is the most obvious manifestation of "the gods placing their faith in another" as nuns devote their lives to god and religion.

✧ occultists have also been revealed to have major hasta relations by claire nakti's research, which you can find on youtube. earlier occultists performed god-like feats like telepathy and were very much into alchemy, trying to find the solution to immortality. many occulists believe they are channeling god when they perform their feats and current occultists will refer to channeling "spirit" or some higher power.

✧ hasta is related to writers as many writers have hasta nakshatra and hasta's symbol is the hand. hasta nakshatra's power is "the power to manifest and place it in one's hand" and one could say that writers receive divine inspiration for their works. they manifest or channel whatever they write.

✧ ariana grande (hasta moon) inserts herself as god and other mythological and mystical beings in the music video for "god is a woman". she constantly places herself as a figure for the divine feminine. her song "just like magic" from her album "positions" is about manifesting.

✧ brandy norwood has been dubbed the vocal bible, in reference to her singing skills. she has hasta ascendant.

🪬 HASTA'S FLUIDITY .

✧ christopher nolan (hasta ascendant) directed the movie "inception", where the theme of dreams and fluid identities comes into play. cobb, the main character, is played by leonardo dicaprio [above] and marion cotillard plays a major role as his wife. we see characters like tom hardy shapeshift from a man to a woman, time is explored and warped, and the truth behind reality is brought into question.

✧ christopher nolan is notorious for his exploration of the concept of time in his movies, popular examples being tenet, memento, interstellar and inception.

✧ marion cotillard [below] plays cobb's wife in inception and has spoken about liking acting as it allows her to have many professions while keeping the same profession in real life. hasta natives like the idea of exploring several different identities and facets of the human psyche.

✧ anne hathway [below] plays an important role in interstellar, constantly questioning the fabric of reality, time and space and our understanding of it. she has been in more than one nolan movie, playing catwoman in his batman movie "the dark knight rises", which is another hasta theme i will explore later in the post. she also wanted to be a nun as a child and played mia thermopolis, who went through a massive beauty transformation in "the princess diaries". the movie shows her going from an ordinary, geeky girl to becoming princess of genovia.

✧ this fluidity through identity is apparent in discourse surrounding ariana grande who is frequently criticised for race baiting, from her skin tone down to her voice. however her fluid identity is not all negative. the excellent tarot reader maestro, @bitdemonic, describes ariana grande as "the embodiment of dual personalities", due to her seeming innocence hiding her sexual nature in her 18+ tarot pick a card. (ps. i highly recommend!)

🪬 HASTA, THE TRICKSTER .

✧ hasta nakshatra is a moon nakshatra in the virgo rashi, which is ruled by mercury. the combination of these two planets lends itself to the fluidity present in hasta natives and aids in deception.

✧ hasta nakshatra is considered a trickster nakshatra because the planet mercury represents a prepubescent child that hasn't been sexualised yet. this means they are more focused on playing, as children do, and sliding through different expressions. this is also why hasta nakshatra is associated with fairies such as tinkerbell and glinda, the good witch. fairies were traditionally seen as trickster spirits.

✧ matt damon [above] played tom ripley in "the talented mr. ripley" and he cons several people into believing his fake identity and even gets away with multiple murders.

✧ leonardo dicaprio plays jordan belfort (real-life hasta moon) in "the wolf of wall street", in which he cons and scams countless people, ending up in jail. leonardo also manages to adopt varying identities in the film "catch me if you can", outsmarting the fbi in the process.

✧ hasta nakshatra is deceptive moon and its natives uses this to serve their material desires as hasta is placed in virgo rashi.

✧ several catwoman actresses have hasta nakshatra. catwoman is a thief and a master of disguise, matching the hasta themes of fluid identities and tricksters.

✧ ariana grande, anne hathaway and zoë kravitz [above] all played or, in ari's case, dressed up as catwoman.

✧ hasta nakshatra is also related to thieves and its symbol is the hand. hasta is noted by vindelllas to be related to gold-digging, especially as hasta's power is to "manifest and to place it in one's hand".

. * . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ . * . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　

#vedic astrology #astro notes #astro observations #astroblr #astrology #vedic astro notes #vedic astro observations #hasta #hasta nakshatra #✧ / opalblade originals .

82 notes · View notes

saturnville · 8 hours ago

Text

for me, baby | kelvin harrison jr.

pairing: kelvin harrison jr x black fem oc summary: in which she flips the switch. warnings: 18+ steam. suggestive content. wc: 770 something. an: one of my goals as a writer was to enhance my detail, so I challenged myself to put as much as possible within a certain word limit. hope y'all enjoy. may or may not continue this based on reception <3 remember: likes are nice, but reblogs and comments are encouraged!

tags: @kirayuki22 @greedyjudge2 @notapradagurl7 @irishmanwhore @honeytoffee @theogbadbitch @jazziejax @kumkaniudaku

"Be a good boy and say it for me, baby."

