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uzumaki-rebellion · 2 days ago

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Choose One (Chapter 5) by Uzumaki Rebellion

Characters: Elijah "Smoke" Moore and Elias "Stack" Moore (characters in the Michael B. Jordan movie "Sinners"). Lena Blackwell (OC).

Warning(s): Mentions of Hoodoo, Explicit Sex, Supernatural Elements, Romance, Some Violence, Polyamory, and Angst. Pre-Sinners movie.

Summary: Lena Blackwell works in an illegal after-hours Black & Tan club in Bronzeville where she seduces twin brothers Smoke and Stack. Each brother has qualities she likes and she embarks on an illicit affair with both. All is well until one of the twins starts catching feelings.

Word Count: 5K

Masterlist HERE.

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"See-line woman (see-line)"

Nina Simone – "See-Line Woman"

Lena froze when the Tommy Gun blasted the ceiling first.

She fought the automatic flight or fight impulse she'd learned from humans to blend in with their natural fear. Instead of ducking like the other patrons and co-workers, she covered her ears and stared the shooter in the face.

"Lena!"

Both Smoke and Stake hollered her name, the fear in their voices pushing Lena to step back. She tripped over Bobby who'd been hit in the shoulder and bled profusely. The screams and shouts of frightened people thrust her into action as the shooter aimed for the twins now that everyone else cowered on the floor or fled the premises. Bullets flew from all directions, shattering liquor bottles, glasses, and the mirror behind the counter. The ensuing melee dredged up more cries of terror. Bernice and Caroline screamed their heads off before Stack shoved them to the floor.

Smoke snatched his two guns from his double holster and plugged holes into the first assailant. Stack leaped over the counter and shielded Lena with his body.

"C'mon, baby, we gotta move!" he shouted to her.

"Bobby…"

"Don't worry about him."

Max and Frank dragged Bobby by his arms to safety beneath the counter before hustling him through the employees-only door that led to the kitchen. Stack shoved her through that door and ran back to help his brother, pulling out a gun he kept on his ankle and the new brass knuckle blade he carried.

The kitchen staff, Max, Frank, and Bobby, escaped outside through the kitchen delivery chute. Bernice, Caroline and two other servers wept and ran through the double doors, headed out after the others. Their shrieks echoed out in the chaotic street where other patrons sought safety.

Lena waited for Smoke and Stack hidden behind boxes of fresh produce. They didn't allow her to interfere with human actions. Fate and Death controlled the outcome. She could already sense Fate moving through the building, her otherworldly energy surging like winds of a hurricane gathering across Lena's arms. Chance had showed up too, his shadow sliding across the ceiling offering pathways of escape if Fate overlooked a soul by being preoccupied with another human in her midst. Lena was grateful that no envelopes appeared for her to work at that moment. She only wanted to be with the twins, not ferrying souls.

The sounds of gunfire ceased abruptly.

Lena snuck through the kitchen doors and back into the main room. Smoke and Stack peered at the men they put down. Some guards that had been hired as extra protection were killed, and sprawled about in cooling heaps of dead flesh.

Smoke glanced at Lena.

"Why the hell are you still here?" he snapped.

Stack ran over to her.

"Get outta here. The cops will arrive soon," Stack insisted, pushing her toward the kitchen.

"I'm not going without the both of you," she said, pushing Stack's hand away.

Smoke holstered his guns.

"We gotta hide out for awhile. The streets will be hot after this," Smoke told Stack.

"You can stay with me," Lena blurted.

The twins eyed each other warily.

Ernie dashed out from behind the wall drapes, his personal bodyguard by his side, gun held high. The Black godfather surveyed the carnage in the club and frowned. He glared at the twins.

"How the fuck you two survive all this?" Ernie shouted.

Lena wondered about that, too.

"Any civilians hurt?" Ernie asked.

"Just Bobby," Stack said, shoving his blade into his belt.

"Then it's gotta be hittas from O'Banion and Moran. Real pros. Y'all get outta here. Lena, you and the staff stay clear. Give me a week to deal with this," Ernie said.

Stack clasped her hand and dragged her toward the secret gambling room. An emergency exit that led into an alley would keep them covered.

"She ain't working here no more, Ernie," Stack said.

Smoke followed them into the hidden room and out the private exit. The alley's darkness provided cover, and they dashed over to the roadster. Lena jumped in the back and Smoke took the driver's side. Once Stack hopped in next to his brother, they tore off into the night. Lena gazed upward as a murder of crows flocked toward the cold, black sky without her in their ranks. The souls of the newly dead glowed like tiny specks of star-shine on their wings.

Smoke and Stack remained quiet, going up her elevator. The stooped shoulders of the older Black elevator operator faced the three of them, and Lena tamped down on the stirrings of unease hounding her. She expected an explosion from the twins in proximity with her, but thus far, they'd acted solemn for two men sharing the same woman. Not even the chaos of being shot at from all directions in the club fazed them. Smoke's left hand showed tremors, and he clasped it with his right to control the shaking. They never shook when he held guns, though. Stack paid the elevator operator a twenty and the old man knew to keep his mouth shut about seeing them with her.

She opened the apartment door, and both men headed for her private bar at the same time. That set Stack off, and he shoved his brother against the wall.

"Selfish bastard!" Stack yelled.

He stomped over to Lena and grabbed the front of her dress, ripping off several buttons.

"How long you been fucking him, huh?"

His voice cracked with rage and the warmth of his breath baptized her in the pangs of hurt embedded in the words. Smoke strode over and pulled his brother off her. She clutched at her torn clothing and resigned herself to accepting the outburst. Smoke tussled with Stack.

"Let go of me!"

Stack wrenched Smoke's hands away and stuck his finger in his older brother's face.

"You move dirty on your own blood? Letting another woman come between us again? All the bitches in this city and you mess with her?!"

"I didn't know about you and her."

Smoke's voice remained calm. He glanced over at Lena.

"It's my fault. I wanted you both," Lena offered.

Stack whirled around in attack mode.

"Two brothers…two men from the same family…?"

"Why does it matter? You take women whenever you want. I've seen you go after sisters, stringing them along, happy to get what you want from them. Why can't I do the same with the infamous Smokestack twins?"

Stack's eyes squinted, and his lips curled into a snarl.

"You're the most devious bitch I've ever met. Can't trust none of you whores—"

"But you liked me just fine when I was sucking your dick and letting you cum inside me! As long as I was taking care of Big Stack sexually, wasn't no concern about who else I was fucking."

Stack swung an arm out to grab her again. Smoke held him back. She locked eyes with the older twin and he didn't seem surprised or upset.

"I swear to god these Black bitches always plotting on a nigga," Stack spat.

"Fuck you, Stack. All those white hoes and mulattos you fuck do the same shit. You're just mad that I'm not begging for your forgiveness. I fucked you and your brother. So what? I'd fuck you both again in a heartbeat and wouldn't feel no way about it either."

"You delusional slut…I'm done with you," Stack barked.

He jerked away from Smoke, his anger diffused from his brother as a target. Just the way she knew it would.

"Are you truly done with me?" she said.

Lena put a hand on her hip, letting her torn dress fly open revealing her bra.

"You were damn near crying while eating my pussy…fix yourself a drink and sit down," she said, walking toward her bedroom.

Smoke let out an unusual laugh and placed a fist against his lips. Stack scoffed.

"Nigga, whatchu laughing for? She tricked on your ass, too."

Smoke waved his hand dismissively.

"We got more things to worry about than this."

Lena paused at the entrance of her hallway.

"You two can take the last rooms. The beds are made up already. Fresh towels and other toiletries in the bathroom are available," she said.

Smoke nodded. Stack poured himself a whiskey and cut his eyes at her.

"Beds probably got cum stains from all kinds of niggas running through here in a spot I fucking pay for," Stack grumbled.

"Only two men been in my bed or this apartment… you…and him—"

The whiskey glass Stack once held crashed and shattered on the wall next to her. Startled, Lena held her hands up to protect her face from getting cut.

"Shut your fucking whore mouth up!" Stack shouted.

Smoke pushed his brother, his eyes smoldering with fury.

"That's enough," Smoke warned. "What's done is done."

Lena touched her top lip. Blood soaked her fingertips. A shard of glass had cut her skin. Stack stared at her.

"Lena?"

He rushed to her side.

"Aw, damn, baby I'm sorry…"

He touched her mouth, and she hissed with the sharp stinging pain. Her eyes watered and she struck him with fast hands, her fury windmilling the fuck out of his face, disheveling his hair and clothes. Smoke ran over and intervened; she let him have it, too, disappointed that he didn't feel a way about her fucking someone else, regardless of it being Stack.

"Lena! Stop!" Stack yelped, drawing back from her.

He finally lifted her over his shoulder and carried her to the master bedroom. Tossing her on the bed gently, he held her arms to her sides.

"I said I'm sorry. Lemme take care of that cut," Stack said.

"Get out of my room!"

"Woman, hush. I pay for all this shit. Sitcho ass here and wait for me."

He squeezed past Smoke in the doorway who wandered in to check on her.

"It's not too bad," Smoke said, touching it.

Lena winced and Stack rushed back in with ice wrapped in a kitchen cloth. He held it against her lip.

"This will keep any swelling down. Should stop bleeding in a minute."

She pressed the cloth against her lip. Both twins peered down at her. Concern spread across their identical faces.

"Go away. I'm tired. We all got shot at and I want to forget this night ever happened."

Lena flopped on her side, keeping her lip covered.

The brothers fussed on their way out of her bedroom and she listened to their heated argument muffled down the hall for over an hour. Stack broke a few things in the living room. She didn't jump up to investigate. He had to deal with his frustration the best way he knew how, through tearing up things he bought for her. Loud cursing took over. One twin dragged past her open bedroom door, but she didn't look to see who it was before she dozed off.

At dawn, she woke up to find Stack nuzzled against her, holding her tight. Her lip was healed completely, and she knew there'd be no bruising or swelling.

She left the bed to use the bathroom. The last bedroom door was closed. Smoke snored loud enough to hear. Lena peed, brushed her teeth, and took a bath. She slipped into a pale green satin night slip back in her bedroom before crawling under the covers with Stack. He was butt naked with an early morning erection.

"Be still now…shit…tryna sleep," he mumbled.

Lena poked his face.

"I thought you were done with me," she said.

He pushed her finger away. She lifted his top lip to check his teeth. Stack had gold on the right side of his mouth. Smoke had a little bit of gold on his left. She was definitely in bed with Stack.

"Why are you in bed with me?"

"Shut up."

"Make me."

She poked at his face again.

"C'mon, now stop playin.' I'm tired and still mad at you."

"How mad?"

He frowned with his eyes still closed and turned over, curling into the fetal position. She rubbed on his arm and spooned her body around his, letting her warmth drain into his back.

"Leave me alone."

"If you wanted to be left alone, you wouldn't be balled up in my bed naked as the day you were born."

"A nigga can be pissed and—"

"And what?"

"Go to sleep."

Lena hugged him and trailed a finger across his cheek. She kissed his temple and settled in.

"Why you have to sleep with him, Lena? It could've been anyone else but him."

"I like you both. I wanted you both. It's like… I couldn't have one without the other. Stack…I don't want to hurt you or him. The both of you together are magic to me."

"That's not making me feel better. I don't like sharing nothin'. It's not right for you to come between us—"

"It doesn't have to be that way. We can all be together…whenever we want. Now I don't have to hide anything."

"You don't have any self respect for yourself? A woman ain't supposed to be whoring around with two men at the same time. Definitely not two fucking brothers either."

"What I do with you is whoring? So ain't you a whore, too? You don't see me saying shit about all the harlots you've paraded around town before we got together. The ones you fucked at the same time. I've heard about your threesomes and foursomes."

Stack turned around on the bed.

"That's different. I'm a man."

"So?"

"We got needs that a woman wouldn't understand."

"Women have needs, too. I like dick…pussy too when the right women get my attention."

Stack's face scrunched up into a look of abject horror.

"You sleep with women, too?"

"Two at a time, if I'm in the mood."

"Now that's just…well…that's just…how come you ain't never fucked other bitches with me?"

"The hypocrisy."

Lena shoved back his forehead with two fingers. The corners of his lips tugged down.

"It's not right, Lena. What you're doing to me and Smoke."

She rested her forehead against his.

"You and Smoke make me happy. Happier than I've ever been in a long, long time. I hid it from you because you wouldn't understand my feelings…my need to have you both in my life."

"I can't be with you if you keep seeing him."

"That's your choice."

"That's it? My choice? You can cut me off that easy?"

"I told you what I want."

"Maybe he don't want that either."

"He's not acting upset."

"That's because he keeps everything locked up inside. I know my brother. If he's with you, that means he wants you. He don't get with just any woman."

Lena pulled back and stroked the hair on his chin.

"Who was the woman that got in between you before?"

Stack's eyebrows shot up.

"What?"

"Last night you yelled at Smoke about another woman getting in between you before…"

He shook his head and turned away again.

"I'm not talking about that."

"She hurt you that bad?"

"She married him."

Stack shoved the blankets away and sat up on the edge of the bed.

"We came to an understanding about her. But I'm not willing to do so for you," he said.

"We don't have to do anything but just be. Why can't you trust in that?"

"You don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

He sighed heavily and then leaned over to kiss her lips.

"I'm going to sleep in the other room," he said.

He kissed her mouth and padded out of the bedroom with his dick swinging.

Lena dragged out of bed by noon and cooked a big breakfast.

The odor of bacon, fried eggs, grits, and toast lured the twins out of their separate rooms. Smoke walked into her kitchen first, wearing his undershirt and pants. Stack wandered in shirtless and his bottom half covered in striped boxers. They each sat at the ends of the table. She put the crispier pieces of bacon and harder fried eggs on Smoke's plate the way he liked them, and the flimsier strips and softer eggs on Stack's plate the way he preferred. After scooping out grits for them, she fixed her own plate and sat in the middle seat. They ate quietly. Stack glared at his brother a few times and Smoke looked at his twin passively, not giving any negative vibes.

"We're going to have to talk about what y'all plan to do," Lena said, breaking the silence.

She chomped on some bacon and waited for one of them to speak.

"There's nothing to do but stay off the streets. Stack will make some calls…I'll have to check in with my people, too," Smoke said.

"What people?" she asked.

Smoke glanced at Stack. Stack shrugged and tossed the last piece of his toast in his mouth.

"She's in it now, no sense hiding shit from her," Stack said.

"Maybe I can help," she said.

Smoke shook his head.

"You have to lie low, too."

"If I'm out of a job, at least give me a new one," she said.

Smoke studied her face.

"I've been working with Moran's gang," Smoke said.

"I thought you were part of Capone's organization."

"We are," Stack said, wiping his hands together.

"We're playing the Italians and Irish down the middle."

"That'll get you both killed. I thought you and Ernie were doing fine with your cut in the market. The club and the gambling room stayed packed," she said.

"We want our own shit," Stack said.

"Ernie is old school. Too cautious and too stingy with the profits. He's small time compared to what the other gangs have control over. We're going to take what we want and leave Chicago," Smoke added.

Lena placed her hands flat on the table and leaned forward.

"You're leaving? When?"

"As soon as we steal enough booze and cash from both sides," Smoke said.

"What about me? Us? Were you ever going to tell me or just disappear?"

"I wanted to take you with me, but you fucked that up by fucking my brother," Stack said.

The unspoken tension between the brothers regarding her festered in the air. She took their plates away and washed them. Didn't bother to ask any more questions at the table. The thought of them leaving gnawed at her core self. She wanted to cry. Showing weakness wouldn't do, not in the situation they were in. She mustered up willful unbotherdness to make them think their leaving wouldn't break her. The shock of it rested in her solar plexus. She couldn't leave Chicago unless Death told her to.

Stack used her phone first, then went to the bathroom to bathe. Smoke made a few calls while Lena listened to the radio, trying to catch any news about the killings at the Sunset. The only thing she gleaned from a few reports was that the death toll was five and that two suspects were on the loose.

Smoke sat on her couch after finishing his check-in. Lena parked herself next to him.

"You haven't spoken to me about our situation…you, me…Stack."

"What is there to say? You played us."

"No, I didn't. I had two separate and private relationships with each of you."

"What did you expect to happen when you got caught?"

"I wasn't going to get caught. You messed that up by grinning in public."

"So now it's my fault?"

"It is."

"Who did you sleep with first?"

"I made love to Stack first. You ignored me by acting high and mighty…untouchable. So I went for the riper, lower hanging fruit."

"Why isn't he enough for you? Why drag me into bullshit with my brother?"

She ignored his questions.

"Do you still want to be with me?" she asked.

"I do…but I can't. You made a mistake. It's best we stop and go back to being…associates. Besides, we won't be around here much longer, anyway."

"You think you can quit me cold turkey?"

"You think you're some habit I can't break? You're a woman with good pussy. I can find that anywhere. I'd rather my brother have you because he needs a good woman in his life. When he's around you, he's focused…less impulsive. I'll ask for his forgiveness, blame it all on you, and move on. You're a good-time girl, so you understand what it is."

His tone was cool and curt. Business-like.

"I see," she said.

"I've been around, Lena. Shit happens. I'll talk to him, patch things up for you, and mind my business."

The words coming out of his mouth were perfunctory. His eyes…they yearned for her with reluctance. She wouldn't push him. He had to choose her. Their connection ran deeper than sex. Just like Stack. In those moments, entwined with either man, Lena found freedom from her sacred duties. A type of liberation that they also desired from the lives they led. Free to be themselves for themselves.

She didn't want to lose that. From neither twin. But she couldn't pressure them. If they needed to break from her straight away, her gut said they would come back eventually. She had to be patient. Time was something she had plenty of.

"I have more calls to make," he said.

Lena kissed his lips.

For a second, he hesitated, and then allowed his lips to align with hers for a quick smooch.

She refused to let them go in her mind. They would not fully reciprocate her affections until they each had time to contemplate a life without her.

"I'll leave you alone to make those calls then," she said.

She headed for her master bedroom to read a book. Perhaps it would be more comfortable for everyone to stay apart in separate spaces.

That's what they did for the rest of the day. The twins used her phone or snuck out of the apartment building to use the new phone booth posted a block away. It was clear to Lena that the brothers had been working over the Italians and the Irish for a much longer time than they let on. Pitting gangs against each other in ways beneficial to them put targets on their backs from all fronts. Capone was locked up. The Italians scrambled to hold their power within the vacuum their mob boss created with his absence.

