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curvykittyyssmutfics · 3 months

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corrupt!Nanami

A/N: For @mozlov. Enjoy! 🫶🏽

corrupt!Nanami shifted personalities like flipping off the light switch on a dark stormy night: Your big soft bear was more savage than ever. "You're not listening. She's not takin time off. And as long as y/n works here, so do I. End of fuckin story." Nanami snarls at Yaga. Rolling and flexing his shoulders like he's getting ready for a fight. He's always so ready to box these days. Especially over you. "Nami, its okay. Let's just go-" You're pulling at his dress shirt, afraid shits bout to go down. But Yaga simply holds up his hand for silence. "If you can control yourself while we figure out your condition.. Y/n can stay, but-" Nanamis already taking a step forward, eyes narrowed. You gotta put yourself in between them to make sure your husband doesn't swing. "We'll allow you on the grounds for visitation but you simply can't teach like this. Not at the moment, Kento." Nanami stares at him coldly for a moment before turning to you. The adoration in his eyes gives you whiplash, but it's relief when he puts away the malevolent beast and returns your loving husband. "Long as she's good, I'm good." Said with too much conviction, slowly rubbing a thumb over your bottom lip, shallowly dippin between your lips to tease the tip of your tongue. You gasp, eyes wide at at how quick Nanami goes through the motions. Fuckin guy is now starin at you like you're his prey. "But she's takin the day off." He quickly pulls you from the room without another word, Yaga starin at Nanami's back in utter disbelief.

corrupt!Nanami turns out to be fuckin elated not to be a teacher anymore and quickly loses his dedication to the cause. He's only interested in the art of slaughter, no longer needing a valid reason to pull out his cleaver. Tries, and often fails, to keep that shit to a minimum. Dont get it twisted, Nanami's a murderous bastard. Isn't limited to just killing curses anymore but anyone that gets in his way. Yet.. he's aware how that fucks with your conscience. Knows he can sleep like a baby after but doesn't fuck with how that shit keeps you up at night. So he hides his bloody clothes after a long day, making sure to shower before coming to bed and scooping you into his arms. Falls asleep peacefully as his mind flashes scenes from his lastest kill.

corrupt!Nanami no longer asks your permission for shit anymore. Bent over to pick somethin up? That ends up with your husband puttin you on all fours, giving you back breaking back shots as your try to crawl away. "Quit that, y/n. Told yo fine ass bout doin that shit, right? Bendin over so just so I can see.. 'S all your fault.. You know I can't help it. Ass is too perfect to ignore." It's worse when you try to work out. Always sneaks up from behind to grab you, accusin you of excersing for hours just to tease him. So you find your self in Nanami's lap, cock warming him as you try to catch your breath from your workout. "Aww.. Poor baby, so tired. Don't worry, won't take long. Dicks been so hard watching this whole time. Help me baby, please. You're the one that did this to me.." Christ you cant even get any sleep round your torturer, most nights waking up to his dick hard between your thighs. This times he's awake, thrusting slowly as he holds you to him tight, growling your name at your ear. "Been waitin for you to get up. Look what you did to me.. Throwing that ass on me in your sleep. Come on, y/n. Lemme fuck. Took everything in me not to fill your sleepy lil pussy. Deserve a reward, huh? Gonna help me out?" Not like he needs it since you already feel his first load starting to dry on your thighs.