The words coiled around his spine, wound tight like a violin tuned too sharp. She’d never spoken to him like this before. Not with that voice—low, deliberate, dripping with something too smooth to be an accident. Her sweet voice was replaced by something much darker, sensual, and commanding.

He should’ve responded. He was quick-witted and always had a rebuttal, but for the first time, his mouth felt heavy and useless. His brain couldn’t compute a response no matter how hard the nuts and bolts fought to assist the gears in turning.

He squirmed under her gaze. Those pretty eyes he had fallen in love with had done more than crack the cacoons that held the butterflies still in his stomach—no, they commanded a war that stirred his loins in a way he’d never experienced before. It was a delicious disruption of the status quo.

She had always been the soft one. The one who let him lead, guide, and direct; she let him dictate the rhythm of their push and pull. And yet, here she stood—calm and expectant as if she hadn’t taken Poseidon’s trident and wielded the tides so effortlessly, tilting the balance of power with a single sentence.

His fingers twitched at his sides. There was an ache in his joints, a slow burn that grew hotter when she took a measured step closer. Close enough for him to smell the arousal between her legs. Close enough to feel the warmth of her breath fan across his jaw, which fell slack to make room for a shuddered breath to pass through.

His pulse stumbled. Her eyes followed the thump, thump, thump that presented itself beneath his exposed collarbone. And she smiled—heaven help him—the smile that would have him handing her his wallet and telling her to swipe his card whenever and wherever. But it wasn’t innocent. Not sweet. Borderline rude if he had to admit it. She planned it.

His teeth found his bottom lip, dragging across it as he exhaled slowly and shaky. “Where are you going with this?” He murmured, though his voice lacked its usual tenor and conviction.

She tilted her head slightly, considering him. Her hair draped over her shoulder as she took another calculated step toward him. She lifted a single hand with excruciating patience and ran her fingers down his chest. They fell at his belt, clutched the leather, and fingered around the buckle.

He was lost. Completely and utterly lost.

It was no longer her words but how she looked at him. She got under his skin with the most straightforward look. Her long eyelashes, which guarded doe-like brown eyes, brushed against the high points of her cheeks. And those lips, wet from the tongue he deeply desired to feel against his skin, begged for his on hers. His pride warred with his curiosity. With his intrigue. With the way his body betrayed him, answering her before he opened his mouth.

Her fingers skillfully slid along his buckle, loosening it just enough to allow her hand to slide in the space between his abdomen and waistband. She threw a leg over his, her throbbing center settling above his. He fought hard to contain any sounds, but a measly whimper passed by his lips and ascended to her ears, fueling the newly inflated ego she displayed.

She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his ear, tracing her tongue around its shell before nibbling on the tip. Kelvin’s head fell back, and a rush of wind escaped him. “Say it,” she whispered again. He exhaled sharply through his nose, tongue dragging over his bottom lip as he swallowed the lump in his throat. His hands slowly crept up her thighs, but she pushed them away with a heavy hand. "Good boys get to touch. All you gotta do is say it for me, and you can have me any way you want, baby."

His stomach clenched deliciously. His instinct was to push back, reclaim the control that seemed to wane rapidly and remind her of who set the pace between them. She gave him nothing to work with—no space to flip the script—just a slow, steady pressure of her expectation.

He was almost humiliated at how easily she had him on edge. Was this how she felt when he toyed with her until she was a withering, blubbering mess beneath him? He must have been a fantastic teacher if she had learned to subdue him with nothing more than a single well-placed touch.

It was barely above a whisper, but when the word left his mouth, she smiled in full—slow, wicked, victorious like she’d won something big.

“Please. I wanna feel you.”

Because she did.

#saturnville #black!reader #black reader #kelvin harrison jr. smut #kelvin harrison jr. x reader #kelvin harrison jr.#kelvin harrison jr. x black reader #kelvin harrison jr. x black oc #saturnvillewrites

55 notes · View notes

sapphira-mydnyte · 2 days ago

Text

Serpentine Terror

The last one anyone wanted a fight with a Gaunt & Ominis was no exception. In fact, he was the most feared of the Gaunts for his haunting gaze despite being blind. Ominis was a very different terror compared to his family as he didn't believe in using the dark arts for fun.