She cooked them a heavy dinner of ham and cheesy potatoes from a recipe she cut out of a magazine. The men ate without her. She lost her appetite while cooking and worrying about them sneaking out to a secret garage in the middle of the night. She caught the gist that they were pilfering liquor crates from the two different gangs and hiding the stolen goods on the south side.

Smoke approached her in the sitting room as she played records.

"We need you to do a job for us," he said.

Stack sauntered next to his brother, his eyes still sullen, but determined to keep focused on their work and not their splintered relationship.

"What do you need done?"

Smoke kept talking, and Stack listened.

"We need you to go down to the Dreamland tonight and find out if Ernie shows up there."

"Ernie?"

"We don't trust him," Stack said with some bite in his tone.

"You think Ernie set you up?"

"Just go there, ask around to see if they're hiring bartenders. Since you can sing, ask about a job doing that, too. You're a knockout, so Bottoms the owner will want to feel you out himself. See who's hanging with him."

"What if Ernie shows up and sees me?"

"His joint got shot up. Everyone needs work until he opens back up. He won't be shocked to see you there. If he's around, come right back here and let us know when we come back."

"Where will you guys be?"

"Out," Stack said.

"For how long?"

"Will you do it?"

"Yeah, I'll get dressed now."

She slipped past them and washed up. Choosing a crème and white dress appropriate for an impromptu interview, she glanced at her reflection in the full-length mirror in her bedroom. She combed out her curls into a fluffier bob. Grabbing a coat from her closet, she met the men in her front room.

"No…aw, hell no. You can't go to Dreamland dressed like that," Stack groaned.

Lena looked at her dress and sensible work shoes.

"What's wrong with this?"

Stack huffed with annoyance.

"No style vision at all. I bought you the best clothes in town and you think walking into Dreamland looking like an old schoolmarm is going to get Will Bottom's attention?"

"You said to go ask for a job. This is the outfit for that."

Stack sucked his teeth and tugged on her arm.

"I swear if you or Smoke didn't have me around to show you how to dress to finesse…tryna embarrass me out here…"

Stack dragged her back to her bedroom closet and pulled out several dresses that he tossed on the bed. He grabbed a few different heels, too. High ones. With his hands on his hips, he eyed six dresses and chose the most revealing one. A slinky red off-the-shoulder number that always had her breasts sitting pretty.

"This the one, Lena. You walk into Dreamland with this on…ooh wee, heads are gonna turn."

She pulled off the dress she had on, along with the slip. Kicking off the shoes, she kept her eyes on Stack. He bit his bottom lip, staring at her.

Unfastening her bra, she let it drop to the floor.

"You made me so mad, Lena," he said.

Stack shortened the distance between them. She lowered her head.

"I'm sorry."

"I love my brother."

"I know—"

"I love you, too."

She blinked and looked up into his eyes.

He cradled her face and the struggle behind his bold brown eyes humbled her.

"Stack…"

He let his nose touch hers.

"I don't want to let you go."

She reached up and clasped his wrists. His arms trembled.

"I know I talk a lot of shit to women. But you never fall for any of it…you never let me run game on you. Everything you say or do to me is the real you. I fucks with that. Lena…I want you to come with us when we leave."

"What about Smoke?"

"That's my blood. I can tell he loves you, too. At least the part of him that's able to allow you close to him. That ain't easy. He's got a lot of trauma…a lot of pain he carries. If you made him find his smile again…made him laugh…then I want him to have that. Want him to have you, too."

"You sure?"

"It's my choice, right?"

She nodded and hugged him tight.

"She ready?" Smoke called out.

"Almost," Stack said.

Lena pulled on the dress and Stack helped zip her up.

"Which shoes?" she asked.

"The black Moiré satin pumps."

"You know the names of my shoes?"

"I know every fine strip of clothing a woman wears from her head to her toes. When I used to pimp my stable of bitches from here to Arkansas, I had to know what the tricks liked. I always had classy lookin' hoes. Big pimpin' days."

Lena rolled her eyes and sat on the bed. Stack knelt down and helped her put on the pumps. He gazed into her eyes and pushed back a fluff of hair from her forehead.

"Perfection. Go straight there and come back. Have the cab driver circle the block twice if you think you're being followed."

Stack dug into his pocket and pulled out her transportation and club money.

"Drink a little and look over the place before you start askin' for work," he said.

"Okay."

He stood, and she placed the money in her pocketbook.

Smoke's eyes widened at the sight of her new dress.

"Better?" she asked.

"Guess he knows what he's talkin' 'bout," Smoke said.

Stack helped her put on her coat at the front door.

"You two be safe," she said.

Smoke and Stack stood side by side, looking at her. Lena leaned forward and kissed Stack on the lips. When she moved for Smoke, he jerked back.

"Let her kiss you, man. It'll make her feel better," Stack said.

Smoke gave a quizzical look at his brother.

"We just gonna roll with it for now," Stack said.

Lena kissed Smoke's soft lips. She pried his mouth open with her tongue, and he accepted it.

"Aye, you doin' a little more with him. That ain't fair," Stack blurted.

Lena grinned, pulled away, and kissed Stack again, tonguing him down slowly. His eyes were still closed when she spun around and left the apartment

Chapter 6 soon come....

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#sinners fanfiction #smoke x black oc #stack x black oc #sinners smut #smoke and stack #sinners movie #smokestack twins #Choose One #Uzumaki Rebellion

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jefth3kilr · 12 hours ago

Text

Naruto boys and the strange things that turn them on 🍃🎋

includes: Kakashi; Gai; Jiraiya; Naruto; Sasuke; Kiba; Shikamaru; Lee; Gaara; Kankuro

warnings: nsfw (MINORS DNI) naruto and the other students are 18-19

not proofread! feel free to send requests! :))

Kakashi

being domestic….

kakashi is very used to taking care of himself; so he automatically takes care of you too. but the second you start caring for him, he’s popping boners left and right.

you did his laundry for him: he’s hard. you made him lunch: he’s hard. you wish him luck on his mission and kiss his cheek: he’s hard.

some days he doesn’t even end up leaving the house because he gets to caught up fucking you silly over the kitchen counter LMAO

also his books…

if you read his books without him knowing and then reenact a scene with him, he will lose his mind.

Gai

wearing his clothes…

like if he comes home to see you in his green outfit, or even just his vest or leg warmers. he’s going feral and bending u tf over.

also if you watch him train and compliment his muscles, he will lose it. he loves showing off his strength to you (he’s always picking u up and throwing you over his shoulder hehe) so when you praise him for it he gets weak in the knees.

Jiraiya

everything and anything turns him on…

he loves your perfume. if he smells it in public like at a store or something he will need to excuse himself to the bathroom to fix his ‘little’ problem.

your hair turns him on, your lips turn him on, your voice turns him, shit even your breathing turns him on.

You could just chilling with him on the couch, silently reading before you notice Jiraiya crawling inbetween your legs. “What are you doing?” you would ask, just to get a stupid response from him like: “you were breathing. it was hot.”

And trust, if you try to seduce him or show that you want him in that way, he will genuinely pass tf out.

when he’s really tired and his day has been shitty, just shove your tits in his face and play with his hair. pls 🙏

Naruto

Naruto actually feels quite bad when he gets turned on while you’re doing normal things. it makes him feel like a pervert, like Jiraiya LMAO.

but he can’t help it if you touch his ear or hair.

Naruto never knew he could be so sensitive to a touch like that. but if you brush his hair behind his ear, your finger tips grazing the outer shell of it, he’ll get weak in the knees for sure.

Also pull his hair…trust he likes that.

he also likes watching you train or fight. It turns him on seeing how strong you are. trust he’ll just have smug ass smirk while everyone watches you fight. he’ll probably say smth stupid like: “Yep, that’s my girlfriend.” sitting there with a nasty man spread or smth

also he definitely doesn’t mind if you boss him around. i mean sometimes he’ll pretend that it gets on his nerves (and it definitely did when he was younger) but now that he’s grown he loves that shit 🙏

Sasuke

i feel like sasuke is not a SUPER sexual person. the usual things that turn people on doesn’t really have much of an effect on him….that was until he saw you in a short nurses dress because you and your friends were having a costume party.

sasuke is actually super into like dressing up. Whether it be an outfit like the nurses one, or just a simple lingerie, he goes crazy.

I think that Sasuke likes the teasing foreplay even more than the actual sex part of sex.

like just sit on his lap and tease tf out of him in your little outfit and he’ll lose his mind.

if you ever walk past him in public, nonchalantly lifting your shirt just a bit so he can see the top of your thong…your getting bent tf over in the nearest bathroom.

Kiba

YOU BEING MAD. hear me out.

he will do anything in his power to frustrate you. He’ll tease you, mess up your work, slap your books out of your hands. literally anything to get you to be mad at him.

and his favorite part….when you finally yell at him.

Making him sit down and listen to your lecture. he’ll reply with a smirk and a “yes ma’am!” as he hides his massive boner lmao.

he secretly loves getting bossed around by you, it really gets him going. and he especially loves fucking you until your not mad anymore…

CALL HIM A GOOD BOY AND HIS TAIL WILL BE WAGGIN LMAO

Shikamaru

shikamaru loves lazy days…it gets him going when you act just as lazy as him.

usually your always busy, making him do chores with you and everything. but on those special days where your just as tired, he goes feral.

You’re wearing nothing but some fuzzy socks, little shorts, and his shirt. yeah he’s already gone. and if you want sleepy, lazy sex….he feels as if he died and went to heaven.

also: if you are smarter than him.

like if you win when playing your game against him or Asuna, he would have to hide his flustered face and growing tent in his pants.

he’s not too sure why, but he is really attracted to intelligence.

Lee

EVERYTHING BABE, EVERYTHING

Lee worships the ground you walk on, you are a goddess in his eyes. you don’t even need to do anything and he would be horny for you.

Though I don’t think Lee would ever initiate sex, he would be down for it literally any time you ask.

he really loves when you compliment his strength. like please sit on his back while he does push ups and praise him after each one. he would genuinely pass away lmao

yeah so there isn’t anything specific that turns him on, honestly just the thought that you want him makes Lee turned on

Gaara

like sasuke, i don’t think Gaara is a very sexual person. it quite rare that he want sex.

Though i do believe he LOVES making out. Just sit on his lap and touch each other all over while heavily making out and breathing in each other’s ear…SIGN HIM TF UP.

Though Gaara will get turned on if you try to seduce him. he would definitely be confused as first but after he knows what’s going on he gets all flustered and nervous hehe

Like if you’re leaning close to him, giggling and twirling your hair and stuff. It turns him on knowing that you want HIM of all people

Kankuro

like Kiba, he likes to piss you off.

He’ll purposely kiss you after you put on lipstick and smear the color, running away while laughing as you complain. He’ll smack your ass as you walk by and ‘not know what you’re talking about’ when you tell him to stop. He’ll scare you when you walk past, he’ll bother you, he’ll mess up your hair. But it’s not because he doesn’t like you, it’s quite the opposite.

He likes when you get mad at him. yelling at him and making him apologize or clean up his mess. he likes it trust 🙏

but Kankuro also secretly loved praise and being babied. Like grab his face gently, make him look up at you as your praise him for all his hard work. He would melt.

Thanks for reading!!! feel free to send requests!

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andy-15-07 · 2 days ago

Text

The One That Got Away

PAIRING: Tommy Miller x reader

Word Count:1082| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

The Last Of Us Masterlist

Pre-Outbreak – Austin, Texas

"You’re really gonna leave the house lookin’ that good and not expect me to say anything?"

You smirk, leaning against the kitchen counter, coffee in hand. "You’re really gonna be late for work again if you don’t stop flirting with me every morning."

Tommy wraps his arms around your waist from behind, lips brushing your ear. "Ain’t flirtin’ if it’s true."

"Still makes you late," you tease.

"And worth every second." He spins you around, kissing you like the world isn’t on fire, like nothing could go wrong.

Post-Outbreak – Jackson, Wyoming (Years Later)

"Tommy!" Maria's voice cuts through the biting winter air as she hurries toward him. "We’ve got a new group coming in. Patrol found them southeast , couple of 'em are hurt."

He sighs, tossing his gloves into the bin outside the stables. "Another one? That's the third group this month."

"I know. But there’s someone you’re gonna want to see." She hesitates. “I didn’t believe it at first.”

"What do you mean?"

Maria tilts her head. "Just… come with me."

He walks through the clinic doors, the cold following him in. Jackson’s med bay is warm but tense. People shift around, helping a few newcomers settle in. And then,

He sees her.

You.

You're sitting on a cot, bundled in a jacket too big for you, bandage on your arm. Your hair’s shorter, skin a little rougher, but your eyes , those damn eyes.

He freezes.

You look up.

And your whole body stills.

"...Tommy?" your voice comes out cracked, disbelieving.

His feet move before his brain catches up. “No way. No. No, you," he stumbles, chest rising fast. "You died. I saw the house. I saw the flames,”

“I got out,” you whisper, tears immediately spilling over. “I ran. I,Tommy, I looked for you for years.”

Tommy’s hands are on your face before either of you can say anything else. "Jesus Christ," he breathes. "You’re real. You’re,"

“I’m real,” you nod, laughing through the tears. “You’re real, too.”

Later That Night – Jackson Lodge

You're sitting by the fire, wrapped in a blanket Maria brought, sipping hot tea. Tommy hasn’t left your side.

"You really thought I was dead?" you ask softly.

"I didn't just think it," Tommy says, voice tight. "I knew it. There was no way someone could’ve made it outta that mess. We lost power, the whole block was burning, your street was overrun. I... I lost it."

You stare at the fire. “I remember the screaming. The smoke. I grabbed a bag and bolted through the back window when I heard the infected. I thought I’d find you on the road.”

"I went back for you. I swear. Joel tried to stop me, but I went back. Place was gone."

“I kept hoping maybe you’d made it out. That maybe I’d see you again.” You glance at him, smiling sadly. “Guess we’re both stubborn like that.”

He chuckles dryly. “You have no idea.”

A Walk Through Jackson – The Next Day

"So… married, huh?" you ask, nodding at his wedding band.

Tommy hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. Maria. She’s good people. Smart. Brave. Keeps me grounded.”

"I figured you’d find someone," you say, forcing a smile.

He studies you. “That a problem?”

You shake your head. “No. Just… weird. We used to talk about getting a dog, a porch swing, a bunch of loud kids running around.”

Tommy sighs, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Yeah. We did. Life just had other plans.”

“Clearly.”

You stop walking.

“Tommy… do you ever think about what it would’ve been like if none of this happened?”

He nods. “Every damn day.”

Flashback – A Week Before the Outbreak

"You gonna marry me someday?" you ask, half-joking as the two of you lie in bed, limbs tangled.

Tommy looks down at you. "You kiddin’? I’d marry you tomorrow if I could afford a ring."

"You don’t need a ring."

"Well, I want one. You deserve more than some last-minute courthouse vows and a beer after."

You grin. "What if I like beer?"

He laughs. “Then I’ll buy you the fanciest beer in the state and make sure you’ve got that porch swing, too.”

Back in Jackson – Present Day

"Things have been… hard," Tommy says later that evening, walking you back to the guest house. “Even in this place. Even with good people. You keep surviving, but it doesn’t mean it stops hurting.”

You nod, voice quiet. “You were the only thing that kept me going some days.”

He looks at you, raw emotion swimming in his eyes. “I never stopped loving you.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper.

“Why not? It’s true.”

“Because you’ve got a life now. A wife. A town. And I’m just… a ghost.”

He grabs your arm gently. “Don’t do that. Don’t talk like you don’t matter.”

“But I don’t belong here.”

“You belong wherever you want to be.”

Silence stretches between you. Snow begins to fall.

“Can I stay?” you ask.

His voice breaks. “Please.”

A Few Weeks Later

Life in Jackson is calm. Quiet. You help in the greenhouse. Get to know people. Share meals in the dining hall. Sometimes Maria watches you and Tommy with a distant expression, unreadable.

One evening, as you and Tommy walk past the stables, you break the silence.

“Does she know?”

Tommy nods. “She knew the second I saw you. I told her everything that night.”

“What did she say?”

He hesitates. “She said love before the world ended still matters. She said she wouldn’t stand in the way of what we were… whatever this is.”

You stop. “And what is this, Tommy?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admits. “But I know I don’t want to lose you again.”

You step closer, snow crunching beneath your boots.

“Then don’t.”

That Night – Tommy’s Porch

He brings out two mugs of hot cider, handing you one before sitting beside you.

"Think we ever get to be happy again?" you ask.

"I don’t know if it’ll look the same as before. But I think we can make somethin' new."

You glance at him, warmth flickering in your chest. “Even without the dog and porch swing?”

He smiles. “Well, we’ve got the porch. And I’m sure someone’s got a mutt around here.”

You both laugh.

Then you lean your head on his shoulder.

And for the first time in years, it doesn’t feel like the end of the world.

It feels like a beginning.

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livfastdieyoung69 · 2 days ago

Note

OMG THE MOODBOARD MADE ME FERAL.

GIVE ME A HEEL READER X FACE CODY AND HE SUPPORTS READERS RIGHTS AND WRONGS.

I love cody im bawling hes so pretty

(current!cody rhodes x heel!reader, warning red hot bat shit diva incoming)

(the mood board in question)

Beautiful, Violent, Vulgar

Now, you love Cody. Truly, with everything in you. But he’s too nice sometimes. Along with everything else about him, you love Cody’s compassion for the people surrounding him, but he was genuinely kind to every single person he’d ever met.

Every here and there, you tell him that. He just kind of scoffs it off though, considering your reputation of being an asshole to everyone except him (most of the time).

This new annoying ass version of John Cena trying to prove it though? That pissed you off. What pissed you off even more was the ‘proof’ he gave in his last WrestleMania match.

You had a deep, terrible gut feeling that Cody was going to lose. The two of you tell eachother everything, and he had told you the same thing in the quiet of your bedroom the night prior. You would’ve been okay with it if it was fair, however, all of this with Travis Scott was bullshit. Nothing in your entire lifetime of constant bitching and discourteous actions, could have made you angrier than the disrespect put on the one person in the world that not only you could stand, but that could stand you.

The second the ref counted to three, you flew down to the Guerrilla and tried your best not to pick any fights in the mean time. That could wait until after you knew Cody was okay.

He looked completely defeated, and it broke your heart worse than you thought it would. When Cody finally looks up, his eyes immediately lock on you. The two of you rush to eachother, the tall man folding into your embrace.

“Baby…” You pull him tighter, hand curling in his short, bleached locks, the other around his back.