corrupt!Nanami doesn't have any more patience for you excuses on why you can't give him a baby. Tired as fuck of talking to you about it. So takes it to the next level and starts to plot on you, replacing your birth control with placebos. Then.. He waits to catch you off guard one pitch black night when you're walking to your car from class. You're energy completely drained, you just don't hear him swiftly comin at you from the side. A huge gloved hand blanketing your lips, trapping your scream. Nanami's snatches your wrist together, brawny body restraining you to the car. You struggle against him, too fuckin weak to curse him due to your overwhelming day. But he knows that already; deceitful ass went through alotta trouble to make sure your itinerary was extra full today. "Shhhh." You ignore him, the familiar voice and planes of his muscled chest against yours back not registering, buckin and tryin with all your might to break free. Fuckin turnin Nanami on watchin you attempting to escape, juicy ass repeatedly trapping his dick between your cheeks as you wiggle wildly against him. He ain't waiting a second longer. Fuck your screams, he'll deal with whoever interrupts him accordingly. Lets go of your mouth to rip at your bottoms like they're paper, making your struggles double. Might as well be laying limp, absolutely no match for the 1st grade. Nanami unsheathes his cock, spitting in his hand generously and lubing up. You're body's tense as fuck when you feel him stab through your opening. Pitiful insides clutching his dick like a dear old friend. "Loosen the fuck up woman.." The fuck? "Nami?!" He let's go of your wrists, slamming his hands on either side of you to trap you further. "I told you to be quiet." Snatches your head back by your hair and thrustin the rest of his dick into you. "Nami!" Shrill cry piercing the air. It's uncomfortable without foreplay to prepare you, still he digs you out without remorse. "Shhhh, y/n.. shhh." Nanami squishes you to the car, molding your body to his. Strokin deep as he can, like he'll never see you again. Literally fuckin loud moans from your throat, so damn good that its not your fault your gettin wet; slick building and forming a white ring around him. "Shhhh. Screamin your fuckin head off, baby.. So you not gone listen? Never do. Just like when I told you I wanted to breed this perfect cunt, make you give me a pretty baby. But you didn't listen then either. Now look what you made me do." So that's what this is? The revelation makes you try to get away again but Nanami's hold on your locks keeps you right where he wants you. Sharp yanks that makes you shriek, scalp stinging. "H-hurts, Nami. 'M sorry. So sorry." You whine to him, body fallin pliant against your car. But your husband rolls his eyes. He aint buyin your BS this time. "Naw, you gonna take this nut. Gonna give me my baby, woman." Pulling you off the car and into his body, your husband pummels your lil puss likes he's in heat. "Ahhh fuck, y/n.. Love you. Love you more than anything, finally gonna show you how much, honey." You're disgusted. At doin something this at the school. At him for startin a family like this. Most importantly, at yourself for still loving him, knowing that this changed nothing between the two of you. Even as he breeds your lil puss without consent. "Here it comes- ohshitohshit! Daaaamn, y/n.. Got so much for you. Mmmm.. So good for me. Thank you, sweetheart. Thank you so fuckin much. Only want a baby with you. Only you, y/n. Always been only you." Youre whining when his hips still, Nanami pressin his dick deep as possible when he finally impregnates you. "Love you so fuckin much, honey." "Love you too, Kento.. Fuckin asshole." He chuckles, pulling out and tucking you into the car. "Let's go home, sweetheart. Gonna make your pretty lil pussy cum before I fill her up again." "Kay, Nami."

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pedroscurls · 1 year

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Title: One Drunken Night (Part 4.)

CHAPTER TITLE: Negan Smith

Character(s): Negan (pre-apocalypse) and Reader (third-person POV), cameo from Lucille Summary: Negan and Reader bump into each other once more. Could it be a sign from the universe? Word Count: 3,509 Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated solely for Negan! Also, I missed Negan in my previous chapter, but as I was writing this one... I started missing Joel. I’m in a dilemma lol. Warning: Dirty talk, foul language (it’s Negan lol), grinding, almost smut ;)

Y/N was excited. Joel was interested in her and she felt butterflies in her stomach at the thought of finally going on a date with him. She tried to continue her work week, but it was obvious her mind was elsewhere. Though, she was broken out of her reverie when her phone started to ring.

It was Joel.

“Hey you,” she smiled to herself. “I can’t wait for tonight.”

Joel sighed. That was a clear sign that something was wrong and Y/N was now awaiting bad news.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. Somethin’ came up…” He hated to cancel on her, especially when she sounded so excited. It still surprised him that Y/N wanted to go out with him and now, here he was, canceling on her.

“Oh.” She felt embarrassed, sad, disappointed. “That’s okay. Is everything okay?”

“It’s just Tommy… I gotta handle that first. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Joel.” She bit her lower lip. “We’ll find another day and time. We’ll figure it out.” Y/N was trying to hold it together. She tried to mask her disappointment, but she wasn’t sure that she was doing a good job of it. She knew it wasn’t Joel’s fault, but she still felt crushed.