Instead of physical torture, he broke his victims mentally by damaging their pride & making them wear the most embarrassing of outfits out in public. He took no shit from liars especially & cursed them with nightmares until they told the truth... outting themselves into far worse punishment for doing so. Though he was the best in shattering minds, that did not mean that he was weak physically or magically either. Those in Slytherin house knew the truth about him & Sebastian being the best duelist as he had spoken in the coldest tone that left ice going down the backs of every student in the commonroom that hears him. None could sleep in peace after hearing him, nor seeing his face as he spoke that night.

"Sebastian is only the best duelist in this house because I allow it. Do not underestimate me just because I'm blind because I can beat him in a duel & the rest of you as well. All of you know bloody well what I am & your life is in my hands every day, especially at night. You sleep with a snake & no matter what kind of snake I am, I can & will bite if I have to. Try as you might, you can't hide from me either. Sebastian has tried that countless times in his nights of sneaking out & he has failed to elude me. Cross me & it'll be the last thing you ever do. You're in MY house & I will not tolerate any that cross me."

His voice was colder than the glacious spell, making the entire room feel like a dungeon of pure ice. Images of snakes chasing others down the hall flooded the minds of many that night, causing some to run to their bedrooms in fear, crying. Even Sebastian couldn't deny Ominis' chilling words as a bolt of cold went down his spine, causing him to shudder. He knew Ominis wasn't lying either... because he was the reason behind that entire warning.

The brunette couldn't turn away from the blond, no matter how much he wanted to. He was guilty of murder & Ominis made certain that he felt the worst for it in saying what he had. Nobody else but the heir knew about the killing, save for Anne & the mysterious new student. As Sebastian finally looked into Ominis' eyes, he fought back tears in his own as the once calming waters within those blue eyes had disappeared. What was once a beautiful ocean was now a tidal wave of ice & a serpentine demon of fire burned under those icy blue eyes... with fangs full of venom aimed straight at him.

Slytherin student Ominis Gaunt

#hogwarts legacy ominis #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #serpentine terror #king of snakes #slytherin #heir of slytherin #who pissed off the heir other than Sebastian?#reasons why Omi is scarier than Sebby right there!#danger noodle Omi #Omi is a nope rope when upset #yeah.... he definitely a venomous snake when truly mad

179 notes · View notes

carisisrolledupsleeves · 2 days ago

Note

“Could he make you feel as good as i do?” prompt for Sonny? Thank you! 🩷

Disclaimer: I wrote it as a sequel to my previous prompt because I was still inspired by it. also, its smutty

The sun is high in the sky when you wake up. It must be around noon already but considering the night you’ve had, it’s not surprising. You try to blink the sleep out of your eyes, and looking down at your left hand you feel a surge of guilt in your stomach. Even though you know you’ve made the right decision, he never deserved this. He never deserved the hurt you caused him last night. On what should have been one of the happiest days of his life.

As Sonny tightens his arms around you in his sleep, the negative feelings are replaced by the overwhelming flutter of the clichéd butterflies; something you had always rolled your eyes at; thought of as overrated. And yet. When you left the party after that horrific but necessary conversation with your now ex-fiancé, when you ended up running as fast as your heels would allow it, when you knocked on Sonny’s door with dread, afraid that he would tell you to fuck off and reject him like you had him earlier. However in that moment he opened the door, surprised yet as if he had expected you - that was when the butterflies became real.

You snuggle into him; his warm body feels so unfamiliar still, yet like a home that is welcoming you. His scent, so heavenly, you want to wrap yourself up in it, and you surely try as you press your face into his chest while your legs wrap around his under the blanket. Sonny sighs, holding you even closer and placing a kiss onto your forehead. There’s so much to say, so much to talk about but neither of you have been able to put it into words just yet. Even last night all you managed to say was a tearful ‘I’m sorry’ followed by his many ‘It’s okay’, followed by even more tears and kisses before you ended up in his bed, fully clothed.

These clothes are in the way now. Your hand wanders underneath his shirt, and you can feel him shiver in response to your touch. This is the first time you’ve been this close and sober; that drunken night spent together an exciting yet blurry memory of lust and urgency. Now the need to make him yours isn’t any less desperate but you aren’t in a rush, both of you knowing that this is right; that this is you two together from now on.

Your lips meet; a soft kiss that soon turns more intense as you press your body closer to his and it doesn’t take long before his hands find the zipper of your dress while you manage to shove his shirt over his head. You’re finally skin on skin. It’s kind of crazy how quickly you feel yourself getting wet, especially since you can feel his body having a similar reaction; and you both smile into the kiss, a slight blush on your faces.