“I told you,” He shakes his head against you. “I told you.”

“Codes,” You pull him up a little so you were face to face. “You’ll get it back. I swear to God you’ll get it back. The only thing you proved out there is you are too good of a man to let bottom dwelling, filthy, middle aged, Hollywood sellouts manipulate you into changing.”

He scoffs, shaking his head but you keep talking.

“That’s what he is, Cody.” You nod. “And I know you used to love him, but that was when he was a wrestler, and a good man. He is not the good man he used to be, and if he needs Rihanna’s husband to get in your face then clearly he isn’t a good fucking wrestler either.” Your voice is growing with anger, so you take a quick breath and pull yourself together. “We can talk about that later. Are you okay? No injuries?”

He nods again, lips curling in the smallest smile, but the biggest one you’d seen just about all day.

“Just sore, that’s all.” You hum at his answer, rubbing up and down his sides before you pull your hands back. “I just- I just want to get out of here.”

You’re quick to lead him to the bus, running into Cathy Kelley who you might’ve yelled at for a quick seconds after Cody basically ran up the bus’ steps. Oops. You’ll give her an offhand apology through a gift card, maybe flowers, or something later, you know Paul put her up to it. Speaking of, you needed to have some words with him.

When you clamber up the steps of the RV and find Cody sitting at the cramped table with his eyes shut and his head against the wall behind him, all bruised and bloodied, the last teensy bit of self restraint you’d managed to keep leaves you. You will be having those words with Paul, now.

“Left my water bottle back in Guerrilla, baby, i’m gonna go grab it before we take off.” You’re already shoving the door open again, yelling that you’ll be right back over your shoulder while you speed walk through the background of Cathy’s screen time. You didn’t leave your water bottle, it was sitting right next to Cody. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice for a bit.

You’re storming through the Guerrilla like a lunatic, screaming for Paul at any passing person. Some staff member ran off the scene and grabbed his attention from the social media directors, creative team, press conference, and every other thing you could imagine and he’s rounding the corner with furrowed eyebrows under the reading glasses he didn’t get the chance to take off. Paul sighs, and his eyes close when he sees you. He says your name, riddled in pure exhaustion. You don’t care.

“No.” You stick your hand out. “What in the absolute fuck was that.”

“You know how this business works,” He tells you, attaching your name to it with the shake of his head like you’re some petulant child with no reasoning behind their argument. “He had to lose it eventually.”

“That’s absolutely not what i’m talking about and you know that. You make him lose, I don’t give a fuck, he’s still the best damn man in this place without a belt. But that bullshit with Scott was embarrassing. For this company, for Cody, for, and I couldn’t care less about him, but for Cena.” He tries to interrupt you again, and you shove the hand you’d been waving around back in his face. “I know you’re money hungry, Paul, but that was a fucking disgrace.”

He lets silence blanket over, the rest of the staff in the Guerrilla finally taking the hint to leave while he gathers his thoughts.

“I’ve known you for a very long time, kid.” He finally manages to start. “I know you’re very opinionated and you aren’t afraid to stand up for yourself. But I am your boss, and you can’t speak to me like that.”

“Oh, cmon, Paul,” You roll your eyes. “How many times have you threatened to fire me, huh? It’s not gonna happen. We both know that. I’m trying to bring light to the problems this company has with you running it- and you want nothing but money. Everything is a goddamn marketing scheme now, and it’s disgusting.” Stephanie rounds the corner, standing next to Paul just as you decide you’ve had enough and start to turn around.

“What’s going on here?”

“You and your husband are greedy moneybags running this company into the fucking ground!”

You hadn’t planned for all of this. All you’d wanted was to throw a couple back handed compliment around, but here you are, screaming at your bosses because you can’t help yourself, when all you want to do is get back out of the stadium to Cody.

Paul yells from behind the curtain of the Guerrilla you’d just torn through about how that was your second strike. This was your third second strike of the year, Paul really liked the idea that he had the ability to get your attitude managed with the threat of firing you. Usually, you would have rolled your eyes, maybe scoffed, and kept walking. Today, though?

Today, you may not have forgotten your water bottle, but Tiffany Stratton did, and it’s right there in all of its clunky, big-ass, bright pink, metal, Stanley cup glory. You pick it up and chuck it back through the curtain and against the wall behind him and Stephanie.

“You want to fire me, Paul? Do it! Do it!” You burst back through the curtain. “There’s your media reason.” You point to broken cup, spilling ice water everywhere on the ground. You’d buy Tiffy a new one, you were actually pretty good friends. “See where this company goes when we leave again. Back in the fucking trash.”

With your grand finale, Shawn Michaels steps in from behind you to gently lead you from the room. Though you may get on Paul’s nerves, you reminded Shawn a lot of his younger self. He was on drugs though, you’re just kind of bat shit. You finally start the dash back to the RV with no interference, walking back up the steps and plopping into the seat across from Cody with heavy breath.

He’s staring you with raised eyebrows and the gleam in his eyes tells you he’s trying not to smile. His big, veiny hand is spinning your water bottle on the table.

“What’d you do?” He tilts his head up, a tiny smile breaking through. You shrug.

“Nothing to worry about.”

“Did you get another strike?”

“…Maybe.”

I had absolutely no plans of doing this rn it’s so late but i miss cody so much

this is probably pretty bad i wrote it laying in bed on my phone im sorry </3

#liv writes;*!#wwe x reader #cody rhodes #cody rhodes x reader

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angelwinggs · 3 days ago

Text

Smile for the camera :)

You were at the gathering of your friends, a small gathering of five people now since the other two has already left bored. You were discussing how your marks were dropping because the professors held grudge against your group for messing the whole semester.

That was when one of your friend suggested they gift something to those old bastards to make them happy. Something that'd would save your grades. Another one asks what it could be? What do old people like? You would ask. Another friend of yours spares you a look before whispering something to the other and they whisper among themselves making you curious but the whispers never reach you.

"You also want to save your grades right?" Your friend asked you with a glint in his eyes

You nodded unsure but desperate. Your parents would be disappointed if they came to know your grades dropped especially in a subject that you're actually good at.

Your other friend smiled ferally, holding your arm, rubbing a bit too intimately. "Then how about we give our Professor soemthing he will never forget?"

"W-what?"

"A video."

You frown at them not understanding. "We will film a video for him. He's an old man with no wife or girlfriend. He would love to see some young pussy. And best if recorded."

Your eyes widen as you push your friend angry at the suggestion. "Are you insane? You're telling me to use my body?!"

"Oh no we all will use our body, you will just be the host. It's for grades." He tried to explain, they all did.

And somehow you ended up naked on the table legs tied witht the legs of the said table. They had brought few stuff for the video. Camera, tripod, four branch egg vibrators and a 500 ml injection without the needle.

They had just said they would film the video, no more details. You were hoping they would use lube or atleast finger you to make whatever they are about to do easy but they didn't. You were dry and pulsating with your lega tied apart giving a close up open view to your pussy.

Your friends had only their cock out, otherwise fully dressed making it more humiliating. They had gathered in a corner doing something you aren't sure of.

Once they all are there around you, you saw what it was. The injection was full of water. Were they plan to inject that in you? Before you could object they just stuffed your mouth with a cloth so you could only thrash around which just earned you hard spank on your ass making the table shake. You whimpered and begged to stop but they didn't listen.

One of them, inserted the mouth of the syringe in your ass forcefully despite the resistance from the muscle, you screamed but the syringe did went in and as the pump was pushed the water filled your asshole.

Meanwhile your other friends, pumped their cocks and slapped you few times with it.

"Do you think we could choke her with the cock?" One of them asked to which shrugged so he straddle your face where it was hanging off the table and shoved his cock right in making you gag. He was brutal in his face no matter how you choked or gagged. With every gag you were slapped with one of the other's cock.

Whereas the third round of syringe with water was being injected in your ass. Your belly started bloating with the amount of water.

"Look at the slut's belly." One of them howled in laughter.

They tapped and pressured your belly to make you let the water out, but it was hard due to the pain. So one of them decided to do it by force, he took the vibrators, which were joined by one switch and started inserting them in your pussy one by one. Your pussy shaking from already three vibrators in refused to take another but four fingers stretching your pussy like a balloon, made it fit. Once all the four vibrators were in, you were being slapped on the clit to create stimulation.

Your mouth on the other hand, was accumulating three cocks trying to Suck them as much as you could. You remember them Cumming down your throat already, yet them or maybe a set of new people are now fucking your throat. This isn't what you agreed to it but this is your fate now. A rapetoy.

Finally after a particular hard slap your ass let out the water like a stream of fountain. It shoots out of your anus making all of them coo. You breathed heavily as the pressure left your belly leaving your ass empty and clenching. They also pulled out the vibrators.

You hoped it was done. You were wrong.

"Now for the final show." You heard one of them say, before you could decipher the meaning another injection was shooting down thick cum in your pussy at an alarming speed. You thrased around refusing to take it but there is nothing you could do. There was so much cum, you were sure it was mixed with all of theirs. Your pussy now filled, and a dangerous amount of cum inside was going crazy.

They zoomed the camera after stretching your pussy and showed it. "Professor if you pass all of us, it could be your cum in this cunt." He smiled.

After one slap to your face mouth full of cocks, you nodded along with them in agreement.

"All right whore, keep that cum in, we need to get your ass filled too." One said before delivering three slaps to your asshole and forcing his cock in your ass making you scream.

Another one joined him, and also pushed his way in moving in coordination. The movements were harsh and ruthless, you felt your throat sore but nothing stopped until they came inside your ass filling you. They exchanged position with other two leaving your mouth and fucking your ass and the before two coming to fuck your mouth.

Once they too filled your asshole, one of them put one vibrator on your clit and slapped your pussy enough time for you shoot the cum out of your pussy screaming on the top of your lungs despite having three cocks in your mouth.

Finally they all pulled out but you had lost all your inhibitions to even care. They checked the footage and gathered their stuff.

"Nice, we'll get out grades. Thanks." One if them gave you a light pat on your cheek with his cock before zipping.

"Do we leave her or what?"

"There are some sponges for lab usage. Shove some in and let's go."

They complied, two yellow sponges in yoir pussy deep in stopping the leftover cum and one in your ass that is gaping. Pussy and asshole stuffed with sponges stopping any cum from flowing and mouth filled with cum and ass red.

Once you get up you will wear your shirt and skirt, wash your face and walk to your dorm with two sponges still inside and patiently waiting for your Professor to see the boys raping you. Maybe he'll call you and ask for more for himself. Maybe you'll be raped by an 72 year old Professor but at least your grades with up.

A/n: Let me know your filthy thoughts or anything you would add ;)

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riddled-with-fear · 2 days ago

Text

A Vigilante/Adrian Chase x reader Drabble U///U

Back on my Peacemaker bullshit because the new season comes out in AUGUSTTTTTT

Also wanted to try something a bit different incorporating a song into the fic OvO

MDNI!

CW: depictions of gore, killing, use of weaponry(guns and katanas), strong language, slight(?) blood play?(reader and Vigilante make out covered in blood), no smut.

WC: 579

You and Vigilante stood back to back in the middle of the woods. Both of yours and his arms were raised, guns in each one of your hands.

“Ready?” He slightly turned his masked head to you.

You sucked in a deep breath, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame, Darlin’ you give love… A bad name.

The Butterflies started coming through the trees, and Vigilante’s guns rang out first as he fired at the incoming aliens. You gripped both of your guns tight, squeezing the triggers and aiming for the Butterflies coming through the trees on your side.

“Oh yeah! Boom! Headshot!” Vigilante remarked, clearly having way too much fun.

You tried focusing on doing the same, but you were much better at hand-to-hand, and using blades.

An angel’s smile is what you sell.

You promised me Heaven and put me through Hell.

“Vig, it’ll be faster if you shoot them down and I can slay the Butterflies.” You kept firing. Emptying one clip, you put one gun back in its holster on your thigh.

“Or, we keep shooting and worry about that when they pop out of these poor fucker’s skulls.” He kept firing

“I guess, but I’m not good with guns.” You emptied the second clip. “Fuck.” You shoved the second gun in its holster on your other thigh. “I’m out of ammo anyways.”

Vigilante popped out his empty clip, quickly replaced it and kept firing, “you don’t have back up ammo?!”

You unsheathed your katanas, duel wielding both swords. Vigilante turned at the sound, “Oh-ho, nice!”

“Keep shooting!”

Chains of love got a hold on me.

When passion’s a prison, you can’t break free.

You began slicing at the butterflies bursting out of the corpses.

Whoa-oh-oh you’re a loaded gun, yeah.

You heard the empty clicking of Vigilante’s gun. “Reloading!”

You turned just in time to see a running Butterfly heading towards him. You spun around Vigilante and decapitated his would-be assailant. Blood spurted all over you as the head hit the ground and the body dropped to its knees, doubling over. The butterfly tore its way out of the eye socket and you shoved your blade through it. You stepped on the disembodied head and yanked your blade free.

You turned around to see Vigilante staring at you. You couldn’t see the look on his face due to his mask, but if you could you’d see a star-struck Adrian.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit!” He finally exclaimed.

Whoa-oh-oh there’s nowhere to run.

No one can save me, the damage is done!

You stared at him, heaving, drenched in some random person’s blood, and what you could assume was the alien equivalent. You flicked your blade, excess blood flying off.

“That was so fucking hot! You look so fucking hot!”

“Vig… I’m literally covered in gore. We just murdered a fuckton of people and aliens. What exactly is hot about that?”

Vigilante put his guns away in their respective holsters and marched over to you, grabbing your shoulders once he reached you, “Everything! You, you killing, you covered in blood! Ho-ooooly shit, I’m rock-fucking-hard.”

You stared at him furrowing your eyebrows together. He was completely and utterly fucked in the head.

Shot through the heart and you’re to blame, darlin’ you give love a bad name.

And so were you, because once he pulled off his mask you two were on each other, kissing like your lives depended on it.

#vigilante x Reader #Adrian Chase x Reader #peacemaker vigilante #Adrian Chase #vigilante peacemaker #vigilante x Reader Drabble #Adrian Chase x Reader Drabble #peacemaker #vigilante Adrian Chase

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religious-access · 1 day ago

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[PT: "Things to keep in mind:" in slightly bigger text. The text below is in a number listed format:

Don't invite a random spirit to follow you back home, you don't know who or what can go with you.

Always protect yourself when interacting with spirits, energies, and entities. This includes when entering a graveyard/cemetery. You can do so by carrying a crystal, putting up a ward, protection shield, or creating a sigil or protection charm (ring, necklace, charm bag, etc). This must always be on you.

Be respectful to the dead!!!!! How would you feel if someone comes into your space taunting you or stepping on you? If you want to speak to them, do so kindly and calmly, hold a conversation instead of yelling, "If you're here, punch me in the face!" That's taunting and it's not nice.

Don't step on grave areas. If you accidentally do so, make sure to apologize. It's also recommended to say "excuse me" if you need to walk through a tight space where it's difficult to move forward without stepping on them.

Avoid direct pictures of grave stones. I know some people do it because "aesthetic", but I personally think it's rude. It's like shoving a camera in someone's face who didn't give consent to take a picture with you. If you want to do cool photography, you can do that without invading their space or showing their names." /end PT]

November 2nd is All Souls' Day and of course as a death witch/spirit worker I'm going to the cemetery.

Here's what you can do to celebrate this holiday and honor the dead:

Visit your local cemetery, and before entering, ask for permission to do so. Whether that be to a guardian (gargoyle, gates, christ, etc) or the spirits themselves.

Clean the grave of a deceased loved one or someone else's that looks like no one has visited them in a while. Trust me, they'll appreciate it, even if they don't know you.

Leave offerings to the guardian statue of the cemetery for their hospitality or to a loved one to show that you still keep them close to your heart

Put up a photo of a deceased loved one or pet on your altar or create an altar for them

Light a white candle for someone who passed (whether you knew them directly or not)

Honor the death deities you work with or that are from your pantheon (Hades, Anubis, Hel, Santa Muerte, etc)

Things to keep in mind:

Don't invite a random spirit to follow you back home, you don't know who or what can go with you.

#plain text #magic #folk magic

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imogenkol · 3 days ago

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Bix Caleen isn’t a soldier, but she is a fighter. I’ve seen some people try and justify Bix’s storyline this season, in particular her continued lack of participation and being constantly sidelined, by saying that she’s not a soldier so why would she be involved? Bix is a character who thrives on work, keeping busy, doing something—anything with her hands, because when things get slow or quiet, she starts to lose her mind. Bix cannot stay idle. She has explicitly stated this in the show, yet the show forced her to be idle. Unless of course she’s taking care of Cassian, then she’s a nursemaid who fawns over her husband when she’s not waiting around for him to come home. Never mind the fact that she’s a very skilled and intelligent mechanic, which would be extremely valuable to the Rebellion, but we don’t see any evidence of her skills being utilized after she leaves Mina-Rau. On top of all that, she has a nearly unbreakable will. When push comes to shove, Bix locks in and has to be tortured for several days before she breaks, and she knows how to use a blaster and a hammer. She struggles with the aftermath of these things, yes, but she has always been a fighter since season 1 and is fully dedicated to the Rebellion.

So it is frustrating and deeply disappointing to see her be idle, to see her conform to a housewife role with a smile on her face, to have to remove herself completely so that she isn’t a distraction for Cassian because that’s somehow the only value she sees herself having for the Rebellion. It is also extremely out of character for the woman we met in season 1. Bix may not have been at the front lines, but the Bix I know would be up every day at dawn contributing whatever she possibly could to the cause with all the skills she has at hand and she would fight when she has to, just like she always has. I also find it hard to believe she wouldn’t want to be by her peoples’ side while they put themselves at risk to assassinate the ISB woman who literally interrogated and tortured her. Wilmon is still a kid and he has a far more active role in the Rebellion than Bix does.

Hardly any of the scenes she’s in feel at all like Bix Caleen to me. They stripped her of so much, so many core traits that make her the character she is, for the sake of a poorly written romance between two characters that really should never have gotten back together, but were force to for a reason we are never shown or told. Now all of a sudden the show that was about normal nobody people fighting tooth and nail for a better galaxy is about a flat love story with barely any real substance in between.