“All right then. I gotta go, darlin’.”

“Sure. Hope everything turns out okay.”

“Hope so too. I’ll talk to you soon. Again, I’m sorry, darlin’.”

When the call ended, Y/N sighed. She looked down at her desk and once again, but her lower lip. She tried to keep herself composed; it felt almost too good to be true. The moment she and Joel were supposed to go on a date, something came up and she didn’t know what to make of it.

As she went about the rest of her day, Y/N kept thinking back to Joel. She wanted to call him again, text him, just talk to him, but decided against it. She knew Joel wouldn’t lie to her and it did sound like he, too, was upset that he had to cancel.

Once her work day finished, Y/N made it a point to stop by the store. Honestly, she was sad and she needed a pick-me-up, so she decided on getting a pint of ice cream. All she wanted was to talk to Joel, but she had to give him his space. She knew that he would reach out to her once everything was settled.

At the store, Y/N was standing in the middle of the ice cream aisle. She was thinking of so many things: of Joel, of their canceled date, what kind of ice cream she should get, what Joel was doing… It wasn’t until she heard a familiar voice that she was brought out of her trance.

“We gotta stop meeting like this.”

Y/N looked over at him and flashed him a small smile. “Negan…”

“You know, now I’m convinced that the universe is trying to tell us something.”

“And what’s that?”

Negan smirked, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “We gotta have another night of fun.”

Y/N bit her lower lip as a response. Her insides tingled and the heat between her legs became noticeable as she thought back to the night they shared earlier in the week. At that moment, she had forgotten about Joel and their canceled date. It was interesting though. While she and Negan did have each other’s numbers, they hadn’t spoken to each other since the morning at the coffee shop. It was an honest coincidence that they bumped into each other again.

“You really think that’s a good idea?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you think, doll?”

Y/N bit her lower lip, turning to face him. She noticed his dimpled smirk and could feel his confidence radiating.

“I think…” She stepped closer. She could practically feel Negan’s breath against her and his scent filled her senses; it was intoxication.

“Yeah?” He arched a brow, licking his lower lip and watching her closely.

“I think I’m going to go home and eat some ice cream.”

Negan chuckled, watching her reach into the freezer to grab a pint of cookies and creme ice cream. He looked at her, running a hand over his face. “You know, you’ve got me wrapped around your pretty little finger, doll.”

Y/N smiled, flashing him a wink. She didn’t respond, but started to walk away. When she realized Negan wasn’t following her, she stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder.

“You gonna join me or what?”

Negan grinned, pocketing both hands into his pants as he walked towards her. “Lead the way, doll.”

—

Negan was sitting on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table as he was watching a basketball game. He looked over at the sound of the door opening, seeing Lucille walk into the house.

“Hey,” he called out.

Lucille looked over at him, arching a brow. “Did you eat?”

“Was waiting for you.” Negan said, biting his lower lip. He wanted to repair his marriage, wanted to do whatever he could to salvage his relationship with Lucille.

“That’s sweet,” she smiled. Negan felt his heart flutter at the sight. “But I ate already.”

Negan sighed, nodding his head. “That’s okay. Come join me?”

Lucille looked over in his direction, biting her lower lip nervously. She set her things down and nodded, removing her shoes and climbing into the couch next to him.

Negan let a small smile line his lips and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He felt her lean against him and Negan felt a rush of hope run through him.

They sat like that for a couple of minutes, watching the game and just enjoying her presence. It wasn’t until she reached for his beer that she noticed something was missing from her hand.

“Where’s your ring?”

Lucille looked down at her hand, her brow arching slightly. “Oh… Um, I must have taken it off earlier.” She lied. She had stopped wearing her wedding ring, but he had just noticed now.

“Why?” Negan asked, pulling away from her.

Lucille didn’t answer.

“Why, Lucille?”

“I stopped wearing it.” She admitted.

Negan felt his heart break and immediately stood from the couch. “Really? Fucking really?”