‘I love you.’ Sonny whispers, the first words spoken since last night, and the fact that it’s those three words makes you dizzy.

‘I love you.’ you don’t hesitate for one second because the truth is, you’ve always loved him.

You continue to undress each other and it feels like everything is happening in slow-motion. Yet all of a sudden he flips you onto your back and covers you with his body, making you giggle with anticipation. Sonny’s body feels so good, and you know you’re going to have trouble prying yourself away from him in the future. You want him so much. You know you’re going to want him all the time. How you’ve ever denied yourself of him, you do not know.

His lips leave yours and kiss all over your face before wandering down your neck, lingering there as you moan at the contact. Instinctively, your arms wrap around him; hands all over his strong back tracing the muscles there, finger’s digging into his skin as you feel his mouth continue. He is for sure leaving a mark on your collarbone as he sucks on the delicate skin there. That’s right, let them see. Let them see I’m yours. All yours. You sigh his name at the thought, sigh his name again as his mouth finds your breast, sigh his name over and over as he scoots down your body, his lips stopping at the waistband of your panties.

‘Dominick…’ your eyes are closed but you can feel him smile against your skin and he looks up at you as you open them.

‘Can I?’ he asks and you have to control yourself in order to not nod too enthusiastically. His smile grows even bigger.

He pulls your panties off slowly before flinging them across the room, making you laugh.

‘You’re beautiful.’ he says, pushing your legs apart gently, exposing your wetness, and turning your laughter into a shy giggle.

All of that shyness is forgotten as his long, tender fingers brush over your folds, making you shudder. His lips are back on your skin, kissing the inside of your trembling thighs, inching closer to your core until you feel the flick of his tongue on your clit, sending an electric current throughout your entire body.

‘More?’ Sonny asks sheepishly as his fingers continue to stroke you.

‘More. Yes. Please.’ you reply, biting your lips.

And he gives you so much more. Oh, much much more. Soon, you’re a panting mess, your hands in his hair, tugging desperately while he eats you out. Dominick’s expert mouth is all over your pussy; sucking, licking, teasing as though he has been waiting his entire life for it. Come to think of it, it turns out you have, too. No man has ever gotten you this close to an orgasm in such a short amount of time. Your eyes meet as he fucks you with his tongue, delving into you, his thumb on your swollen nub. He knows you’re close.

‘Please.’ you beg again. ‘Please, Dominick.’

He withdraws his mouth, letting his fingers continue by slipping into you, curling over your g spot, almost sending you over the edge.

‘Do you want me to stop?’ he asks and you shake your head before nodding instead.

‘I want to be yours. All yours. And I want you to be mine. All mine.’ you answer, pulling softly on his hair. He understands.

And within a heartbeat he sits up, his hands are on your waist, and he pulls you up toward him; you can only whine in response to his hesitation before he buries himself into you with a slow but firm thrust. Fuck. You arch your back at the sensation of him filling you up, stretching your already sensitive sex to a point of blinding pleasure.

‘Oh my god!’ you cry out, giving yourself over to him completely.

‘Could he make you feel as good as I do?’ Sonny breathes, pulling back just to push into you again, deliberately hitting that spot inside you.

You shudder, hands grabbing at the sheets and at him. Truth be told no one has ever made you feel as good. As loved. As exposed. As vulnerable. As powerful. As sexy.

‘No. And every time I was with him, I thought about you. I thought about our night together. And I’d cum, thinking about you.’ you admit, your voice shaking.

He pulls you up so you’re in his lap, and kisses you deeply. His tongue slips into your mouth and you can still taste yourself on him, and your hands are all over him while he holds you, your hips pushing down harder against his thrusts.

‘Cum for me now.’ Sonny purrs in your ear, his cock twitching inside you. He’s close too.

You can’t hold back even if you wanted to. Sinking into his arms your orgasm washes over you, and it’s earth-shattering. Nothing on your mind except him. Dominick.

And it turns out there will be a ring on your finger again in no time. This time forever.

prompt requests

#svu #sonny carisi #dominick carisi #law and order svu #sonny carisi x reader #dominick carisi x reader #carisi x reader

29 notes · View notes

silvyysthings · 2 days ago

Note

Kylie popping out in an acu hoodie conveniently the day she announces a new perfume 😭 like its so predictable atp! She obviously knows ppl are gonna go to her ig to see if shes posted timmy/acu and the first thing ppl see is her new launch. Timmy his team and friends have probably had those hoodies for WEEKS but she waited to wear it publicly until it was convenient/strategic for her. Typical. Timmy can say he has “no regrets” all he wants and for his sake i genuinely hope that’s true. Hes spoken to much about how this role has meant everything to him. Now hes allowing the entire press tour/awards season/narrative to have her fingerprints all over it. No one can say anything about this project or him without mentioning her too. I wonder if he truly has “no regrets” or if hes just doubling down cause its too late and wherever he goes there she is trying to steal his clout 😫