#Andor #andor spoilers #bix caleen #truly some people act like their love story is the new Nicholas Sparks novel and I’m like ?????#if you know anything about Bix Caleen at all and are even a little bit invested in her story #how in the hell did you watch this and think ‘oh yeah this is really good this does her character/all the trauma she’s been thru justice’#I’m going to look back at this utter waste of potential and cry about it for years to come #i did not wait three years to see Bix’s story go this way. cannot believe they did my girl this dirty.#and I swear to god if they reveal she was knocked up I am going to lose my motherfucking mind. I’m going to scream as loud as I possibly can

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imsojules · 2 days ago

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After the tide turns – Part 2

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

tw: Outbreak violence, swearing, blood, military control, medical testing, inspired by the last of us, established relationship, not fully proof-read, english is not my first language!

a/n: Hi all, I'm trying to speed up the uploads for the next parts!! bear with me, hope you enjoy this one, and as always, feedback is my fuel!♥ 🫂 sorry for any mistakes this was written at 1am

taglist: @chuuuchuuutrain, @d3adfa1ry, @maddsgrace, @darkparablesfan

word count: 3.1k

masterlist | previous | next |

They shove JJ through the tent flap like he’s livestock.

He stumbles forward, jaw tight, hands raised halfway—half threat, half surrender.

“Yo—hands off, alright?” JJ snaps, ripping his arm back. “I’m walking. I got legs.”

The soldier doesn’t even blink. Just gestures him forward with the muzzle of his rifle.

JJ steps inside, breathing hard. The air hits him like a gut punch—stale bleach and copper, like a hospital and a slaughterhouse had a baby. A plastic chair faces a folding table where some exhausted looking guy in scrubs rubs his face like he’d rather be anywhere else. JJ sizes him up immediately, definitely not military. Probably a volunteer. Or a hostage, it’s hard to tell.

“Sit,” the guy mutters without looking.

JJ exhales through his nose, jaw tight. His pulse is a hammer in his ears. He hates all of this. Being separated, feeling caged. “Don’t love the whole secret-experiment vibes you got going here.”

The medic just gestures at the chair. JJ huffs and finally sits, bouncing his knee like he’s got a bomb under his skin.

“Any symptoms?” the guy asks, reaching for a scanner.

“No,” JJ snaps. “Unless being pissed off counts.”

“Any injuries?”

“Just from running for my life,” JJ says. “And I’m not the one biting people, if that’s what you’re fishing for.”

The scanner beeps over his arm. Clear. The medic doesn’t react. Just scribbles on a clipboard like this is all a Tuesday.

JJ catches sight of the blood still crusted on his sleeve from earlier—yours, maybe. Maybe his. Doesn’t matter. The guy’s eyes flick to it.

“That’s not mine,” JJ says quickly, voice dropping a notch. “Or, like—it is. But not in the way you’re thinking.”

“I didn’t ask,” the medic mutters, pulling out a needle.

JJ jerks his arm away. “That’s not happening.”

“It’s a blood test.”

“That’s how the guy dies first.”

The medic rolls his eyes. “You want into the safe zone, I need a sample.”

JJ stares him down. You want into the safe zone, like it’s a goddamn hotel check-in. He swears under his breath and sticks out his arm.

“Better be a small needle,” he mutters. “I’m delicate.”

The guy draws the blood, no apology, no words. JJ watches it leave him—dark, thick. Like it means something. The medic labels it. JJ catches a half-smudged FEMA logo on the label. Doesn’t feel real.

The guy turns to a beat-up laptop and starts typing.

JJ’s leg bounces again. “So what, you get my blood, and then what? Put me in a box?”

“If you’re clean, you’re processed into long-term QZ,” the medic says.

JJ eyes the tent flap behind him. Two guards. No way out unless he wants a bullet in the back. He leans back in the chair, tension simmering just under his skin.

The tent flap rustles. A soldier pokes his head in. “He cleared?”

The medic nods. “Yeah. Temporary zone C, until results are verified.”

“Move,” the soldier says.

JJ swears under his breath, then lets the soldier shove him toward the exit.

Outside, the air’s just as stale, just as suffocating. Rows of tents. Military patrols. Screaming in the distance. Somewhere, a baby’s crying.

And he can’t see you or the others.

They walk him to a chain-link gate, buzz it open, and shove him into a makeshift compound—plastic walls, cots, people wrapped in blankets like ghosts. JJ turns in a slow circle, scanning faces, heart pounding.

You’re not here. Not yet.

He sinks onto an empty cot, elbows on knees, fingers curled into his hair.

If you don’t come back out, he feels like he will burn the place down.

—

The cot feels like punishment. Cold, thin, barely held together with rusted welds and fraying fabric. JJ doesn’t really lie down on it—he just hovers near it, pacing the small stretch of space between it and the back wall like a caged animal. The sweat on his skin mingles with the dust in the air, making him feel grimy, heavier than he should be.

He used to be good at this. Cold under pressure. Quick and calculated.

His fists ache from clenching. His jaw has been tight for so long it’s starting to throb. Every breath tastes like bleach and stale sweat and fear. Tents flap in the stale wind. He scratches his fingers absently against the calluses on his palm, trying to ground himself. It doesn’t help.

And still, not a damn sign of you.

He’s seen too many people dragged out of processing already—some crying, some silent, one screaming so loud it sounds inhuman. The guards never flinch. They just shove them out through another gate. Everyone knows what that means. That’s where the infected wander. Where no one comes back from.

His foot taps the ground in a relentless rhythm. He tries to convince himself you’re fine. That you'll be walking in any second, complaining about the guards or demanding food or cursing the government.

But the longer the silence stretches, the more that hope slips through his fingers.

“JJ?”

He turns sharply, heartbeat jerking like it misses a step.

John B stands at the entrance of the tent, framed by harsh daylight. His face pale and thin, like someone has carved the boy he knew down to the bone. But it’s him. Alive. Breathing. Behind him is Pope, clutching a clipboard so tight it looks like his fingers might snap.

JJ doesn’t say anything. He just moves. Fast.

He reaches them in three strides and crashes into John B like the ground has vanished beneath him. They lock arms tight, clumsy and desperate. JJ lets his chin rest against his shoulder for just a second before pulling back like nothing happened.

“You made it,” Pope says, voice thick and rough like it hasn’t been used in hours.

JJ steps back, blinking hard, eyes flicking between them. “I made it?” he snaps. “Where the hell were you?”

John B runs a hand through his tangled hair. “They split us up at the gate. Didn’t even know Pope was in this zone until I saw him this morning.”

JJ’s gaze shoots over their shoulders. “And where’s—?”

He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to. His body already knows you’re not with them.

John B’s face darkens slightly. “They said you passed the blood test. You’re being moved into the main zone.”

“And her?” JJ asks, voice lower now. Harsher. “She behind me?”

Pope shifts awkwardly, glancing toward the guards stationed outside. “Could be. They were doing different groups in shifts.”

JJ doesn’t respond. He doesn’t blink. He just stares at the tent flap like if he focuses hard enough, it will part and reveal you standing there.

Then—more movement.

The flap rustles again, and someone steps through, but it isn’t you.

“Holy shit,” Pope breathes. “Kiara?”

She looks tired, her clothes rumpled. Her left arm is pinned in a makeshift sling, and there’s a streak of dirt down one side of her face. But her eyes are sharp and alert. Locked on them.

JJ freezes for half a second before stepping forward, grabbing her in a quick hug that surprises even him. She leans in, squeezing him back, her good arm wrapping around his shoulders.

“Where were you?” he asks, pulling back to look her in the face.

“I came in with my family,” she says, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “We got separated during the first checkpoint, but they let us through. They took us into another sector. I only found out you guys were here a couple of hours ago.”

“Did you see Y/N?” JJ asks again. This time his voice cracks just slightly at the end.

Kiara shakes her head. “No, I haven’t seen her.”

JJ barely hears the rest of whatever she says.

And now, standing here in the choking air of the QZ tent, heart pounding so hard it makes his ribs hurt, he catches it, just a flicker of a voice from the other side of the canvas wall. Two guards talking in that too-casual, too-tired way people speak when they’ve stopped caring.

“Girl in blue? Flinched during blood draw.”

“She panic?”

“Full freak out. Wouldn’t calm down.”

“They send her out?”

“East gate.”

JJ goes still.

The world tilts beneath him, as if the ground itself is giving way.

Blue hoodie.

You have his blue hoodie on.

The cold that floods his chest is instant and paralyzing, like drowning in ice water. His hands clench before his brain can catch up.

You panicked. You don’t do well with blood, with being alone. He knows that.

He sees it all—your face twisted in fear, guards grabbing your arms, dragging you down the same path that man took earlier. The East Gate. No second chances. No warnings. Just protocol.

“Fuck!” JJ shouts, voice raw.

The entire tent jolts. John B reaches for him.

“JJ, don’t—”

But JJ is already moving, barreling toward the flap. A soldier steps in his way, rifle half-raised.

“Back off!” the man barks.

“JJ, stop,” John B yells, grabbing his arm. “You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

JJ’s breathing is ragged, wild, shoulders hunched like a dog backed into a corner. His entire body buzzes with adrenaline, too much grief, too much dread. His pulse thunders in his throat, his vision threatening to tunnel.

And just as the sun hits its highest point, there’s a new movement at the tent.

Boots.

A familiar voice arguing with a guard. JJ’s head snaps up like he’s been electrocuted.

You step inside, face dirty, a scratch on your cheek, but alive.

He crosses the tent in three long strides and collides into you with a force that knocks the air from your lungs. His arms slam around your waist and lock there, unyielding. He clutches you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he lets go for even a second. His face drops into the crook of your neck, breath hitting skin in ragged bursts.

“You’re late,” he mumbles, voice breaking on the second word.

You wrap your arms around him just as tightly. “Got held up. You know how it is.”

You blink up at him. There’s a tremble in your lip.

“I thought they were gonna shoot me.”

He doesn’t say anything, not out loud. But something shudders through him.

Because so did he.

He presses his forehead to yours, his hands trembling now too. And then he pulls you back into him like he could press your chest to his, heart to heart, like maybe if he holds you close enough he can feel yours beating and believe it’s real.

They don’t take long to process you once you're cleared, moving quickly. One of the soldiers gestures for you to follow, giving no room for hesitation, no time to second guess. JJ's steps are tight with contained anger, but he keeps quiet, leaning into your presence like a tether to sanity. The others follow behind, still on edge, but trying to stay calm in the face of what’s about to come.

The QZ feels like a ghost town in the middle of a warzone.

The transition from the tent compound into the main section of the quarantine zone is jarring. The first thing that hits you is the smell. Everything smells faintly of chemicals, of cleaning, of too many bodies crammed into too little space for too long. The atmosphere here is oppressive, like the air itself has grown thick with fear. Every step you take feels heavier, the ground beneath you a reminder of how close the world has come to falling apart.

The buildings are small, makeshift things. There’s a high fence, a double-layered security perimeter reinforced with guards patrolling every other corner.

“Welcome to the safe zone,” the soldier mutters, the sarcasm in his voice too sharp to miss.

You glance around, feeling the weight of everything pressing in on you. Everything looks… bleak. The people walking around seem hollow. They move in the same way—tired, resigned, shuffling from one task to the next. Some glance at you as you pass, their eyes flicking away quickly, like they're afraid to make any kind of eye contact. Others are too busy with their own misery to care about the new arrivals. The place feels more like a containment zone than a home.

Your eyes dart from face to face, hoping for a glimpse of some kind of familiarity. The others are behind you, but it's hard to spot anyone in this mess of bodies. Everyone seems to be blending into the concrete and steel of the zone.

The soldier leads you further into the QZ, past checkpoints, overgrown gardens where the wild tang of mold and decay mixes with the remnants of once-tidy parks. Now, they’re barely maintained, full of weeds and stray scraps of plastic and broken concrete. Every corner feels like it’s been abandoned by hope.

Finally, you reach a section that looks slightly different, more organized, more like a camp meant for people who’ve been living here for a while. You see a few tents lined up, with families gathered around small fires. A few makeshift stalls are set up in the corners where people trade what little they have: cans of food, medical supplies, sometimes even old clothes or weapons.

“You’ll be placed here for now, temporary quarters. No fighting, no wandering, no complaints. You wait here until relocation,” the soldier says, motioning to a row of cots in a dimly lit tent. He doesn’t even give you the chance to settle in before he’s walking away, leaving you in the middle of the chaos.

As soon as he’s gone, you let out a breath, your legs weak from the tension of the last few hours. JJ leans against a post, eyeing the area, keeping his guard up.

"Well," he says, turning to you, "this is... something."

You feel a bitter laugh bubble up in your throat but can’t bring yourself to let it out. "Yeah. Home sweet home."

—

The hours stretch. Time doesn't pass here—it drips.

Eventually, the five of you gather near the center of the tent, hunched in a loose circle around a salvaged heating coil someone managed to barter for. It glows weak orange, barely warm, but it’s something. You sit close together, knees brushing, eyes tired, backs curved like the weight of everything is finally sinking in.

No one speaks at first.

Pope chews on the cap of a pen, notebook open in his lap but blank. John B picks at a loose thread on his sleeve like he’s unraveling more than fabric. JJ watches the entrance. Always watching. He doesn’t trust this place. Not the fences, not the soldiers, everything feels like a trap with better branding. Like a cage they put flowers on.

Kiara sits cross-legged with her sling resting across her lap. She’s the one who breaks the silence.

“I should head back soon,” she says, voice low. “My family’s in sector six. They’ve probably already noticed I slipped out. Thought you were dead.”

“You too,” Pope mutters. “It’s been a day.”

Kiara manages a tired smile. “I’ll try to come back tomorrow if I can. But I need to check in with them. My mom’s probably freaking out.”

You reach over, rest a hand on her knee. “I’m glad you all made it in.”

“Me too.”

JJ glances at her. “Let us know if anything changes. If they move you.”

Kiara nods. “I will.”

She gets to her feet carefully, adjusting her sling. Then she crouches down and pulls you into a one-armed hug. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she mumbles.

“No promises,” you say.

She squeezes Pope’s arm on the way out, then locks eyes with John B. “Take care of them.”

He just nods, jaw tight.

And with that she’s gone.

The tent feels different without her, like it just lost one of its walls.

You and the boys sit in silence for a while after. Listening to the low hum of voices outside, the shuffle of boots, the tired murmur of this strange, broken camp.

JJ shifts closer, his thigh brushing yours. He doesn’t say anything. Just stays there.

Eventually, Pope lies down on his cot, notebook on his chest. John B stretches out beside the heater, hoodie pulled over his eyes.

You don’t move yet. You just sit, letting the weight of the night settle in. Letting JJ’s presence beside you be enough, for now.

Later that night, it’s just the two of you still awake.

The others are out cold—John B half-snoring in the corner, Pope curled around his notebook like it might protect him. The tent is quiet except for the hum of a floodlight outside and the distant, unplaceable sound of someone yelling. Or maybe it’s laughing. You can’t tell anymore.

JJ sits beside you on the cot, legs stretched out, arms crossed over his chest. His head leans back against the tent wall like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

You glance at him. “You ever gonna sleep?”

He shrugs. “Not really my style.”

You nudge his foot. “Not sleeping isn’t a personality trait.”

“Tell that to insomnia. She’s my girl now.”

You snort under your breath. “Figures. You always go for the toxic ones.”

JJ finally turns his head, slow and tired and fond. “And yet,” he says, “you’re still here.”

You pretend to be offended. “I didn’t follow you.”

“Oh, okay. So you just happened to run into me with a knife and a death wish while the world was ending?”

“I had a plan,” you lie.

“Yeah?” he glances at you. “Did that plan involve stabbing a guy in the neck with a kitchen knife?”

You pause. “It involved surviving. Stabbing was a bonus.”

JJ chuckles, but it dies too fast. He looks down at his hands. They’re scraped. Still dirty.

He goes quiet for a beat.

You want to say something comforting, but everything in you is tired and scraped raw. So you just lean over, rest your shoulder against his.

“You’re going to stuck with me like it or not” you murmur.

JJ tilts his head until it rests lightly against yours.

“You better be,” he says. “I’m not stable enough to be your tragic backstory.”

You huff out a laugh. “Please. You already are.”

JJ lets out a breath. “Touché.”

A long silence stretches. Not bad. Just… full.

“Hey,” he says eventually. “If I have anxiety spiral at three a.m., you gonna be up for it?”

“Sure. As long as you promise to return the favor when I inevitably lose it over canned ravioli or something.”

JJ bumps his shoulder into yours. “Deal.”

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank zombie au #jj maybank fanfic #jj outer banks #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank x you #obx fanfic #obx fanfiction #jj obx imagine #jj maybank angst #jj maybank #jj maybank obx #jj obx #outer banks #jj maybank post apocalypse au #obx x reader #jj x reader

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poor-as-a-churchmouse · 2 days ago

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it’s like 4 in the morning but i got this note app rant that may be a bit weirdly worded sooooo wtvs

like i said it’s like 4am BE NICE TO ME lmao but also lmk if i got anything wrong, this is a really important fandom issue to me because like,, it’s just annoying and i hate mischaracterization and stuff yk?? and also it’s a big thing in how queer characters are portrayed in media NEWAYS here’s the rant

William Andrew Solace is not a sunshine character. He’s not even close. Let me explain.

A sunshine character is typically depicted as someone who is positive, warm, and really brings light wherever they go. This is not Will. Will can *be* positive, and most times he is, but he isn’t an inherently positive character. Will struggles a lot with his own insecurities, which we especially see in TSATS, and when he’s put in environments he’s not comfortable in, he sort of shuts down. We see this a lot in tsats because it *is* the Solangelo book.

Will is insensitive, he’s a bit dicky, and he’s sarcastic. Will is being genuinely bad to Nico at several points in this book, and vice versa, but this isn’t about Nico. Like the multitude of times Will openly complains about the underworld to Nico’s face

the underworld that is Nico’s second home, and that he’s lived in before.

Or when Will questions if Nico even felt bad for letting Octavian die, that part was especially eugh

Will has lost practically everything, as well, and is so so hard on himself despite the fronts he puts up for the people around him because he *has* to be the strong one. Will was one of the only few apollo campers after the Battle of Manhattan. He watched nearly all of his siblings die when that bridge fell. He was dragged away from said bridge by Percy to heal Annabeth. There’s no way Will doesn’t blame himself for so many of those deaths. The Apollo cabin went from being one of the biggest cabins to one of the smallest in a day, and 12/13 year old Will was thrust in to be the counselor and head medic at camp. Will also delivered a baby at 13/14?? I think that’s not talked about enough

Will isn’t a happy person, and we see that when he lets down his façade (or more like has it violently ripped from him) when he’s in tartarus with Nico, where he has no sun, no warmth, all the things that an Apollo kid arguably needs to live in general

William Andrew Solace is sad. He’s insecure, judgemental, insensitive at times, and sometimes doesn’t think about how his actions and words can affect others. but he’s also kind, he’s loving, hes warm, he’s understanding, he’s a brother, he’s a son, he’s a person.