“Negan–”

“No. I have tried, Lucille! You don’t even want to look at me anymore, or touch me… It’s like you hate my fucking guts and I have no idea how we got to this point.”

Lucille felt her blood boiling again, tossing her hands up in the air in defeat. “That’s because I don’t like being around you!”

Negan felt his heart break even more. “What?”

“I’m tired, Negan.” Lucille admitted. “I don’t know how to fix this, to fix us.”

“And you think by removing your ring, that it would just solve everything?”

“No… Negan, just–”

“Just fucking say it, Lucille.”

She bit her lip, shaking her head. “Maybe we should– Maybe we should just take some time for ourselves, figure out what we both really want and if this is worth fighting for.”

Negan shook his head, removing his ring and slamming it on the coffee table. “Take all the time you fucking need, Lucille.”

Negan left the living room and walked to their bedroom, grabbing a duffle bag and packing a week’s worth change of clothes. He didn’t bother to look at her on his way out, just being in the same house with her was breaking his heart and it hurt like hell.

He didn’t know where this left them.

—

Y/N made it back to her apartment with Negan. He was surprisingly respecting her space when Y/N assumed that his hands would be all over her. He stepped inside and looked over at her, his mind drifting to the night they shared.

“Want anything to drink?”

“Water’s fine.” Y/N nodded. “Make yourself at home.” She left him in the living room and walked to her bedroom first, setting her things down and changing into much more comfortable clothing. Once changed into shorts and an oversized hoodie, she walked back out to her kitchen to retrieve his glass of water and spoon for her pint of ice cream.

Negan looked around her living room, noticing the variety of photographs that were displayed. He smiled at a photo of her and a photo of a corgi. She looked significantly younger, but she looked happy nonetheless.

He turned his attention to her once she entered the living room. Negan noticed the change of her clothes and he smiled. She was just the distraction he needed at the moment. He took the glass from her hands, his fingers brushing against hers.

“You take all of these?” Negan asked, pointing to the photographs.

“Yeah. I’m a photographer.”

“Oh, no shit?” Negan smiled. “They look great.”

“Thanks. I’m still trying to get my own art show, but it’s a work in progress.”

He watched her take a seat on the couch, bringing her legs onto the couch. “This your dog?” Negan asked once more, pointing to the photograph of her with a corgi.

Y/N smiled sadly. “Yeah, I grew up with him.”

Negan smiled, walking towards her and taking a seat next to her. “Is he…”

She nodded. “Yeah. He lived an amazing fourteen years.”

“What was his name?”

“Waffles.”

Negan chuckled. “Waffles?”

“Yeah. I named him after my favorite food,” she nodded. “My parents got him for me when I was around thirteen.”

“You’re cute,” Negan said abruptly. “Sorry. I mean–”

“Thanks, you too.” Y/N replied, trying to ease the tension. Negan felt himself relax a bit and he set his glass down onto the coffee table. He watched her open her pint of ice cream, tilting his head in amusement.

“Anyway, Waffles and I… We were a package deal. Wherever I went, he was right there. Took him with me for college. He helped me through my parents’ deaths.” She admitted.

“I’m sorry,” Negan said.

“It’s okay. It happened a while ago.”

He bit his lower lip. He didn’t think his night would end with serious conversations with a woman he slept with, but he didn’t mind. It had been a long time since he had a decent conversation with someone that didn’t lead to him being yelled at.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” he said. “I just– You interest me.”

“Is that because we slept with each other?”

Negan smirked. “Maybe, but… There’s just something about you. Can’t put my finger on it.”

“Well, what more do you want to know?”

Negan arched a brow, watching her lips part as she brought the spoon up to her mouth. He tried to not let his dirty mind speak for him, so instead, he took her invitation and started to get to know her.

“Favorite color?”

Y/N laughed. “Red. You?”

Negan grinned. “Same. Looks like we have a lot in common,” he winked.

“That’s one thing,” she giggled.

Negan smiled to himself. She made him feel good and the way she looked at him made all his concerns and problems disappear. It was like she was luring him in, silently saying that he was safe with her.