I really hope for him that soon this circus will be finished , his tour in the universities was adorable and oscars are in a month . I don't want add other anon , it's better 😘

#timothée chalamet #anon ask

17 notes · View notes

batboysanonymous · 1 hour ago

Text

Sweetest Devotion

Azriel x Reader

Summary: The bond between you and Azriel had been inevitable, a thread spun from the stars long before either of you understood its weight. But love—love had been a choice, a slow-burning reverence that consumed him even after lifetimes, even after death itself.

Just a cutey little Az blurb I messed around with :)

───────────────────────────────

The bond had snapped young.

Azriel had only just turned eighteen when the golden thread of fate wove itself tightly around his ribs, binding him to you, a girl of sixteen who had no idea what such a thing even meant. The realization had hit him like a mountain collapsing onto his chest, all at once, suffocating and overwhelming. He had stared at you for what felt like eternity, cataloging every detail—the warmth of your eyes, the delicate curve of your lips, the way your scent already called to him like a siren song.

And yet, he had stepped away.

It had been the hardest thing he had ever done. To not claim you, to not pull you close and tell you that you belonged to him as much as he belonged to you. He had been a warrior for years already, had known pain intimately, but nothing had compared to the agony of watching you laugh with other males, of knowing that he could not have you yet.

You had fought him on it. Gods, you had fought him.

You had called him a coward, had screamed at him that you knew something was different, that you felt it too. He had only stared at you, swallowing the words that burned in his throat, forcing himself to turn away.

Two years. Two unbearable, soul-crushing years.

And then, when you were eighteen, when the world had shaped you a little more, when you had learned what it meant to make your own choices—you had come back to him. And Azriel had finally, finally allowed himself to touch you.

But your father had seen the bond as an advantage. He had never cared for what it meant to either of you, only for the political leverage it provided. And so he had taken you to Velaris during the war, dragging Azriel along, believing he could control what blossomed between you.

He had been wrong.

Because being near you had been intoxicating.

The relationship had not been allowed to progress beyond lingering touches and heated kisses stolen in the dark. But even that had been too much. The number of times you had to mask your scent at dinner, biting your lip to suppress a laugh as one of Azriel’s shadows curled beneath your skirts, playing at the sensitive skin of your thigh, was almost comical. He had smirked at you across the table, golden eyes darkened with something dangerous, something hungry, and you had nearly lost all self-control right there.

Then, the war had stolen you from him.

Dying had been agony—for you, for him. He had felt the bond snap, had felt something inside him shatter. And yet, even in death, you had heard him.

His voice had come to you in the quiet, a whisper in the darkness. When he was lost, when he was alone, he had spoken to you, had called for you.

And then Amren had ripped you from the Cauldron.

The first thing you had seen was Rhysand’s face. He had been the one to hold you as you sobbed, confused and aching, your mind sluggish from the transition. Then Mor, whispering that it was okay, that you were safe. Then Amren, explaining why you had been brought back. Cassian had collapsed before you, weeping as he gripped your hands.

And Azriel had waited.

He had walked beside you, silent, unwavering, his presence steady even as you trembled. He had not touched you, not spoken, not until you were inside his tent at the war camp.

And then all restraint had shattered.

Neither of you knew who had moved first, only that the moment your bodies collided, it had been raw and desperate, lips clashing with too much force, hands gripping, tearing at clothes, gasping against each other as tears mixed between ragged breaths. He had held you like a man starved, like he had been dying and you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

When the war ended, when peace settled, Azriel had worshipped you in earnest.

Years passed, and still, Azriel was utterly, devastatingly devoted to you.

Like now.

───────────────────────────────

You were drunk, swaying slightly as Azriel guided you through your home, his hand firm at your lower back. He had only left you alone for one night out with Mor and Feyre.

The door had barely swung open before Azriel was there, stepping inside with the kind of quiet precision that made him nearly undetectable—except to you. Even in your tipsy haze, your body recognized him, responded to the shift in the air, the sudden weight of his presence filling the space.

You had barely managed a wobbly smile before his shadows surged forward, curling around your wrists, gliding up your arms, slipping around your waist like invisible ribbons of night. They pulsed, an extension of him, seeking, checking, brushing over the soft skin of your neck before twining through your hair. It was not just a greeting. They were inspecting you.