Will is a tragic character, and he has flaws, and he doesn’t exist to be your perfect sunshine twink. More people need to realize that

Hell, i’d argue that at some times, Nico is happier than Will

that’s not to compare their traumas, they’ve both been though horrifying, awful things, things that forced them to grow up to fast, things that destroyed them

i feel like because Will’s dad is Apollo, people want to shove him into the happy go lucky sunny boy trope, and because in the main series he isn’t extremely fleshed out and we don’t see him like we see Nico or Percy or Annabeth We don’t get the full picture of Will’s trauma until we really get into his head, or near it, with Nico being the closest person to him

we also get similar issues in a different font with Nico being labeled as a black cat boyfriend, because when you look at Nico, like actually look at him, he cares so deeply for the people around him. Where Nico and the black cat trope differ is that Nico can barely process the love and care for him and for other people and even then we see it shown in his own way, like breaking the rules to sit at the Apollo cabin’s table with Will Nico isn’t emotionally closed off because he just is that way, but because he’s traumatized and can’t fathom that anyone could care about him in the way everyone around him dows5

#percy jackon and the olympians #the sun and the star #pjo hoo toa tsats #will solace #pjo text post #nico di angelo #pjo hoo toa #Honestly this might be such a non issue but #i really don’t care #this is something that’s annoyed me for SO long #TSATS WILL IS NOT OOC!!!

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c4shm0neyxxx · 2 days ago

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“No One Else”

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x Reader

Genre: Angst, possessiveness, obsession, unresolved tension

Setting: Post-Class 2 events, dark school rooftops and quiet apartments

⸻

You shoved his hand off your wrist for the third time that night.

“Geum Seong-je,” you snapped. “You’re not my boyfriend. You don’t get to act like this.”

His eyes flickered. Not wide, not surprised—but focused. Too focused. Like a lion watching prey try to limp away.

“Don’t call me by my full name like that,” he said, stepping forward. His voice wasn’t loud, but it tightened the air between you.

“Why not? That’s your name, isn’t it? Or should I start calling you what people actually say behind your back?”

He raised a brow. “You think I care what people say?”

“You care when I say it.”

That shut him up, for a beat. And that silence felt more dangerous than any insult he could throw.

You folded your arms, already regretting coming up to the rooftop with him. He’d cornered you at the stairwell after your last class, asking—no, demanding—a word. Always when no one else was around. Always when it would be easier to just nod and let him have his say.

You should’ve said no.

“You were with him again,” Seong-je said finally, his voice low. “You know who I mean.”

You blinked. “Are you seriously bringing this up again? He’s a friend. A normal friend.”

“Normal? You think that guy’s not waiting for you to give him one smile and climb into his lap?”

You stepped back. “You’re out of line.”

He followed, slow and deliberate. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”

“Even if you’re not, it doesn’t matter. You don’t get to dictate who I hang out with. You don’t own me.”

That word. Own.

His face twitched. Not angry. Not yet. Just… strained. Tense in that way he got when he was trying not to lose control.

“I don’t want to own you,” he said. But his eyes said otherwise. “I just want you to understand. I’m the one who sees you for who you are. Not them. Not that guy. He doesn’t know how your voice sounds when you’re lying. I do.”

You stared at him, arms still crossed. “That’s not love, Seong-je. That’s surveillance.”

He laughed. Just once. Sharp, bitter.

“Love?” he repeated. “You think what you make me feel is love?”

You paused. The rooftop air felt colder suddenly. And quieter. His voice dropped to a near whisper.

“I don’t sleep some nights,” he said. “Not because of guilt. I don’t have much of that left. But because I can’t stop thinking about you. What you’re doing. Who you’re smiling at. If you’re still thinking about me or if you’ve finally decided I’m just another freak with a control problem.”

You didn’t speak. Because he wasn’t wrong. You had thought that. Maybe still did.

“But then you do something stupid,” he continued. “Like laugh too loud in the hallway. Or wear something that makes every guy turn his head. And I realize—they don’t get to see you like that. They don’t get that part of you. Only I do.”

You exhaled slowly. “That’s not love either. That’s obsession.”

He stepped closer again, so close you could smell the faint trace of smoke and mint he always carried. Not cologne—something darker. More dangerous.

“I don’t care what you call it,” he said. “As long as it keeps you away from him.”

You glared at him. “You think I’ll drop my friends just because you said so?”

He leaned in, voice quiet enough that you could feel it in your spine.

“I think you already have. At least a little. Because you’re still here. Because even when I scare the hell out of you… you stay.”

He was right. And that terrified you more than anything.

Because you had a million chances to walk away from Geum Seong-je. From his temper, from the way he made everything a war, from the way his gaze felt like it could skin people alive—but you didn’t.

Maybe because part of you liked how intense he got. How he looked at you like you were the only real thing in a world full of pawns and trash. Maybe you liked being the one exception.

But at what cost?

“You need help,” you whispered.

His head tilted, eyes unreadable. “You make me worse. You know that, right?”

You nodded, slowly. “Yeah. And you make it really hard to breathe sometimes.”

He looked at you for a long time. No smirk. No anger. Just a quiet, razor-sharp stare.

“Good,” he said. “Then we’re even.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was a claim.

Possessive. Bruising. A kiss like a warning.

You didn’t kiss back. But you didn’t push him away, either.

And when he pulled back, his hand still wrapped around your wrist, you realized he wasn’t going to let go.

Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

#dark romance #geum seong je #weak hero class two #obsessive love #geum seong je x reader #Spotify

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tearvls · 9 hours ago

Note

Hi love!! Can I get some Viltrumite!Mark x fem!reader please? :3

"SPAR"

Viltrumite Mark x Fem!Reader

—

Content tags: violence

Your fists sting, knuckles red and raw, but you swing again anyway. Mark sidesteps with ease, arms barely moving. The punch misses, like every other one. Again.

“Come on, Mark!” you shout, sweat dripping down your temple, your black tank top clinging to your torso. “Stop dancing around like I’m five!”

He exhales slowly through his nose, planted firmly on the ground in his full Viltrumite uniform. “You want me to break your jaw? Or your ribs? Is that what you’re asking for?”

“I want you to respect me,” you grit out, circling him, dark blue shorts brushing your thighs with each step. “I train every damn day. I’ve taken hits from people stronger than you before you ever bothered to look at Earth like it mattered.”

Mark’s expression tightens. “You think you can handle me going even ten percent?”

“I think I can handle you trying.” You throw another punch, and he catches your wrist again—this time with just two fingers.

You glare. “You’re holding back like I’m some kind of weak little pet.”

“I’m holding back because you are weaker,” he snaps, stepping in close. “And I’m not going to feel sorry when I accidentally put you in the hospital.”

You rip your wrist from his grip and shove him with both hands. He doesn’t move an inch. Your chest rises and falls, fury radiating off you in waves. “Then don’t bother sparring with me at all.”

Mark’s lips press into a line. For a second, you think he’s going to say something soft. Apologetic, maybe.

Instead, he cracks his neck and steps forward. “Fine. No powers. No pulling punches. You want a fight? You got it.”

You barely have time to brace before his fist comes toward your shoulder—not a kill shot, but not a tap either. Pain blooms across your collarbone as you stagger back.

You grin.

"Finally.”

The hit to your shoulder radiates heat and dull ache down your arm, but your grin only widens. Finally. He’s done holding back.

You shift your stance, weight forward, just like your coach drilled into you. Mark watches with sharpened eyes now—not mocking, not pitying. Focused.

You lunge in with a feint to the left, pivot low, and aim a kick at his knee. It lands—solid contact—but his leg barely bends.

Still. His jaw ticks. You got somewhere.

He comes at you with a quick jab to your side, faster than you can fully dodge. It clips your ribs, knocks the air from your lungs, but you twist with it, grabbing his forearm and using your momentum to yank him forward.

He follows the pull, but not because you made him. He allows it.

Your bodies slam together. Your chest to his, his forearm pressed to your back to steady you as you nearly topple.

You blink up at him, face flushed from adrenaline. “What’s the matter? Afraid I might win?”

Mark’s eyes drop to your lips for half a second before flicking back up. “You won’t. But I’m done pretending you can’t take a hit.”

He shoves you back—hard enough to sting, not hard enough to hurt. You plant your feet and push forward again, this time going for a low grapple. You get under his arms, driving your shoulder into his torso, trying to take him down.

He grunts—grunts, finally—muscles tensing as he resists. “You’re not going to move me.”

“I don’t need to move you,” you growl. “I just need to prove I can keep getting up.”

He grabs you by the waist, twists, and tosses you—not too far, but hard enough that you hit the ground with a breathless oof. The dirt is hot against your back, your ponytail half undone.

You don’t wait. You’re up again, charging.

He meets you halfway.

Fists clash. Elbows glance off ribs. Your breathing is ragged, arms trembling, but you don’t stop. Neither does he.

Finally, after another brutal exchange, he catches your wrist again—but this time he doesn't throw you. He just holds it. Tight. Breathing heavy.

You're both sweating, bodies dusted with dirt, heat rolling off your skin. You glare up at him, refusing to flinch.

His voice is rough. “You’re bleeding.”

You glance down—your knuckles are raw, one split open. You hadn’t noticed.

You look back at him. “Good.”

A beat. His grip softens. He looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“…You’re insane,” he murmurs.

You smirk. “And you like that.”

His mouth twitches, fighting a smile—and losing. “Maybe.”

Mark’s thumb brushes gently over your bruised, bloody knuckles. His eyes narrow slightly as he inspects the damage you’ve earned in the last thirty minutes of trying to beat the hell out of each other.

Then, without a word, he leans down and presses a soft, lingering kiss to the worst of the scrapes.

Your breath catches.

The tenderness is so at odds with the roughness of the fight that it sends a strange flutter through your chest. Your muscles are still coiled, your heart still hammering—and suddenly he’s kissing your hand like you’re something precious.

“This is enough for today,” Mark says, voice low but firm.

You stare at him, incredulous. “What? No way. I’m still standing.”

“Barely,” he counters. “You’re bleeding, your shoulder’s already swelling, and I can hear your heartbeat in your wrists.” He tilts his head slightly, eyes softening. “That’s enough, I’m calling it.”

You huff, rolling your eyes as you yank your hand away—not harsh, just annoyed. “Great. All that just to get coddled again.”

He raises a brow. “I just watched you try to suplex a Viltrumite. This isn’t coddling.”

You grumble under your breath, brushing dust off your black tank top, the hem riding up slightly to reveal a fresh bruise forming at your side. “Still feels like I could’ve taken a few more hits.”

Mark chuckles. “You probably could’ve. But you’ll thank me tomorrow when you can still walk.”

You glance up at him, then down at your bruised hand where his lips had touched it.

“…That was kind of sappy,” you mutter.

“I’m a sap now?”

“You kissed my knuckles. You absolutely are.”

Mark smirks, stepping closer again. “Don’t act like you didn’t like it.”

You look away quickly, crossing your arms—but your smirk betrays you. “I didn’t hate it.”

He leans in, voice dropping just above a whisper. “Next time, I’ll try your lips instead.”

Your face heats up instantly, and for once, you’re the one who’s speechless.

“…Tch. Sap,” you mumble again, not meeting his eyes.

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goyardgoyangi · 1 day ago

Text

enemies to lovers (intern edition)

You’re starting to think the universe has a personal vendetta against you.

Because despite your very best efforts to keep things professional—to pretend that Eren Yeager is just another intern, just another face in the sea of overachieving college students trying to make it in corporate America—he keeps finding ways to worm himself into your life.

Case in point:

“Alright, teams,” your manager announces at the end of the weekly check-in. “For this next sprint, we’re pairing up for a deep-dive project. Deliverables are due in two weeks, so make sure you’re coordinating closely.”

You’re barely listening, already skimming through your notes, mentally calculating how much work you’ll need to do over the weekend to stay ahead.

And then—

“Pairings are up in the Slack channel,” the manager continues. “Alright, that’s all for today!”

Laptops snap shut. Chairs scrape against the floor as everyone starts packing up. You casually open Slack, expecting to see a random name beside yours.

No. Because that would be too easy.

Instead, right there, bolded in neat little text—your name, listed next to ”& Eren Yeager’.

You stare at the screen.

No.

No, no, no.

You scroll back. Refresh. Check the file name. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe this is a sick joke. Maybe you opened the wrong document.

But there it is. Again. Your name, tied to his like a cruel punchline.

You flick your gaze across the room.

He’s already looking at you.

Chin propped in his hand, like he’d been watching. Like he knew this was coming. Like he’s been waiting for the moment you realized.

And worse—he looks amused.

Smug, even.

His lips twitch into the smallest, most insufferable smile.

You want to throw your laptop across the room. You want to throw him across the room.

Sasha peers over your shoulder and whistles. “Oh. Good luck with that.”

You groan, shoving your laptop into your bag like it personally betrayed you. “I’m gonna need it.”

She pats your back sympathetically before bouncing off to meet her own partner. Meanwhile, you’re bracing yourself as Eren stands, stretching lazily before slinging his bag over one shoulder.

“Well,” he drawls, stopping in front of your desk. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

You exhale sharply through your nose, pushing your chair back. “Guess so.”

“Try not to look too excited.”

You scowl, standing up. “I’ll try my best.”

He chuckles, unfazed. “When are you free to meet?”

You pull out your phone and skim your schedule. “I have some time tomorrow afternoon. I can book a meeting room at three?”

Eren hums, tilting his head slightly, like he’s thinking. Then—

“Nah. Let’s go somewhere else.”

You blink. “Where else would we have a meeting... if not in a meeting room?”

“The café down the street,” he says. “Better ambiance. Fewer people than in the office.”

You hesitate. You could argue, keep things strictly professional. But the idea of a sweet treat and something warm to drink while working through soul-draining corporate tasks sounds… kind of nice.

“…Fine.” You sigh, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Three o’clock.”

Eren grins. “Looking forward to it.”

You walk off before he can say anything else, but as you leave, you can still feel him watching you.

And for the first time in weeks, you can’t tell if you’re dreading tomorrow—or looking forward to it.

You don’t know why you’re nervous.

It’s just a meeting. A work-related, professional, totally normal meeting.

And yet, as you approach the café, you feel the beginnings of unease settle in your stomach. Maybe it’s because this is the first time you’ll be alone with Eren outside of the office. Maybe it’s because, despite your best efforts, you haven’t been able to shake the lingering awareness of him—of his glances, his smirks, the way he always seems too entertained by your reactions.

Or maybe it’s because some small, irrational part of you is still clinging to the memory of the rejection. The way he’d shut you down without hesitation.

You shake the thought away as you step inside.

The café is warm, the scent of coffee and pastries hanging in the air. You scan the room quickly, spotting Eren near the back, already seated at a small table. He’s dressed more casually today—sleeves rolled up, hair pulled into a loose bun, silver rings glinting on his annoyingly **attractive hands as he idly taps his fingers against the table.

You steel yourself and walk over.

“You always pick the back corner?” you ask, setting your bag down before sliding into the seat across from him.

Eren looks up, smirking slightly. “Best view in the room.”

You glance around, skeptical. “Of what? The exit sign?”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Didn’t say I was looking at the décor.”

You blink, caught slightly off guard by his tone—but you don’t press it. Instead, you pull out your laptop, trying to stay focused. “Let’s get started.”

He nods but doesn’t move for his bag. Instead, he leans back, head tilting slightly as he nods toward the counter. “You thinking of getting anything?”

You hesitate, eyeing the pastry case. “Maybe. Still deciding.”

“What do you usually go for?” he presses—but there’s a quiet curiosity beneath it.

You glance at him, a little wary. “Strawberry matcha, usually. And... that Nutella croissant looks good.”

His smirk grows, subtle but unmistakably smug. “Knew it.”

Your brows lift. “You knew?”

He’s already pushing back his chair. “Took a guess when I saw the menu. I’ll get you both. I wanted the Nutella croissant too.”

You blink. “Wait—are you sure?”

Eren nods, already walking toward the counter. “Yeah. I’ll grab my coffee while I’m at it. Easier if I just pay for everything.”

And even though you should be reviewing project notes or pulling up the presentation while he’s at the counter, your brain is annoyingly hyper-aware of him—of the way the barista seems a little too interested in him, of the easy way he leans against the counter as he waits.

You force yourself to look away. Focus.

By the time he returns, sliding your coffee across the table, you’ve managed to pull up a shared document.

“Alright,” you say briskly, “let’s start by breaking down the deliverables.”

Eren hums, taking a sip of his own drink. “So serious.”

You shoot him a look. “That’s kind of the point of this, isn’t it?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Relax. We’ve got time.”

You resist the urge to groan. “Eren.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Let’s get to work.”

And to your surprise, he actually does.

The next few hours pass by smoothly. Eren—despite his usual laid-back demeanor—is sharp, quick to pick up on details, throwing out ideas that you begrudgingly admit are good. The conversation flows easier than expected, and for the first time, you feel yourself settling into something… comfortable.

Then—

“You always this tense?”

You glance up from your screen, brow furrowing. “What?”

Eren leans forward slightly, studying you with an unreadable expression. “You’re always on edge around me.”

Your grip tightens around your cup. “I am not.”

He tilts his head. “You sure?”

You sigh, looking away. “We’re working. That’s all this is.”

Eren hums, but he doesn’t look convinced. “If you say so.”

The air shifts, something unspoken hanging between you. You don’t like it—you don’t want to acknowledge it—so you do what you do best.

You ignore it.

The next few days pass in a blur.

Despite everything, the two of you fall into a rhythm. The tasks have already been divided. You both know what needs to be done, and Eren’s competent—frustratingly so—and it makes it easier to ignore the tension that simmers beneath the surface.

Mostly.

You’d love to pretend you’re fine—casual, even—but it’s hard to ignore the way your skin prickles every time you feel his gaze settle on you.

No matter how hard you try to bury yourself in work, drown in project tasks, or choke down scheduled meetings—nothing is enough to keep you from running into Eren again.

Like today.

You’re crammed into a small meeting room with the rest of your team, laptops open, diagrams pulled up on the screen, conversation moving quickly from one update to the next. You’re halfway through explaining a revision to the prototype structure when the door creaks open.

And there he is.

Eren.