“Well, two things we have in common… Favorite color and favorite sport,” he replied, referring to the night they met and their conversation about basketball.

“Okay, good point.”

“Have any siblings?” Negan asked.

Y/N shook her head. “Only child.”

“Me too. See. I think we make a good match,” he winked.

“You don’t quit, do you?” Y/N blushed, finding herself moving closer to him.

“With you? No chance in hell.” Negan noticed how she was inching herself closer and Negan reached out to rest his arm on the back of the couch, running his fingertips along the back of her shoulder.

“What do you do?” Y/N asked.

“Gym teacher.”

She widened her eyes slightly and Negan noticed her blush even more. “What?”

“I think it’s great that you’re a gym teacher. Do you like it?”

Negan shrugged. He debated whether or not he should lie to her and then he remembered what Lucille said. He had always complained about his job, but did nothing to change it. So, instead, he replied, “It pays the bills.”

Y/N didn’t push the subject further, which he was grateful for. Negan didn’t want to talk about himself. He didn’t want to deal with the fact that he was still married and that just being with Y/N was wrong while he was still in a committed relationship. Sure, his marriage was falling apart, but he was still a married man nonetheless.

“You want some?” Y/N asked, motioning to her ice cream.

Negan licked his lips. “You gonna feed me?”

“If you want me to.”

Negan smirked, shaking his head. He reached over to grab her spoon, taking a spoonful of ice cream and bringing it to his lips. He watched her eyes drift to his lips and he smirked. Though, Negan did tell himself that kissing was off limits.

“That’s yummy.”

“My favorite ice cream,” she replied.

“Good to know,” he winked.

Negan watched as Y/N set aside her ice cream. He arched his brow and cleared his throat once she straddled his waist. Immediately, he felt himself stiffen slightly at the feel of her sitting on his lap.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hi.”

Negan bit his lower lip, resting his hands on her hips. He looked into her eyes, feeling himself get lost in her orbs. When she rolled her hips, Negan let out a low growl and gripped her hips tightly.

“What are you doing?” Negan asked.

“What does it feel like I’m doing?”

She wrapped her arms around him, linking her hands at the base of his neck as she continued to roll her hips. Her shorts slightly rode up, revealing more of her legs and the thin fabric made her feel the bulge that was growing from beneath Negan’s pants.

“You’re making me feel like a goddamn teenager with the way you’re moving,” he growled.

“Yeah? What do you want me to do?” she whispered huskily.

Negan gripped her hips to stop her from moving, looking at her from top to bottom. He didn’t respond, but rather grabbed the ends of her oversized hoodie to pull over her head. Once more, she was bare and not wearing a bra which made Negan groan, causing his cock to twitch against his pants.

“You’re killing me,” he exaggerated. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

Y/N bit her lip, grabbing his hands and instead placing them over her exposed breasts instead. Then, she began rolling her hips once more. She put more pressure against him, her bulge pressing firmly against her that she sped her movements.

“Goddamn, look at you,” he grinned. “I’m not even inside of you, but you’re riding me like I am.”

Y/N whimpered at his voice and choice of words. She leaned down, trying to kiss him but instead, he pressed his lips to her neck, moving down to her collarbone. She didn’t mind though, it felt much better with his lips against her skin, his beard brushing against her.

“Can we move this into your bedroom?”

Y/N pulled back, looking into his eyes. “Can I get a please?”

Negan smirked. “Only because you’re being a good girl. Can we please move this into your bedroom?”

She grinned, standing from his lap. Y/N stood before Negan, clad in nothing but her shorts. Negan couldn’t stop staring at her, his eyes raking over her frame possessively. She extended a hand out for him and Negan happily took it, turning her around so that he could press against her from behind. His lips attached to her neck once more, sucking on it gently as he felt her push back against him.

“Keep on moving or I’ll take you where you stand,” he growled. “I can easily push you against the wall and fuck you right there.”

Y/N felt the heat pool between her legs, turning to look over her shoulder. “And what if I wanted that?”

Negan grunted. He pushed her against the wall in her hallway, watching as she reached out to rest her hands against it. He licked his lips and grabbed her shorts, tugging them down her legs roughly. Negan’s eyes looked her over once more, noticing how inviting her slit looked as she bent over for him.