Azriel’s golden eyes darkened, scanning you from head to toe as his shadows flicked back to him with quiet murmurs only he could hear. His jaw ticked.

“Are you hurt?” His voice was soft, but there was a sharpness to it, an edge of tension laced between his words.

You blinked, feeling the way his shadows coiled tighter, the way they hovered at your pulse points as if to reassure themselves. One of them wrapped gently around your wrist, another ghosted across your cheek, cool and soothing, a stark contrast to the heat blooming beneath your skin.

You laughed lightly, leaning against the doorframe. “Az, I just had a few drinks with Mor and Feyre. I didn’t go to war.”

His wings flared slightly behind him before tucking back in. “You smell like too much wine,” he muttered, but his hands had already found your waist, steadying you, grounding you.

One of his shadows twisted around your ankle, winding up your calf as if confirming your words. It wasn’t unusual—his shadows had always been possessive when it came to you, but tonight, they seemed almost frantic, unable to settle.

“I’m fine,” you assured, voice softer now as you reached for him. Your fingers traced the calloused skin of his knuckles, guiding one of his hands to your cheek. “I promise.”

Azriel exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing over your lips, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, as if making a decision, he scooped you up effortlessly, his arms locking you against his chest before you could even pretend to protest.

Your giggle was muffled against his throat as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, his wings shifting around you slightly, cocooning you from the rest of the world. His scent—night-chilled mist and cedar—wrapped around you, grounding and familiar.

His shadows coiled beneath your legs, ghosting up your thighs, curling protectively around your shoulders as if to say, ours, safe, whole.

“You’re impossible,” you murmured, tilting your head to nuzzle against his jaw.

Azriel only hummed, carrying you with quiet ease, his grip firm but gentle. “And you,” he murmured against your hair, voice dipping into that reverent, low tone that always made your breath hitch, “are mine.”

As if in agreement, his shadows curled around your intertwined fingers, sealing the vow in whispers only the night could hear.

───────────────────────────────

“Az, I’m fine,” you said as he led you to the bedroom, but he only hummed in response, his grip tightening slightly.

“You smell like wine,” he mused, amused. “And poor decisions.”

You pouted, leaning against him heavily. “I make great decisions.”

Azriel chuckled, settling you onto the edge of the bed before kneeling in front of you. His hands were warm as they brushed up your thighs, slow and deliberate. You barely had time to register the touch before he was reaching for a cloth and a bowl of water he had already set aside.

“Close your eyes, love,” he murmured, his voice dipping into that low, reverent tone that always sent shivers down your spine.

You sighed, obeying, as he gently wiped the makeup from your face. His touch was featherlight, unbearably tender, as if he were handling something fragile and precious. You felt his fingers brush against your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip before pulling away.

When you opened your eyes, he was watching you with a look that sent warmth blooming in your chest.

“Better?” he asked softly.

You nodded, reaching for him, but he only chuckled again, catching your hands in his.

“Bath first,” he said, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. You let your head rest against his shoulder, inhaling his scent—night-chilled mist and cedar, home.

The bath was already drawn, the water steaming as he lowered you in, slipping in behind you. His hands moved over your skin, slow and careful, working through your hair, washing away the remnants of the night.

You melted into him, sighing as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

His arms tightened around you. “I’d do anything for you.”

And you knew he meant it.

Because Azriel was the sweetest kind of devoted.

He never asked for recognition, never made grand declarations. His love was in the way he noticed everything—the way he bought you little trinkets when he caught you glancing at them for a second too long, the way he always had dinner ready after you’d had a long day, the way he read to you at night, his voice a steady, soothing cadence as you curled against him.

It was in the way he wrote you letters, even when you were just in another room.

Because to Azriel, you were not just his mate.

You were his goddess. And he would worship you until the end of time.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧

Taglist: @kathren1sky_blog, @willowpains

#acotarxreader #batboys x reader #slow burn #angst #tension #azriel x reader #acotar #night court #cassianxreader #x reader

15 notes · View notes

thelovesystem · 2 days ago

Text

I agree that Lily wasn’t a good friend in some of the snippets we see and I used to hate her but I’ve since changed my mind and become a Snily shipper.

Keep in mind 1 we see mostly the bad parts of Sev and Lily’s friendship, the rocky start and the explosive break-up caused by the backdrop of the impending war and rising tensions. There was a lot that happened between that time and I do think she was a good friend to him for most of that time or he wouldn’t love her so much, and we did see some of that otherwise the downfall wouldn’t be tragic.