He steps in like he owns the place, long frame filling the doorway, hair loose around his shoulders, sleeves pushed up, lanyard half tucked into the pocket of his jeans.

You freeze. Of course, he would come in now.

He doesn’t even speak—just lifts a brow slightly, like you were the one interrupting him.

He looks around the room, slow and unhurried, before setting his laptop down on the table and taking a seat next to you, much to your dismay.

And then—he smiles.

Not big. Not wide. Just enough to say, Yeah, I know you saw me.

You grit your teeth and pretend to refocus on the screen, willing yourself not to notice the way his presence seems to take up more space than it should. You can feel the heat of him beside you, his scent, woodsy and clean, is way too close for comfort.

And you hate it. You’re supposed to be focused on the project, on your career, on your goals. Not him.

You arrive at the office the next morning with a game plan: ignore, deflect, and work. No distractions. No unnecessary interactions. No Eren Yeager.

But as luck would have it, within the first hour, that plan goes to hell.

It starts small—his gaze lingering on you when your team gathers for the daily check-in, the way he seems way too at ease in your proximity. Then comes the subtle, almost imperceptible smirk when you fumble with your professionalism as if he was waiting for you to finally slip up— to react to him.

You don’t. You won’t. Except you do—when you’re forced to spend the entire afternoon stuck in a tiny meeting room with him, reviewing an important deliverable of the project together.

You sit at opposite ends of the table, both typing away on your laptops, silence stretching between you. It should be comfortable—just two interns in the same stage of life, work towards the same goals, spending precious time of their youth working together as comrades—but it isn’t. There’s an unspoken awareness, or in your case, awkwardness, that makes the air feel heavier than it should.

Eventually, you exhale sharply, breaking the silence. “Look, can you just—” You pause, searching for the right words.

Eren finally looks up, one brow slightly raised. “Just what?”

“Stop making this weird.”

His lips twitch, like he’s amused that you think you have control over that. “I’m not making it weird.”

You give him a flat look. “You literally brought up asking me you out. In front of everyone. In front of our boss.”

He shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “You brought it up first.”

Your jaw drops. “I—no, I didn’t!”

“You called it ‘unfortunate probability.’”

“That’s not bringing it up, that’s just—” You inhale sharply, cutting yourself off. You refuse to engage in this ridiculous back-and-forth with him. You are a professional. A serious intern, someone’s here to get a return offer.

Eren, however, is entirely unbothered, watching you with that same lazy amusement. “Relax,” he says. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Easy for you to say,” you mutter under your breath, turning back to your screen.

Silence settles again, but this time, it’s charged. You try to focus, but you can feel his gaze flicker to you every now and then, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll talk back, to give a reaction first.

Again, you repeat the same mantra. You don’t. You won’t.

But this time, he speaks first.

“So, why’d you do it?”

You blink. “Do what?”

He tilts his head slightly, long strands of hair beautifully framing his face. “Ask me out.”

Your heart stops. How can someone annoying be so natrually handsome? Then starts again—way too fast for your liking.

You should learn from your mistakes last week’s team lunch and this time actually tell a lie. Say it was a dare. Say anything that will downplay the sheer mortification of that moment. But again, you blurt out the truth before you can stop yourself.

“I don’t know. You just seemed interesting.”

More like infuriatingly hot, but also not a lie. There was something about him that day—something about his quiet confidence, his complete indifference to the high-stakes nature of the last step of being hired— the behavioral interview, like he already knew he had it in the bag. It annoyed you. It intrigued you.

Eren studies you for a beat, like he’s weighing your words. Then, to your utter disbelief, he grins.

“What?” you demand, suspicious.

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head, still smirking. “Just funny, that’s all.”

You narrow your eyes. “Funny how?”

But before he can answer, the door swings open and one of your team members pokes their head in, asking about a deadline.

The moment breaks.

Eren turns back to his laptop, looking perfectly at ease, while you sit there, heart hammering, feeling like you just lost some sort of invisible battle.

You don’t know what game he’s playing. But you have a feeling that Eren is messing with you. There’s no other explanation.

Ever since that meeting room conversation—ever since you stupidly admitted he seemed interesting—he’s been acting different. Not outright obnoxious, but just enough to genuinely annoy you.

Like now.

Your team is gathered in a shared workspace, going over project updates. You’re laser-focused on your laptop, taking notes as your team lead speaks, when you feel it—his gaze.

You don’t have to look to know it’s him. You just know.

And it’s distracting.

You shift in your seat, resisting the urge to glance up. Ignore. Deflect. Work.

But then—

“So,” Eren’s voice cuts through the discussion, completely unprompted. “You’re a statistics person, right?”

You freeze.

Slowly, you look up. He’s leaning back in his chair, looking far too entertained.

“…Yeah?” you say warily.

Eren nods, like he’s deep in thought. “So, statistically speaking, what do you think the odds are of us running into each other again after this internship?”

Your brain short-circuits.

Jean snorts from across the table. “Damn, Yeager. You applying probability theory to your love life now?”

Sasha perks up immediately. “Wait, why? Are you planning on running into her again?”

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.

You’re going to kill him.

Eren, unfazed, shrugs. “Just curious.”

You narrow your eyes, trying to decipher his angle. Is he teasing you? Is this payback? Or is he just naturally inclined to be the most insufferable person you’ve ever met?

Probably all three.

“I wouldn’t know,” you say, forcing your voice to stay even. “Maybe I’ll run a regression model on it later.”

Sasha gasps, delighted. “Ooh, academic flirtation. I love it.”

You shoot her a please stop look, but she’s having too much fun at your expense.

Meanwhile, Eren just hums, tilting his head slightly. “Let me know what you find.”

And then, as if he didn’t just drop that bomb, he goes right back to working, leaving you reeling.

After that bullshit of a conversation, you’re two seconds away from flipping the table and walking out. But since professionalism is still a thing, you settle for excusing yourself to grab coffee instead. The office break room is thankfully empty when you step inside. You exhale sharply, pressing your palms against the counter. What is his problem?

The way Eren keeps pushing at you, throwing you off balance—it’s getting unbearable.

Worse, you can’t even tell if he’s doing it on purpose or if this is just who he is. Maybe life is fair after all, being as endowed in the looks and brains department can’t come without sacrifices—his unbearable personality.

Maybe your girlfriends were onto something when they said that men were more handsome before they opened their mouths.

You’re starting to understand the appeal of a silent, brooding type. At least they don’t make you want to throw things every time they speak.

Is this some sort of game for him? To see how much you can take before you snap?

You shake your head, reaching for a coffee pod and shoving it into the machine with more force than necessary.

“Damn. What did the Keurig do to you?”

Your whole body tenses.

Of course. Of course.

You don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.

He reaches for a cup, and for a second, you swear he’s deliberately moving slow, drawing out the moment to stand behind you, towering over your frame.

You can feel his presence, radiating off him like heat, and it makes your skin prickle in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

Fuck, what if he sees a gray hair? You probably have one from all the stress he’s giving you. Maybe more than one. It wouldn’t be surprising—this feels like the kind of situation that would age you by ten years in a single afternoon.

You force yourself to focus, stirring your drink slowly, keeping your gaze fixed on the cup. You don’t want to look up, don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing your reaction. But his voice is there, always there, like it’s in your head, too.

“Don’t you have something better to do?” you ask, your tone a little sharper than you intended, but you refuse to back down.

Eren tilts his head, and you can hear the amusement in his voice. “You trying to get rid of me that quickly?”

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. This is exactly why you’ve been avoiding him. The way he’s so easy, so confident, like he knows he can mess with you and you won’t say a word.

You take a long sip, as if the simple action could cool the rising heat in your chest.

“Well,” you say, voice flat as you put the cup back down with a little too much force. “I’m not in the mood for your… whatever this is.”

For a moment, his expression falters, like you’ve caught him off guard. His eyes flicker, just briefly, and you can tell something shifts in him—like your irritation has actually affected him more than he’d like to admit.

He straightens up, running a hand through his hair, looking at you with something more genuine in his gaze. “Oh—” He pauses, taking a breath, and you can see him trying to recalibrate. “I wasn’t trying to make you mad, just wanted to get your attention. I don’t... want you pissed off at me.”

You exhale slowly, trying to keep yourself composed, but the words are out before you can stop them: “You’ve been doing this for weeks, Eren. It’s not funny anymore. It’s... it’s not a joke when you keep teasing me in front of everyone, in front of our boss. It’s embarrassing.”

His eyes widen, the sincerity in them growing, but you’re not interested in that right now.

“I’m not just here to entertain you,” you continue, your voice shaky now, and you curse yourself internally for letting it slip. “Being here is really important to me, and I’m just trying to get things done. But you keep making me feel like an idiot in front of people. It’s not just you anymore. It’s your whole attitude and... I can’t even—” You cut yourself off, frustrated tears threatening to spill. God, not now.

His face softens, but you’re already stepping back, gripping your drink tighter like it could hold you together. You feel small.

And worse, you’re starting to feel like you’ve just become another punchline in his little game.

Eren steps back, eyes searching yours, but you don’t meet his gaze. You’re not sure what he expects from you now. You don’t even know what you expect now. An apology? A hug?

Instead, all you feel is the knot in your throat tightening. You don’t want to cry here, not in front of him. So, you just force out a small breath and pretend like everything is fine again.

#eren x reader #eren x you #eren x y/n #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x you #eren yeager x y/n #eren jeager x reader #eren jeager x you #aot x reader

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divinefailurre · 2 days ago

Text

and did the twin flame bruise paint you blue?

'just between us, did the love affair maim you too?'

theodore nott x reader

this is my first tumblr fic, hi everyone! i hope you like it! this is loosely based off of the notebook movie, but not everything is the same. i imagined reader to be like noah and theo to be like allie...but you'll see. the ending is lowkey rushed, and it's not fully proofread (i'm so sorry).

word count: 8.6k

snow cascaded down from the heavens all around you, the frozen air it brought with it chilling your whole body. you tightened your hold on the coat you wore, crossing your arms to shield your hands from the air. living in the states had changed you, making you more susceptible to the cold…you hated it.

as you strode down the london pavement, your eyes darted around the city that seemed to have changed so much in such a short time. buildings were taller, people were busier, and the constant construction was enough to drive you mad.

where had all the time gone?

you sighed, trying so desperately to shove down the feelings of guilt and regret that always surfaced when you thought about the past. things were so different now.

finally making it to the bus stop, you stood under the shaded bus shelter, trying not to make eye contact with passing pedestrians. the christmas lights scattered all throughout the city caught your eye though, their blinking colors doing little to warm your soul.

one place caught your eye.

if you’d have remembered this specific place was right where you’d be walking past, you’d have chosen to cross town instead. but here you are, standing across the street from a little pub that was decorated for christmas, the decorated tree catching your eye through the window.

“you’re telling me you’ve never been to a muggle pub?” you’d questioned, pulling your boyfriend through the door of a small london pub. he chuckled behind you, his grip tightening around your hand as you both weaved through the crowd, trying to find an open table.

“not once,” theodore nott replied, his voice standing out in the loud room, despite him speaking quietly. “why, is there something special about a place that doesn’t serve firewhiskey?”

“absolutely!” you chirped, sitting down at a small booth. it was in the very back of the bar, with only one low-hanging lamp to provide you with any light. theodore slid into the booth next to you, pulling his hand out of your grip so he could throw his arm around your shoulder.

you’d had boyfriends before, but never like theo. he was kind, attentive, and quiet in the best way possible. he was witty, constantly cracking you up with his jokes or sarcastic comments. and boy, was he handsome. you let your eyes wander over his face as you sat in the booth with him, your gaze flitting from his eyes, to his lips, to his cheeks that you loved to kiss.

“così carina,” theo purred, bumping you with his nose. you giggled, leaning forward so he could kiss your cheek. “così bella, così dolce…” every compliment he punctuated with a kiss to your cheek, your jaw, your neck.

normally you’d be self-conscious, not wanting to exhibit too much pda, but you knew this pub. you knew the people who owned it, the people who frequented it, and you knew none of them were looking or even cared. more than that, something inside of you didn’t care anymore.

the two of you had ordered some beer, and continued to sit for hours, just talking and laughing. theo especially loved people-watching. whenever you two were out, he loved to make a game out of guessing people’s lives, almost making them characters in a little book in his head.

“see that guy?” theo had asked, whispering in your ear as he pointed across the pub. “the one with the mohawk? he’s for sure in a rock band, but he’s skipping practice because the lead singer’s pissing him off. look! he’s going on and on about something that seems infuriating, so i’m right!”

you laughed every time he made up these stories, but you listened intently every time. there was something about the way theo talked that pulled you in, making everything else seem hazy. theo’s eyes never strayed from yours, save for once when he leaned in to press a kiss to your lips. your eyes fluttered shut, returning to kiss with equal fervor, resting your hands on the sides of his neck.

the honk of the bus was what pulled you out of the memory. you shook your head, breaking your gaze from the pub, where the lights seemed to flicker theo’s name in morse code. you sighed, feeling the cold return to your body once more. your lips burnt, as if theo’s lips had set them aflame, and just the memory of him was able to reignite them.

the bus driver smiled at you as you stepped in the vehicle, pulling yourself up the stairs and down the aisle. the bus was almost completely full, but you were able to find a lone seat at the very end of the row. slinking low in your seat, you let your head fall against the window, watching as the bus drove past the pub and down the busy road.

the bus dropped you off a few blocks from your parents’ street, and you continued your trek across the city. the snow had finally let up, but the grey skies still held back the sun. you were sure your nose was about to fall off from the winter chill, though. your steps were light, almost cautious as you turned onto your parents’ road.

you finally reached your parents’ front door. the terraced house was old, its red brick slowly weathering down into a greenish color, the window shutters that were once white are now a dark grey. it’d been five years since you’d been back, and the house you once called home now looked like it was inhabited by strangers. taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door.

your mother was the first to greet you. she grinned, pulling you in the house by your backpack straps, causing a chuckle to escape your lips. she wrapped you in her arms, swinging you around while your father watched from the hallway.

“how come you never visit, dove?” your mother jokingly scolded, swatting your arm as she led you to the kitchen, where your brother and father were waiting to greet you.

“she doesn’t wanna run into theo,” your brother said, trying and failing to tease you. your eyebrows shot up, your cheeks heating up at your brother’s accusation, which was one hundred percent true.

“not true,” you lied, narrowing your eyes. “besides, he’s probably never in town.”

“i just saw him a few weeks ago,” your father said quietly, wincing as soon as the sentence left his mouth, as if he knew he shouldn’t have said anything.

“oh,” was all you could say back.

silence followed, your mom wringing her hands and shooting your father a nasty look in the meantime. you glanced down at the kitchen table, finding a large plate full of christmas cookies on the counter. the cookies were all cut into christmas shapes; trees, mittens, snowflakes, even snowmen. your mom had really tried her best to make christmas happy for you again.

“can you pass me the frosting?” you asked theo, who was standing across the kitchen island, hogging all the cookie frosting. his brows were furrowed as he held a cookie up close to his face, trying to use the blue frosting to make a snowflake on top.

“gimme a minute,” theo murmured, all his focus on trying to pipe a straight line onto the cookie. you smiled, tilting your head as you watched him. ever since theo’s mother passed away when he was twelve, theo nor his father celebrated christmas. it just seemed unnecessary, since the one person that truly loved christmas was gone.

you were so happy when your mother asked theo to stay over to frost cookies. at first, your boyfriend was hesitant. he had been about to pull on his coat and step outside, but your mother begged him to stay. theo glanced at you, then your mother, then back at you. finally, he agreed, and it seemed like he was really enjoying himself.

“i love you,” you said quietly. theo paused his frosting, his cheeks turning pink as he finally looked up from his work, his eyes wide as they watched you. a moment passed, silence filling the room. you were instantly embarrassed, glancing down at the table to avoid his gaze.

theo dropped everything he was holding and slowly moved around the counter, slipping one arm around your waist and using the other hand to tilt your chin up towards him.

“you love me?” he asked, as if he hadn’t heard you the first time. you nodded, intoxicated by the feeling of him so close. his nose bumped yours as he leaned in, capturing your lips with his. normally he kissed you roughly, or strongly, or full of desire, but this kiss was soft. his mouth explored yours in the gentlest of touches, making you melt your body into him. theo pulled away, his blue-grey eyes darting around your face.

“i love you, too,” theo murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “ti amo così tanto.”

“dinner is at six,” your mother announced, breaking you out of your second hazy memory of the day. hopefully you could get through dinner without another one. nodding, you carried yourself across the kitchen and down the hall towards the stairs.

you trudged up the stairs, trying hard to avoid looking at the pictures hanging on the wall. almost all of them contained pictures of you when you were younger, and you were sure your mother still had that one picture of you and theo in front of the christmas tree still up. if you saw that picture you’d spontaneously combust.

finally, you crossed the threshold of your childhood bedroom. it was as if you’d walked straight into a memory. the walls were still a soft beige, though the posters plastered all over covered up most of the paint. your desk was still cluttered with books and paints and anything else that had no specific place. your bookshelves were overfilled with your favorite books from adolescence, containing titles like Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Lord of the Rings.

despite being a witch, you were born to a muggle family, and therefore kept your muggle lifestyle. when you were a teenager, every summer you came back home it was like you weren’t a witch at all. you weren’t allowed to use magic, of course, and your parents weren’t magical, so life just went back to normal for a few short months every year.

as you shrugged off your coat, you glanced in the mirror across the room. your hair was frizzy and wet from the snow, your eyes were tired, and your complexion was the opposite of bright and clear. rolling your eyes, you pulled your scarf off your neck and flopped on your bed.

your mother let you miss dinner.

when you woke up the next morning, which was christmas eve, you immediately felt horrible. your first time back to visit in five years, and you couldn’t even stay awake long enough to eat with your family.

your parents smiled as you entered the kitchen, your mother silently handing you a hot mug of coffee. you smiled in thanks, slipping into the chair next to your father, who leaned over to press a kiss to your head.

“what’re you doing today?” your mother asked, flipping the page of her magazine. “we’re not eating until seven, and your brother wants to watch that one movie we watch every year.”

“it’s called Scrooged!” your brother bellowed from the other room. you chuckled as you took a sip of your coffee.

“we watch it every year,” your father muttered.

“i’m surprised you still allow it,” you replied, trying to hide your smile. “if i was here every year, i’m sure i’d cause a fit.”

“well, we wish you were here every year,” your mother said solemnly. “then maybe someone would stand up to that brother of yours!”

you appreciated your mother’s way of diverting the topic. to be honest, you were disappointed in yourself for staying away so long, but if this trip back home proved anything, it was that you weren’t ready to be back.