Negan groaned, bringing a hand down to her backside. His palm connecting with her flesh echoed throughout her hallway and he noticed a red imprint slowly beginning to form.

“Goddamn, I’m gonna fuck you so good, baby.”

“Please, Negan…”

Just as Negan was about to undo his pants, Y/N phone began to ring. Suddenly, she was broken out of whatever trance she was in and her mind drifted to Joel. Negan was taken by surprise when she stood back up and walked to her phone, noticing the change in her demeanor.

“It’s Joel.” She whispered, looking almost as if she was caught cheating on him. Y/N knew that they weren’t in a relationship so it wasn’t like she couldn’t sleep with other people.

Negan sighed. It felt like no one really wanted him and he cleared his throat, nodding his head. “You better take that.”

“You sure?”

Negan nodded, grabbing her hoodie from the living room and handing it to her. He ran his thumb across her nipple, watching as she licked her lower lip. The phone kept ringing and it served as a reminder for them both that maybe what they were doing was wrong.

“Rain check?” She asked.

Negan chuckled. “You sure about that, doll?”

Y/N bit her lower lip. “I like you, Negan.”

He sighed. Negan was lying to her and while he did like her as well, he couldn’t help but think back to Lucille. What he was doing… It was wrong, but there was just something about Y/N that he couldn’t get enough of.

“You better answer that,” he replied, motioning towards her phone. Negan was gathering his things, watching as she pulled on her hoodie once more. He felt jealous and sad. Jealous because this other man, this Joel person, managed to grab her attention in the middle of their foreplay. And sad because he knew that she was out of reach and because he still had to go back to reality.

Y/N was conflicted. She wanted to answer the phone, but she also didn’t want Negan to feel like she was just using him. So, she held up a finger to get him to stay for a minute as she answered the phone.

“Hey, Joel.”

“Hey, darlin’. I–”

“Can you give me a sec?”

Y/N put herself on mute and walked towards Negan, running her hand along his leather jacket and up to cup his cheek. She felt his beard underneath her fingertips and noticed her slightly lean against her touch.

“Let me know when you get home?” She said.

Negan nodded. “Sure. Take care, Y/N.”

Negan left her apartment and walked back towards his car. He sighed, sitting in the driver’s seat as he felt a variety of emotions running through him. He didn’t know what he was doing. He thought back to Lucille and remembered their conversation earlier that day. It just brought on more heartache and then he glanced over at Y/N’s apartment, letting out a heavy sigh.

It was a couple of minutes before Negan decided to leave the parking lot, but it wasn’t before his phone rang.

It was Y/N.

“Miss me already, doll?” Negan smiled.

“Actually, yes. Listen…” Negan heard her sigh. “I’m confused right now, but I do like talking to you.”

“Me too,” Negan admitted.

“Can you come back?” she asked.

Negan was taken by surprise but as he thought back to Lucille, he felt his heart ache and anger beginning to bubble. Maybe he wasn’t thinking straight, but he didn’t care. Lucille had basically given up on him and while he knew it was coming, it didn’t prepare him for the hurt he was feeling.

“Would you be surprised if I said I didn’t leave yet?”

Negan heard her giggle. It made him feel good to know that he could make another person, another woman, laugh and smile. It made him feel like less of a failure.

“How about I order us some pizza and we can just… Hang out,” she replied.

“Hang out huh?” He smirked, leaving his car and walking towards her door. “I think that sounds like a good idea.”

Y/N opened the door, still holding the phone to her ear. She smiled at the sight of him and hung up the phone, biting her lower lip and taking his hand to bring him inside.

“What about Joel?” Negan asked.

“Like I said, I’m confused… I like you… But I also like him.”

He nodded. “Surprisingly, I’m okay with that. I’ll take what I can get.”

---

Part 5.

Taglist (let me know if you want to be tagged!): @kaitebugg03, @a-girl-interupted, @igotbasicdrag, @darkshadow6200

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

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29 for indruck nsfw? i am already amused thinking about what sport either of them would play

Here you go!