2 Lily didn’t know the extent of what James and Sirius did to Severus, she obviously didn’t know Sirius set him up to be killed. That doesn’t excuse her walking away in Snape’s Worst Memory which I still think was really shitty but I do think neither of them communicated enough with each other and that caused the splintering of their friendship. That and Severus’ interest in dark magic and his deatheater friends. As for ending up with James, we see even less of that so it’s speculative but we do know it didn’t happen right after Snape’s Worst Memory. I think the fact she didn’t know the extent of their abuse of Severus plus the fact they were in a war and they were some of the relatively few people who were really dedicated to fighting Voldemort and there was a lot of trauma happening kinda pushed them together.

3 Lily is allowed to not be perfect, just because everyone describes her like she was a literal angel doesn’t mean she was. She is quick to judgment before having all the information and has a temper but how are people who like SNAPE going to hate her for that? The dude judged an 11 year old before he’d spoken a damn word to him and continued to miss some quite apparent signs his assumptions were wrong and that’s when he was in his 30s so Lily being a bit judgy as a teenager seems less. Not to always be that “why are male characters allowed to have more flaws than hairs on their head but female characters have to be perfect beacons of kindness and nurturing all the time” person but… yeah, that. If Lily were really the fantasy version of her that is in most characters dialogue, I doubt she would be compatible with Severus for as long as she was, she’s got to be kind of an asshole too.

Again, lily was a bad friend to Snape. I mean, what rational woman would date a boy that destroyed her friends life for 5 to 6 years prior? And using "even Snape would hate you" is kind of downright brainrot.

Am I supposed to be offended a fictional character would hate me? I basically imagine him pregnant 24/7, what will he thinks of me then? 😂.

We're not fake friends. We see a bad friend when we simply see one.

#lily evans #severus snape #hp #my comments

114 notes · View notes

six-of-cringe · 2 years ago

Text

I love all six of crows fanart and everyone should make it forever, but I will note that every time I see art where Nina is shorter than Wylan I feel like I've been lightly poked in the eye

#its offputting to me. some sort of strange alternate universe #listen kaz describes nina as tall she's gotta be at least 5'10 #wylan is giving mid 5s. he's clocking in at 5'7 at MAXIMUM.#in my imagination [which is correct btw] nina is like the same height as kaz. they fight about whether or not nina is taller #kaz calling nina 'tall' to me means tall for a person not just tall for a woman #they're both 5'10 so they can look each other in the eye when they fight #as a tall girl myself she has the RIGHT to be as tall as kaz IF NOT TALLER #RECALL how matthias and nina are described as the two biggest people in the group?? yeah #and dont take wylan's short king crown away from him. 5'5 5'6ish in my heart #if you must make him taller. he's 16 maybe he'll have another growth spurt and hit 5'9 one day #that's as much as i will allow. i have spoken.#nina zenik #wylan van eck #six of crows #soc #tgt #six of crows memes #soc shitpost

55 notes · View notes

genericpuff · 1 year ago

Text

vent post

#and before anyone who hates my shit says “yeah because you ARE a loser way to have self awareness for once”#i promise you this would be me with or without the LO fandom LMAO #anxiety is a hell of a thing #and as much as i internally guilt myself into thinking it would be better if i just shut up and hid away forever #i also know that's the trauma speaking because the adults around me always told me to shut up #and even as an adult i still encounter people who talk over me and make me feel like i'm not allowed to be outspoken #but the pen is mightier than the sword and all those years i've spent being spoken over i've been honing my penmanship #i have fun talking about the things i talk about and i don't have any less right than anyone else to do it #i am cringe and i am free #self post #vent post #altho on another note i do wanna make time this week to go find new series to read #too many of my favorites have turned to shit and it's taken its toll #i KNOW there are better comics out there that are genuinely well made #i already have a few that i'm reading that i love but i need to balance out the good with the bad more lol #i just need to take the time to go find good stuff instead of pouring so much of my attention into the bullshit that doesn't deserve my tim #i think both things can be true #i can have a lot of fun dissecting and writing about series i don't like #while also nourishing myself with good works that restore my faith in this medium #“perfectly balanced as all things should be”

279 notes · View notes

butwhatifidothis · 4 months ago

Note

I LOVED To Be a Creature, and it genuinely creeped me out to see the things Edelgard and Hubert said to Byleth (though it's the same as the game, stripped out of its voice acting and background music, the dialogue is so much more horrifying). Really makes me wonder if Edelgard's love for Byleth is genuine in any way. Do you think there's any real love there or is it just obsession?