“i think i’m gonna head to town soon,” you said, ignoring the solemn air that filled the kitchen. “i’ve got a few last minute things to get, and cassie is expecting me to meet her for coffee.”

“oh, that’ll be fun!” your mother exclaimed. “please tell her i say hello. oh, how i miss that girl!”

cassie had been your best friend since childhood. she was a muggle, but that didn’t stop you two from being friends after you left for hogwarts. every week, you sent letters back and forth, catching each other up on your separate lives. it took her awhile to get used to an owl showing up at her window, but once she got to know atticus, your beautiful great horned owl, she loved seeing him.

after finishing a lovely breakfast with soft conversation, you got ready for your excursion back into the heart of london. you loved the city, you truly did, you just hated the memories it held. the past it brought back to the surface was almost too much to bear.

you got ready quickly, not being one to care much about appearances anymore. your hair fell in a singular braid down your back, tucked under a small hat to keep your ears warm. this particular hat had been knitted by your grandmother when you were young, so it was a bit snug, but you loved it all the same.

“i’ll be home by six!” you exclaimed, waving goodbye to your family. your mother wished you safe travels, your brother teasingly flipped you off, and your father scolded him as you shut the door. your family always had a way of lifting your spirits without even trying.

as you shopped in town, you popped your earbuds in, trying desperately to tune out the hustle and bustle of the christmas eve shoppers around you. you surprisingly found everything you needed and left quickly, wanting to get to the coffee shop before cassie so you could surprise her with her gift.

you accidentally walked past the pub.

once again, you were in your own world, trying to juggle all the bags in your arms, when you accidentally bumped into a woman leaving the pub, causing you to become aware of your surroundings. you’d apologized, and she’d done the same, but once you realized where you were (for the second time in two days), your blood ran cold.

you kept walking, quicker this time around, when you came across a for sale sign. it was just up the street from the pub, maybe two doors down, and it must have been an old flower shop because you could somewhat make out the faded letters on the door. you stood there a moment, peering in the windows, when a revelation almost knocked you out of your boots.

new year’s eve, five years ago, you and theo spent a quiet night together, opting out of any parties your friends were throwing. you were curled up on the couch in his flat (well, his father’s flat that he stayed in when he had business in london), watching an old movie that theo had never seen before. theo wasn’t an avid movie-watcher, but he loved whenever you’d pick out a movie…just so you two could spend a night in together.

“what’s this called again?” theo asked, running his hands through your hair.

“it’s a wonderful life,” you hummed, leaning into his touch. “s’posed to be a christmas movie, but i like watching it around new year’s, too.”

“it’s good,” theo replied. you felt him sink lower into the couch, pulling you closer to him. “makes me think about the future.”

“oh yeah?”

you sat up, turning to face your boyfriend, whose face held a pensive expression as he watched the movie. he turned towards you when he noticed you watching him, a smirk playing on his lips.

“what?” he questioned. “something on my face?”

“no,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “you just don’t talk about the future a lot. it surprised me, i guess. so, what does mr. theodore nott see for himself in the future?”

theo smiled, his tired eyes hooked onto your lips, and he leaned forward to press a kiss onto them. while he distracted you, he pulled your body onto his lap so you’d straddle him. you inhaled quickly at the surprise.

“i see you,” theo said. “i see you and me. i marry you, we maybe have a little baby–”

“maybe we own a little bookshop! and we live upstairs with a little cat!” you added.

“very good, love, and we visit your parents for every holiday and we host dinner parties every week. maybe we–oh, what’s wrong?”

theo’s little monologue had simply brought you to tears. the two of you had been dating for awhile, but he’d never opened up to you this much. theo always had the bad habit of keeping things close to his heart, never letting someone in enough to know about the things that he thinks are important.

“nothing’s wrong,” you said, letting him use his thumbs to wipe your tears away. “i just love hearing you talk. i love your idea of the future, of our future. i love it all, and i love you.”

“i love you, too,” theo murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss under your eye, effectively kissing your tears away.

tears stung your face as you reentered reality. you caught your own reflection staring back at yourself through the window, noticing how red your eyes and cheeks were. from the cold, or from crying, you wouldn’t know.

wiping your face, you took out a notepad from your purse and wrote down the number for the leasing office. it seemed as if everything you’d ever done was meant to lead you to this moment, this spot in london, this time. you were meant to see this empty building, to face the one memory you’d tried so hard to erase. you had gotten drunk one night a few years ago and almost obliviated it from your memory, but your friend was thankfully there to confiscate your wand.

you knew you had to buy this place. you knew you had to make a life for yourself. all you’d done for the past five years was run from who you were truly supposed to be, who you wanted yourself to be, and coming across this empty plot was proof of that.

even if theo wasn’t in your life anymore, you were still going to complete your dream, even if part of it was supposed to include him. after all, the bookshop was originally your idea, so why should you let the idea of him hold you back?

as soon as you got home that night, you told your parents about your grand idea. both of them, while a bit hesitant, were ecstatic to hear that their child was finally moving back to london. they helped you figure out all the logistics on how to move back, how to contact the leasing office for the storefront, and all the other little things you had to get sorted out.

christmas came and went, and thankfully so. the holiday season left you with a sour taste in your mouth for the past five years (for obvious reasons), and you were eager to get started on your new project. you’d flown back to the states to collect your things and move out of the studio apartment you’d been (un)comfortably living in for the past few years. everything was going according to plan for once in your life.

after arriving back in london, you’d received a phone call that the storefront, along with the small apartment above it, were yours. as soon as you hung up the phone, you and your family jumped around the kitchen in sheer joy. even your younger brother, who wasn’t one for showing emotions, had to wipe away a tear at the fact that his sibling was back home for good.

the month after, you were finally given the keys to the shop. your mother went with you to scout it out first, and you were both surprised when you saw it didn’t need much work. the floors were a nice hardwood, dark cherry in color, and the walls were painted a plain white. you could definitely tell it used to be a flower shop, as the earthy scent was still strong in the air.

for the next six months, you worked on getting this shop in order. it was hard work, but it was fulfilling. after working meaningless jobs for the entirety of your adult life, it was nice to put your energy into something that would eventually pay off.

your family often came by, offering their assistance in painting, making phone calls, ordering inventory. your brother in particular was especially helpful. almost every day after his university classes were finished, he came by the shop. it seemed that the work helped pull him out of whatever slump he was in, too.

once the renovations were finished, you started receiving your inventory. books by the dozens started showing up at your door, waiting to be unboxed and displayed on the tables you’d found at the antique shop. one morning, one book in particular stopped you in your tracks.

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” theo announced, thrusting the book into your hands. you had spent the afternoon hanging out around town, searching bookstores all day for what theo claimed to be the best shakespeare play of all time. you weren’t one for reading shakespeare, but apparently theo was, and he had very strong opinions on the topic.

now, the two of you were back at his flat, enjoying an espresso in the kitchen as theo performed a book haul for you (as if you weren’t there when he bought them).

“why is this one your favorite?” you asked, taking the book out of his hands. you ran your hand over the front cover, which was blue and embellished with gold designs of two fairies in a tree.

“my mother read it to me as a child, and i used to think it was so clever. it’s like a medieval rom-com,” theo explained. “some of the lines are really profound, though. here, let me see.”

theo took the book out of your hands, flipping the pages to find what he was looking for. you watched his face brighten as he pointed to a certain line, most likely the one he was looking for.

“‘ay me! for aught that i could ever read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth’,” theo read, his eyes flitting across the page. you smiled, nodding as he finished, looking up at you in admiration.

“i like it,” you said. “it’s true, too. the course of true love isn’t smooth at all.”

“no, it’s not,” theo replied. “but since it led me to you, i don’t care how bumpy it was.”

“come here, romeo,” you teased, tugging on theo’s shirt collar. he chuckled, leaning into your touch. you pressed your lips to his, and suddenly the whole world disappeared.

“it was actually lysander that said that, romeo isn’t in–”

“shut up.”

you decided to set up the book in the window display. somehow, when your brother was finding inventory, he’d found the same edition that theo had bought years ago, the same two fairies taunting you on the cover. despite that, it was still a beautiful play (one of your now-favorites), and it deserved to be displayed.

“is something wrong with the books?” your brother asked from behind you. “you’ve been standing there for like five minutes.”

“no, no, they’re perfect,” you replied, setting the final copy on the table. “i was just reminiscing.”

“oh. okay. well, there’s some more boxes that just came that need your signature.”

you sighed, nodding that you’d heard him, and left the books in the display. opening day was going to be the next week, and you had a lot to do. you had no time to spend daydreaming, thinking about what once was.

finally, opening day had come. your whole body was jittering, so much so that you hadn’t allowed yourself a cup of coffee that morning. you’d put on your favorite dress outfit, long flowy pants and a matching button-up vest. you had blow dried your hair that morning, feeling the immense need to look presentable for the most important day of your new career.

opening day was a complete success. foot traffic was at an all-time high, as almost everyone that passed the new shop had stopped in the window, deciding to just take a peek. your brother worked the cash register, and was constantly busy with customers.

that afternoon, a woman from a london newspaper came in, claiming she’d caught wind of the new bookshop down the road, and just had to put it in the paper. it wouldn’t be front page, she assured you, but it’d be pretty close.

when the newspaper had finally printed, you had a party to celebrate. a picture of you standing in front of your beautiful new bookshop was now in print, under the headline NEW LOCAL BOOKSHOP HAS A BOOMING OPENING DAY. your friend cassie had cut it out and framed it, giving it as a gift to hang on the wall behind the cash register.

things were finally looking up for you. business remained steady, you were finally settled in your new apartment, and your thoughts of theo were becoming less and less frequent. you were finally growing into your own person, even though you wished you were growing with a certain someone.

one morning, however, fate decided to play a nasty trick on you.

you were at the bookshop, handling the cash register while your brother unpacked new inventory in the back. there were a few customers browsing the shop, picking up books that might meet their fancy. you paid them no mind, maybe offering a suggestion or two if they asked. you knew how most people thought of shopping for books as a solitary experience. you didn’t look up from your papers until someone sat down a book on the counter in front of you.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

you looked up to be met with theodore nott two feet away from you. your eyes widened, your pulse quickening instantly. you genuinely couldn’t believe your eyes. you blinked rapidly, thinking your eyes were just blurry. no, this couldn’t be. theo shouldn’t be here. he should be across the country, or maybe across europe, in italy with his father. he shouldn’t be here.

“hello,” theo said quietly. you stood there, your body frozen. what were you supposed to do? do you say hi back? do you yell at him to get out? your breath escaped your lungs at the sound of his voice. every emotion and memory from that last night together came rushing back, hitting you square in the chest like a tidal wave.

you were spending the night at theo’s father’s flat. you and theo had been dating almost seven months, and everything was pure bliss. even though it was somewhat a new relationship, you’d never felt more at home with someone, and you were certain he felt the same way.

the both of you were sitting on the couch, about to turn on a movie, when theo’s father apparated into the middle of the living room. you shrieked, jumping from the couch, while theo seized his wand, ready to fight the intruder.

“put your wand down, theodore! it’s just me!” theo’s father exclaimed, his hands in the air in surrender. theo sighed, setting his wand down, but his shoulders didn’t loosen.

“why are you here?” theo asked hesitantly. theo’s father chuckled, stepping closer.

“you mean at my own place,” theo’s father snapped. his gaze finally fell onto you, a hint of disdain turning his nose upright at the sight of you. “come talk in the other room.”

theo looked at you, a silent question. you smiled softly, jerking your head towards his father, a silent answer. theo nodded, following his father to the other room. what you heard next would continue to haunt you for the next five years.

“i’m here because this cannot go on any longer. you are not to see that mudblood anymore.”

“don’t you fucking call her that,” theo snapped at his father. the sound of a hand slamming against wood came next, making you flinch.

“i’ll call her whatever i want, i am your father! you will listen to me!”

“i don’t have to do anything–”

“theodore, you are eighteen years old! you are not a child anymore. i used to excuse your little, should i say…engagements, when you were at hogwarts. you were a teenager, but now you have to think of your future.”

“i am thinking of my future, father, she’s my future!”

“she’s nothing! she is nothing. you are not to see her anymore.”

the arguing continued, but you couldn’t bear to hear any more of it. you stumbled out of the flat, your eyes blurry with tears. you’d never heard someone speak that way about you, despite dealing with some bullying at hogwarts for being muggleborn. it was nothing compared to this.

“baby, baby, wait!” theo had exclaimed, running after you. he’d caught up to you in the hallway, grabbing your arms to turn you towards him.

“i’m just gonna go,” you said, trying to shake him off of you, but he wouldn’t budge.

“no, please don’t. don’t listen to him, he’s wrong, he’s so wrong. i love you.”

“i love you, too, theo, but maybe he’s right. you deserve someone better, someone who can give you more.”

“you can give me everything i need.”

“i can’t give you everything your family needs.”

at that, theo was silent. despite the amount of love he had for you, it wouldn’t make his family, namely his father, accept you. you’d never be able to have the future you wanted together.

“we’re done,” you said quietly.

“you don’t mean that,” theo said, his grip on your arm loosening as he stared at you in shock.

“i do,” you said. “it was never going to work.”

“oh, and why’s that?” theo snapped. “because apparently now you’re too scared to be with me?”

“i can’t let you throw your life away for me! i can’t be what you need.”

“yes you can.”

“leave it be, theodore!”

“you know it’s not theodore. it’s never been theodore.”

“goodbye, theodore.”

“you don’t get to give up on me!”

“i’m not giving up on you, i’m letting you go.” tears fell down your face, but you couldn't bring yourself to wipe them away. it was like you'd be wiping away your emotions, and you were never one to hide how you felt.

“no, you know what? fuck you, y/n. you are giving up, but you’re right. we are done.” theo also had tears falling freely down his face, and he too wouldn't wipe them away.

with that, you ripped your arms out of theo’s grip and walked down the stairs, away from him and out of his life.

instantly the next day you regretted rushing into things, and you went back to his father’s flat, only to find no one there, and no sign of a return.

over the next year, you sent a letter every single day, apologizing and begging for forgiveness and everything in between. you had sent them all to theo’s home address in italy, but you never received a response. it was unlike theo to not respond to something like that, but you thought you might have gotten the wrong address.

whatever the reason, you never heard from theo again.

“hello?” theo said again, this time almost in the form of a question. he was still standing there, and you were struck with the fact that he hadn’t aged a day. he still had the same tired, blue-grey eyes, sandy brown hair, full pink lips, and even the slight furrow in his brow was the same.

you were still speechless, and you were sure that he probably thought you were a freak by now.

“hi,” you breathed out. theo chuckled, glancing down towards the counter.

“i’d like to buy this book, miss,” theo said. “i lost my old copy.”

“oh…ok.”

your brain was on complete autopilot as you picked up the book, twisting it around in your hand to type the price into the cash register. you glanced up at theo, silently hoping he wasn’t looking at you, only to make direct eye contact with you. he smiled softly, pulling out his wallet.

“i love the bookshop, it’s exactly how i pictured it,” theo said quietly, glancing around the room. he offered you cash, and you accepted, which felt weird for some reason. you had never expected theodore nott to be purchasing a book from what was supposed to be your bookstore with him.

“thank you,” you replied. “took about six months in reno, not using magic obviously. i wanted to do it the old-fashioned way, the real way.”

“ah, i see. well, it’s beautiful. you must be so proud.”

“i am.”

you slipped the book into a small bag, shoving it towards theo in a hurried manner. the man’s presence was honestly shaking you to your very core, and you were sure you were going to throw up after he left.

“would you like to get coffee?”

“i’m working, i don’t think that’d be such a good idea,” you replied quickly, much too quickly.

“i can come by later, what time do you close?”

“i’m not sure we should–”

“we close at seven,” a voice said from behind you. you whipped around to see your brother standing in the doorway to the backroom, a frown on his lips as he glanced between you and theo. your brother knew everything that happened, and didn’t care for theo, so what’s going on?

“ok,” theo said, glancing from your brother back to you. he looked you up and down, finally resting on your face, and smiled. “i’ll be back at seven, though that’s a little late for coffee. how about a beer? at our pub?”

“i’ll probably pass–”

“she’d love to,” your brother interrupted, glaring at you. theo smiled, nodding at you as he stepped away from the counter, new book in hand.

“i’ll see you then,” theo murmured, waving to you and your brother. you watched in silence as he turned and left the bookshop, effectively making you even more nauseous than him entering. there was something about watching him leave that made everything you’d ever felt for him rise to the surface.

the realization hit you: you still missed him.

oh, merlin, you missed him so badly. his cologne still seemed to linger in the air, and you did your best not to lean forward to try and inhale every last bit. he still had the same haircut, the same eyes, the same smile. he still leaned forward slightly when he answered you, his wallet was still the same (just a little worn), and his voice still had a hint of that italian accent that made your blood turn to lava. everything about him was still just as enticing as before, if not more so, since he’d grown up a bit.

“why did you do that?” you snapped at your brother, only to be met with an eye roll.

“i don’t love the guy, but i never saw you as happy as you were with him,” your brother responded, as if the answer was plain in front of you. you raised an eyebrow as he turned right around and went back to work.

the rest of your day went by as slow as possible. your feet dragged, and your mind kept travelling elsewhere. you had to apologize to so many customers because they’d ask a question and it would just go in one ear and out the other.

when the clock hit seven, and the last customer was finally out of the shop, you sighed in relief. it had been one of the longest days of your life, waiting for the day to be over. you heard the door open, and the small bell wrapped around the handle jingled.

“sorry, love, we’re closed,” you absentmindedly said over your shoulder, pulling your purses off the hook behind the front desk.

“it’s just me,” theo’s voice said from the doorway. you stood up straight, still not to hearing his voice.

“oh, hi,” you replied, slipping your purse strap over your shoulder.

“are you ready, or do you have some stuff to do?”

“i can take care of it,” your brother said, effectively ushering you out of your own store. “go, catch up, enjoy yourselves.”

“i guess i’m good to go,” you replied, rolling your eyes at your brother’s demanding attitude. he simply smiled, walking you towards theo, who was also smirking. it seemed like everyone was in a great mood except for you.

the walk to the pub was short, but quiet. theo had asked you a couple shallow questions, just about the shop and your family, checking up on everyone he couldn’t see anymore. you answered him quickly, asking questions about his life in return. it turned out theo was working for his father (big surprise there), and that he travelled a lot. theo frowned at that part.

you entered your old pub, letting theo hold the door open for you. you subconsciously led him to your old spot, the booth tucked in the back, but this time he sat across from you instead of next to you. the feeling left you cold and lonely. he rapped his knuckles on the counter while you looked everywhere but him.