29. I’m a professional athlete and I just fired my personal assistant and my manager sent you over but you don’t even know what sport I play or who my team is

When you’re in an aggressive profession it’s best, in Duck’s experience, to be as calm and friendly as you can the rest of the time.

But this whole shit-show is testing his fucking limits.

It’s been two days since he found out his perfectly fine P.A was working for the Wallstreet Journal, hoping to learn that Duck was somehow using his T or his identity to gain an unfair edge in matched. Ned fired him on the spot, thank god, but it took less than twelve hours for the guy to publish some fabricated piece on his attitude and for Duck to remember why he needed an assistant in the first place. He’s gotten so used to having one that he keeps forgetting stuff or dropping the ball on appointments, and the last thing he needs right now is to look like some stupid hick.

When Ned texts him to let him know his new P.A is en route, Duck groans “thank fuck” loud enough to startle the cat from her tree.

He goes to the door when someone knocks, but doesn’t open it.

“Who is it?”

“Indrid Cold? I, ah, Mr. Chicane said this was Duck Newton’s address and I’m supposed to start as his assistant tomorrow.”

Duck opens the door, “Fuck tomorrow, you’re startin today. I gotta focus on strategy with Minerva the next two days if I don’t wanna show my ass Friday night and it’s real fuckin hard to do that with people callin me left and right.” He guides the startled young man inside, then stops to take a deep breath, “sorry, lemme try that again” he holds out his hand, “Nice to meet you, Indrid.”

“Likewise, Mr. Newton.”

“Duck is fine. It’s a nickname. You bring your stuff with you?”

“Yes, it’s all in my car.”

“Good. Here, lemme give you the, uh, the grand tour, so to speak, on the way to your part of the place.”

Indrid smiles and nods, hanging back slightly as Duck leads him through the house. They cover the living room, kitchen, Duck’s bedroom, then come what was once the garage door.

“This here’s the gym; you can’t find me in the rest of the house, I’m probably here.”

“Goodness” The other man’s eyes widen behind his red glasses, “that’s an impressive array. I mean, I know professional athletes need to train but I, ah, I assumed you did it on site with the rest of your team.”

“Team?” Duck closes the door, spots Indrid’s fingers diving into his pockets to hide their twitching.

“Yes.”

“Which team?”

“Your...sports team?”

“....you got no fuckin clue who I am, do you?”

“No.” Narrow shoulders sag in his sweater.

Duck chuckles, “Figures.”

The silver haired head snaps back up, “Mr. Chicane didn’t say it was a prerequisite for hiring me.”

“Guess he didn’t. And I guess it ain’t. Just hoped they’d hire someone who knew what the fuck he was gettin into.”

Indrid crosses his arms, “They gave me a very thorough job description. I assure you I can do every part of it. Laying out your pre-workout and scheduling appearances isn’t rocket science, and it doesn’t matter if the dry cleaning I pick up is for a, a baseball after party or some sort of charity basketball fundraiser.” It dawns on the taller man that he’s just snapped at his boss. He contracts in on himself, staring down at his black converse.

Duck takes the chance for a more careful look; all of his clothes are second hand, chosen as if he’s cosplaying a jock who went into white collar work. There are piercing holes in his ears, flecks of silver polish on his nails. This job application was a hail mary and Ned Chicane went ahead and caught.

“No harm done, slim.” He rests a friendly hand on Indrid’s arm, “think it’s time I enlightened you.”

His office doesn’t get used much, so a sprinkling of dust greets them as he flips on the lights and reveals posters, magazine covers, and newspaper clips bearing Duck’s face. The gloves he used to win his first fight hang in a place of honor, right above the photo of him and the other fighters from Amnesty Boxing. It’s an older photo, taken the first time they sent a team out of state, sun-faded to the point the writing on it is disappearing. It makes him smile all the same.

“This does explain the set of instructions for helping you cut weight if needed.” Indrid takes in the posters, then turns his attention to the corner dedicated to Duck’s model ship collection. He cocks his head, says more to himself than Duck, “boxer. Interesting.”