Thank you!!! I had a feeling that placing Edelgard and Hubert's words in a context that isn't meant to make them look flattering would really let their casual racism shine, and I'm glad it's seeming like that is in fact the impression people are getting lol. SO sorry for the late answer btw 😭😭😭

As for whether Edelgard's love is genuine... I got opinions lmao.

got a bit long lmao under the cut it goes

If Edelgard felt the way she does for Byleth on exclusively SS and CF, I could maybe see how this is a "genuine" love (insofar as a love steeped in "I may hate your race but you're special and Not Like The Other Ones because I think you're special to me" can, uh, ever be genuine, in any case). But because Edelgard still feels as strongly towards Byleth on AM and VW where she quite literally never talks to them directly in any meaningful way, it becomes waaaaay more like she's just weirdly obsessed with this person who saved her one singular time ever five years ago from an attack Edelgard set up. It makes the "love" way more forced and contrived and obviously trying to squeeze tears out of the player for standing up against the cute girly trying to murder them. Or, alternatively, it makes Edelgard come off as manipulative, saying that she just wanted to walk with Byleth and it makes her so sad to HAVE to fight Byleth because BYLETH wouldn't stand by HER - and she's saying this on AM/VW to a person she's talked to in conversation a cumulative, what? Hour? Two? Maybe a few days, being nice? Over the course of, being as absolutely generous as physically possible and not counting the five years Byleth was missing... two fucking years? She's shitting herself over fighting this stranger she doesn't fucking know? Yeah, sure buddy, whatever you say - you see what I mean?

And honestly even outside of those two routes, I think it's more that she sees Byleth as being hers rather than actually liking them for who they are. A body to stand next to her and tell her how right she is and comfort her - who doesn't have the background of "I was literally raised to think this is my only purpose in life" muddying the sincerity of the brown-nosing - who also happens to also act as The Perfect Fighter and The Perfect Strategist to actively help her get what she wants. That view of Byleth being a tool doesn't really go away unless they marry her, seen by how they quite literally get nothing for all they've done for Edelgard should they go unmarried to a noble (guess they just weren't meritable enough once their use to her was done).

As well as how much more Edelgard doesn't like Byleth disagreeing with her or otherwise going against her flow than pretty much anyone else in the game - you lose supports points if you don't think the Black Eagle Strike Force name she made is good, she quickly denies the notion that Byleth isn't detached from others/emotions and insists they are just like she is, she gives them the same callous and thoughtless words she was apparently given once in her life while they are in the midst of mourning their recently murdered father so that they get over it already and get back to being useful to her (directly saying she will only reach out her hand when it's time for HER to move forward, not when BYLETH heals from WATCHING THEIR DAD DIE IN THEIR FUCKING ARMS MAYBE A WEEK AGO). She never treats Byleth kindly unless they do everything she wants, which like. Isn't love???? At all????

There's just this... weirdly possessive air Edelgard has around Byleth that always threw me off, especially with how easily she admits to have been willing to kill them so far into CF and how readily she cuts ties with them the second the fighting's done (which is particular because how just how clingy she was to Byleth everywhere else - you know during all that time Byleth had a use to her). Incorporating that into being an intentional part of her character is certainly interesting, but not in a way that's flattering to the idea of Edelgard genuinely being in love with Byleth lmao.

Personally tho, even disregarding almost everything else, the simple explanation is that I don't think you can really sit there and say you love someone while openly hating part of their racial heritage. Wild thought, I know lmao

#ask #anon #anti edelgard #just to be safe #like. maybe if this ship was allowed to be seen as the clearly toxic ship it is i MIGHT could see it as a sort of twisted #''you're only good because *I* like you'' fucked up kinda deal #where the possessive and controlling shit baked into the relationship was embraced or even just like. acknowledged?? at all??#and where Edelgard ''doesn't care'' for Byleth's mixed-race status in her love for her...#...because she *already* dehumanized them as *being* hers regardless of Byleth's race. like they ALREADY aren't really a person to her #which is why their mixed-race status is just an annoying bug to her and not a deal-breaker (to downplay it SEVERELY but you get the idea)#but uh like it's not like at all lmao #there's no way in hell my ass is gonna be convinced Edelgard ''I hate Nabateans and want to obliterate all of them'' von Hresvelg #would ever actually genuinely love Byleth ''is literally part Nabatean'' Eisner WITHOUT getting over her hatred of Nabateans #and oops guess what she never does 🤷‍♀️#and yeah her ''facing you i grow weak'' and ''i just wanted to walk with you'' schtick on AM and VW looks shallow as helllllll dude #like bitch do NOT play with me you do not and frankly CAN not give a shit about this person sincerely #LITERALLY they have almost never spoken to each other. she could've just as well said this to fucking Raphael and have it mean just as much

44 notes · View notes