“woah, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” a man’s voice called from across the room. you looked over to see your favorite bartender, kenny, practically running towards your table. you couldn’t help the smile that overtook your face as you hopped out of the booth to give him an embrace.

“kenny! it’s so good to see you!” you exclaimed, letting the older man kiss your cheek. theo had gotten up as well, shaking kenny’s hand after you let go.

“my two favorites, come to visit me at last!” kenny said, clapping theo on the back. “what’s it been, five years or something?”

“sounds about right,” you replied, quieter than before. kenny’s eyes flitted between you and theo, his brows furrowed in confusion, or judgement, or maybe something else entirely. theo shifted on his feet, his gaze falling to the floor.

“well!” kenny clapped his hands and rubbed them together, as if he was trying to dispel the tension. “the usual?” he pointed at you, then at theo, waiting for you both to nod in agreement. when you do, kenny grins and heads back towards the bar.

as you slid back into your seat, you watched theo do the same, his eyes never leaving yours once. you instantly felt self-conscious, after having been so long since you’d felt his heavy gaze. you crossed your arms in front of your chest and leaned back in the booth, trying to make yourself as small as possible so he has less to judge.

“you look well,” you said, trying to break the awkward silence that permeated the space between you two. theo nodded, the side of his mouth slightly upturned at your compliment.

“you, too,” theo replied. he motioned towards your hair. “i like your hair. it’s a new color.”

he was right. you’d gotten your hair done the week before you opened the shop, wanting something new to match your new life. how did he notice? how did he remember what it looked like before?

“thank you. so, what brings you to london?”

“work,” theo said simply. “i had a couple things to take care of before heading back home.”

“where’s home for you? i presume italy, since that’s where your father is.”

theo stiffened at your mention of his father, his gaze falling down at the table. inside, you recoiled. you’d never meant to make him uncomfortable, but all these years you’d guessed he’d follow in his father’s footsteps and take over the family business.

“i haven’t seen him, so i wouldn’t know where he’s staying,” theo said after a beat. your eyes widened, unable to hide your surprise at this new information.

“oh, i’m sorry,” you said, doing your best to control the situation. you were never one for having difficult conversations, and you honestly regretted bringing up his father in the first place. after all, mr. nott was the reason you two had broken up in the first place. “i didn’t mean to pry.”

“it’s alright. i’m actually working for the ministry, with the foreign affairs and sports department. i travel a lot, but it’s decent work.”

kenny came by and finally dropped off your beers, and you took a small sip as you listened to theo talk about his job. apparently, he travelled all over the world, which once again didn’t seem to please him.

“so what have you been doing for the past couple years?” theo asked after his spiel about working for the ministry. you shrugged, taking another swig of your beer. you pushed around the water ring it had made on the table with your finger, absentmindedly creating swirled patterns as you though of how to respond.

“i lived in the states for most of it. i worked at a muggle company. i was pretty hostile towards using magic for awhile, and wanted to get away from it all. one of my friends from primary had moved a few years ago to california and asked if i wanted a job with her in graphic design.” you rattled off a couple tidbits about life in america, how it was living in an apartment smaller than a closet, and tried to ignore how theo’s eyes seemed to bore into your face, his attention unyielding.

“why’d you quit using magic?” theo asked after you finished. you sighed, letting your head fall back to stare at the ceiling. of course, out of everything you’d talked about, he’d want to bring this up.

“i didn’t want to,” you replied curtly, giving him a deadpanned look that said drop it. theo tilted his head, narrowing his eyes to mimic your expression.

“and why not?”

“i would rather not talk about this with you.”

“oh.”

really, how could you possibly explain to theo that the reason you put a pause on your magic usage was because his father's words long ago had made you felt so inadequate, so unworthy, that you could barely pick up your wand? you didn't think he'd understand, and you feared for his pity.

silence fell across the table again, with theo occasionally picking up his bottle for a drink. you tried to avoid staring, but the truth of the matter was that theo was still extremely attractive, and it reflected in every movement. you admired his jaw as he tilted his head back, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed, the muscles in his bicep that showed through his button-up.

you could only wonder what you looked like in theo’s eyes. you hadn’t changed much about yourself in the past five years, save for your hair color that theo’d noticed. he probably still looked at you and saw that eighteen year old girl he’d fallen out of love with.

“i missed you,” you said gently. as soon as you said it, you felt your cheeks heat up, and you looked down towards your drink. you fiddled with the rings on your hand, twirling each one with your thumb. “sorry, i shouldn’t have said that.”

“i missed you, too,” theo said. your heart just about stopped when you looked up to face him. he wore a soft smile, a genuine smile, and his eyes held something adjacent to longing. you matched his smile, for once not letting your eyes wander under the strength of his eye contact. you relished in the feeling of having his eyes on you again, it had been so long that you’d been starved of his attention.

you and theo talked for the rest of the night. everything was a bit of a blur after your third beer, the both of you laughing at things that shouldn’t have been funny. it felt like you’d stepped back in time, stepped back to when he loved you and you loved him…though it felt like you never stopped.

theo walked you to the bus stop. the summer breeze brushed your skin, making your hair get caught in your eyelashes as you stood waiting under the bus shelter. theo stood next to you, occasionally glancing down at you when he thought you weren’t looking. the air between you felt electric, palpable, tense.

“can i see you again tomorrow?” theo asked, his eyes facing the road ahead. his shoulders were tense, as if he was bracing for your rejection. you shrugged, putting your hands in your pockets.

“yeah, sure,” you responded, glancing up to smile at the man. theo looked down at you, an earnest smile playing on his lips. his shoulders visibly sagged as he breathed a sigh of relief.

on the train ride home, you couldn’t get rid of the smile on your face.

the next day, sunday, theo picked you up at the entrance to your bookshop. it was a sunny day in london, and theo was wearing a t-shirt and loose fitting jeans. his hair was damp, as if he’d just gotten out of the shower, and he smelled faintly of soap and cologne.

the two of you fell into comfortable conversation as you explored the city, frequenting all the shops and boutiques you used to go to. it was so out of the ordinary, but so normal at the same time. to be walking down these roads with theo after so long was equivalent to the feeling you get when you return home after spending your whole life lost in a haze.

theo paid for your coffee when you two went to the cafe, ordering himself an espresso and you a latte, and the two of you headed towards the park across the street. you’d bought a couple books, and theo’d done the same, and he’d also bought a new sweater that you assured him didn’t look too big.

you sat on a small bench across from a lovely oak tree, theo plopping down next to you, setting his few bags on the ground next to yours. he stretched his legs out, laying his arm on the back of the bench behind you. you felt the warmth from his arm seep into where it pressed into your back, somehow setting your whole body aflame. it was the first time you’d felt his touch since you were eighteen, and you remembered quickly how enraptured you’d become of the boy.

you took a sip of your latte (which theo thought was downright disgusting) and let yourself soak up the peace in this moment. the tree branches swayed in the wind, causing a few leaves to fall around the park, settling into the green grass below. wildflowers were scattered across the ground, popping up through the dirt in no apparent pattern or plan. this park in particular was your favorite place to be in the summer. the sun seemed to shine here the most (when it wasn’t gloomy, of course).

“why didn’t you write me?” you asked suddenly, as if you couldn’t control yourself. you sat up, turning to face theo, whose brows were furrowed in a confused expression. “i sent atticus to deliver you letters, every single day for a year. why didn’t you write?”

“what…” theo trailed off, sitting up to lean in closer. “what are you talking about, what letters?”

“i wrote you, theo, and you never responded. the day after we broke up, i felt so horrible and wanted to talk things through, fix things if i could. i went to your father’s flat but you were gone, so i wrote letters. i tried to reach you, but you never responded, so i thought you hated me.” you felt tears prick the corners of your eyes, so you blinked rapidly, trying so hard to remain strong in front of this man that you loved so much, even still.

“i…i never got your letters. you wanted to fix things?” his voice was soft, in awe of your confession. he tilted his head, and you could’ve sworn tears were in his eyes too.

“of course i did!” you exclaimed, trying to laugh away the lump in your throat.

a moment passed of just you and theo staring at each other, a foot away from each other’s faces, when you felt theo put his hand against the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. you jerked in surprise, but only for a moment, as he pulled your head closer so his lips could meet your own.

kissing theodore nott used to be your favorite pastime, and you were quickly remembering why. his lips moved against your own in perfect synchronicity that it felt like he was an extension of your own being. his nose bumped against yours as he cupped your cheek with his free hand. the hand that was behind your head slipped lower to grip the back of your neck. you sighed into the kiss, and theo licked your bottom lip, begging for entrance. you parted your lips, and he entered, kissing you with a renewed fervor. your hands tangled in his hair, cupped his cheeks, felt his jaw, they were constantly moving around his face. you loved the feeling of him under your fingers, wanting to commit it all to memory.

you finally pulled away, needing to breathe, and rested your forehead against theo’s. his chest heaved, breath tickling your mouth, and you closed your eyes. this was the feeling you’d been missing the past few years.

“i wasted so much time,” theo murmured. “if i would’ve known, i would’ve–”

“don’t waste time thinking of the past,” you replied, short of breath.

“ti amo, ti amo ancora.”

and with that, theo made his way back into your life, almost like he’d never left in the first place. you two quickly made up for lost time, spending every free hour together. theo quit his job at the ministry, since apparently he was itching for a reason to leave, and started helping out at the bookshop.

years later, the two of you made things official with a wedding, a grand one at that, filled with family and friends and people in the community that you'd met through your busy bookshop. you did host dinner parties in your small flat every week, and you did adopt a small cat from the local rescue.

pretty soon, your life looked exactly how you both had dreamed it, all those years ago. despite the pain it took you to get there, you looked around at the life you now led, the husband who loved and took care of you, the small child you two brought into the world, the little cat that was curled up in their lap, and you realized you'd do it all over again if it meant you'd get this result.

#theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott x reader #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #fluff #angst #the notebook #x reader #post hogwarts

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vshiftsss · 5 hours ago

Text

RAFE CONFRONTING ME - (OUTER BANKS DR)

melodic notes and guitar strings squeaking underneath aurora’s fingertips filled the comfortable silence of the belmont family’s backyard. there was a house party – and by extension, a beach party – going on behind her, celebrating the discovery of the city of gold, el dorado. rory was part of the crew that found it; her, john b., pope, and the rest of the pogues found it, even after getting chased down by some greedy guy who wanted it for himself.

usually, aurora was all for parties and celebration, but tonight? she wasn’t feeling it.

not when she had to see rafe with his arm around someone else’s waist. not when she had to get unlucky and glance over at him right when he pressed a soft peck to sofia’s lips.

just thinking about it made her play the wrong note, the discordant sound startling her out of her thoughts. a grimace crossed over aurora’s face, her hands stilling against the six-string. rafe was taking up too much of her brain, just for him not to be thinking of her at all. love was cruel that way–unrequited love, anyway. there was a certain dread in knowing that the person you loved had someone else occupying their thoughts, someone else taking up their quality time. someone else seeing them at their highs and lows.

she knew she shouldn’t be dwelling over something she knew was over, but the girl couldn’t help it. rafe was just too good at weaving his words, too good at creating a fantasy in her mind with looks alone. she fell for it completely, and nothing could beat the utter feeling of stupidity that kept cycling through her mind. aurora placed her guitar on the grass beside her; plucking at strings and jumbling nonsensical lyrics together wouldn’t fill this emptiness she felt.

instead, rory decided to watch the stars–the various constellations that twinkled and blinked in the night sky, begging for someone to watch them shine. tonight, they had a spectator. a lonely girl searching for an answer in a sea of lights that couldn’t talk back.

aurora had a spectator, too. one she really didn’t want to see at the moment.

“didn’t take you as the brooding type. sitting all alone out here with your little guitar. don’t you think it’s late for writing love songs, aurora?”

rafe spoke from behind her, each of his words slicing at her heart individually. rory didn’t even want to look at him, in case his new girlfriend had tagged along. she wasn’t in the mood for introductions.

typically, when people didn’t respond to someone, that was a sign to leave them alone. but rafe was persistent in his jabs, obnoxious with his constant presence. that used to be a blessing in rory’s eyes, but now she felt like she couldn’t breathe. not with him around.

“come on, rory. the hell are you doing out here? i came here for you, remember? you know i can’t stand being around those dumbasses for more than five minutes.”

aurora’s eyes fell from the luminescent mosaic above her, hesitant to face the source of her pain. they did, nonetheless. glancing at the man standing behind her, trying their best to convey any other emotion other than anguish.

“i didn’t think you’d actually show,” she spoke quietly, taking her time to stand and face rafe. a chill passed over her brown skin, raising goosebumps across her arms. “could’ve skipped out on it. i wouldn’t have been mad.”

rory could see the gears working in rafe’s head, could see the confusion flickering in his gaze. she knew she was acting weird. there was no interaction between the two of them that lacked the back-and-forth banter and the side comments. his lips twitched, and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

hadn’t they passed the stage of awkward encounters?

“sofia wanted to support you guys,” rafe replied, his words a tad too sharp for the mood of the conversation. he was just as out of his depth as aurora was. “plus…i had assumed you at least wanted to see me. maybe rub your victory in my face like you usually do.”

a beat passed.

“...what’s going on with you, aurora? did i do something? is someone bothering you? ‘cause this isn’t like you.”

at that, aurora bristled. the more he spoke, the more her emotions acted against her. her emotions were telling her to rip open her chest and bare all her feelings for rafe, her dignity be damned. she could tell him how much it fucking hurt to see his smile shine the brightest when he’s with her. how much her chest ached when sofia was all he could talk about during their time together. there was so much aurora was holding back, and all she wanted to do was scream at the top of her lungs, to get rafe to finally realize he should be with her and not sofia.

none of that came to the surface, though.

instead, aurora blinked once, twice, then three times. her brain searching for a reply that didn’t show how desperate she was.

she came up empty-handed.

“how do you know what i’m really like?” she whispered, her words barely reaching rafe’s ears before the summer breeze snuffed them out.

rafe scoffed, his eyes landing on the roaring party going on behind him before they returned to aurora. he didn’t know what the hell was going on, but it was clear she wasn’t okay. even when she was stressed, aurora knew how to recover. it was something she prided herself on, and something rafe reluctantly admired her for. so he seriously didn’t understand why she had that look on her face–a look that showed she was bottling up far too much.

“are you fuckin’ kidding me, rory? i– we’ve spent so many nights together, and now you’re trying to say i don’t know you?” rafe asked incredulously, his fingers twitching at his side. “i mean, come on. let’s not act like we’re not friends now. i don’t know what the hell you did, but…you got me to like you. you got me to…to…i don’t know, like having you around. and we joke, sure, but i thought it was obvious that none of it meant anything.”

rafe continued to stare at aurora, his eyes scouring her expression for an answer. a reaction. anything.

“look, i know sofia has been takin’ me away from our usual meetups, but…but that’s my girlfriend, rory. she’s amazing. and i thought you would be happy for me, with how you reacted when i first told you about her. i didn’t think you’d become so distant.”

rafe shoved his hands into his khaki shorts, his polo’s collar suddenly a bit too snug to his neck for his liking. it was starting to get hot and uncomfortable.

“look. i don’t know what the hell’s going on with you, but i don’t fuckin’ like it. so whatever you need to say…whatever you need to get off your chest? just say it. because you’re…you’re acting weird, and i don’t know what i did wrong.”

their gazes met each other’s, and for a second, it seemed like the world stopped spinning.

for a second, it felt like aurora didn’t have to breathe, nor blink.

it felt like time paused, allotting her some time to decide whether she was going to ruin the friendship she had spent so much time building, or destroy herself.

rafe wasn’t making it any easier, either. with that confused, almost desperate glint in his eyes, begging her to open up and finally spill everything she’d been holding in for months. the temptation clawed at her ribs, prodding at the pounding organ underneath.

she was going to fuck this up. for the first time in years, aurora was going to fuck something up royally. and rafe cameron was the one taking the fallout.

her lips parted on a sorry explanation on everything rushing through her mind at mach speed, the words not nearly enough to suit this confrontation. she could already feel the imminent rejection surging through her like a bullet, searing through her heart and tearing its way through the countless walls she had built to protect herself from something like this.

i should’ve listened to the pogues. this was a mistake.

but just as the first syllable fell from rory’s lips, the rest of her sentence lodged in her throat. her eyes drifted towards the woman jogging over to them, her radiant smile and friendly chestnut eyes too gorgeous to ever forget.

it was sofia.

“rafe, come on! they’re doing shots out on the beach.”

aurora’s eyes went straight back to rafe, and much to her dismay, he was already being pulled away from the conversation. rafe turned to face sofia, a crooked, almost nervous smile severing the tension between him and aurora.

“baby, give me a second, alright? i’ll be out in just a bit,” he spoke softly, pressing a few kisses to sofia’s forehead before sending her back towards the belmont estate. he didn’t turn back to aurora, which only made this moment feel ten times worse.

“…i’ll give you some time to think on it. to figure out how you want to say it. but…you don’t have to take shit on alone, alright? i got you, rory. always have, always will. no matter how much you want to think otherwise.”

the silence stretched between them, with rafe not moving an inch. he didn’t want to leave her behind. not when aurora was so vulnerable, so lost on what to do.

on what to say.

on what to think.

but he had to make a choice. and right now, his girlfriend wanted him there with her.

at first, he only took one step. aurora’s eyes were starting to glisten now, her body instinctively turning away from anyone watching her. she didn’t need rafe to see her cry right now. her pride and dignity were already in pieces at her feet.

one step became two, two became four, and four became enough steps for aurora not to hear him anyway.

she had gotten out of the sudden confession, but at what cost? it was only a temporary respite, a brief buffer from the heartbreak that was destined to hit her like a truck.

aurora glanced up at the stars again, tears blurring her vision too much for her to see any signs they were sending her. she bit her lip, stuffing down the sob that was about to claw its way from her throat.

in the end, no one else could handle this except her, and the only way out of this was through.

END OF POST - HAPPY SHIFTING!

note… this is old, but i didn’t post it i think! if i did pls let me know…i don’t wanna make a fool of myself. the third one is in progress…but i’m rusty. trying to get out of writer’s block once again smh

tags… @avelineshifts @julianasversee @visualcve @miaojune

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