“Were you just gonna bluff about knowin who I was until I said somethin?”

“That and look for clues in the rest of the house.”

He smiles, “Like a man with a plan b. C’mon, lemme show you your room.”

-----------------------------------------

Alright, so Indrid should have researched Duck Newton before turning up at his house so he didn’t come across as ignorant and unprepared. But he was busy running every Taskrabbit and UberEat he could get just to scrape up enough to keep his landlord off his back. Sue him for not wanting to sleep in his car again.

He never expected to get this job; live-in P.A who doesn’t have to pay for groceries (buy them, yes, since that’s one of his jobs) is not the kind of luck he’s familiar with. He keeps waiting for the catch, so nervous that when Duck pops in on him unpacking he assumes he’ll scold him for his wardrobe.

“I, should I buy some more professional clothes?”

Duck takes in the two duffle bags and backpack, “Up to you. I don’t mind you lookin like the little art punk you are, but a dress shirt or two might help if we gotta go somewhere real upscale. Don't worry about buyin it yourself; just use the same card we do for groceries.”

Indrid is still hung up on why the fact a man three inches shorter than him calling him “little” makes his chest burn. Luckily, the phone rings and distracts him. Then it rings again. And again. And again. All while the inbox doubles every time he looks at it.

This turns out to be the catch; the work is actually hard. Everyone and their uncle wants to interview Duck, get him to sponsor something, or proposition him. Four hours in, he’s overwhelmed, overstimulated, and ready to hide under the desk. His fidget necklace isn’t helping, so he pulls out his chewable one; it often helps him think in high pressure moments.

The phone rings again and he growls at it.

“You’re allowed to let things go to voicemail, y’know.”

He spins in his chair, black rubber moth still in his mouth. Duck leans in the doorway, tank top soaked in sweat and towel around his shoulders

“I, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to drop anything important.”

“Ned handles the fights and the money, and anyone I care about has my private number for emergencies.”

“Right. I knew that.” Indrid can’t have his boss thinking he’s a total space-case.

Duck smiles, “What I’m sayin is; ain’t the end of the world if you don’t get back to everyone right away. Besides, right now you need a lunch break, slim. Lemme go rinse off and I’ll join you.”

By the time Duck enters the kitchen in an old “NIN” shirt and jeans, Indrid has his protein bowl laid out for him and is finishing microwaving a hot pocket for himself. Before he can scurry away, Duck pats the seat beside him and Indrid sits down, preparin to politely listen to Duck talk about himself or his sport.

He talks for ten minutes about the trees he saw on his run that morning before asking Indrid what he did before coming to the house. Indrid explains about his art and his side hustles in tarot and palm reading, about the run of bad luck that saw him without roommates and lost him his steady gig at a coffee shop. Duck makes genuinely sympathetic noises, lets Indrid change the subject when the fact he was on the edge of disaster makes Indrid’s chest tighten. They’re still talking about music as Indrid returns to his desk and Duck goes to meet Minerva in the gym.

By the time Duck’s fight rolls around that weekend, Indrid is feeling much better. He has a system of sorting emails that works for him, some mothman stickers to help him organize the paper calendar on his desk, and more confidence in his ability to spot callers with ulterior motives. He’s shut down two separate ones looking to trap Duck into interviews where he’d be forced to defend his very identity. Duck overheard his responses to the second one and brought him back a fancy creme brulee latte from his breakfast as a thank you.

He doesn’t go to the fight; it’s a small one for charity and Duck has Ned to manage him, Minerva to train him, and Leo to coach him ringside. He doesn’t need his P.A. Instead, Indrid finishes up his correspondence for the day, makes sure Duck’s breakfast is all set in the fridge, and confirms the masseuse is coming in the morning.

Once in bed, Indrid gets sucked into the commission he’s doing and is lost to the world until a tired, satisfied face pokes through his door.

“Oh! Hello Duck. Did it go well? Do, ah, is there something you need from me?”

“Yep, I won like I thought I would. And nope; was just poppin in to say goodnight.”

No one’s said that to him in a long time. The bitterness of that realization is sweetened by Duck’s smile.

“Goodnight to you too, Duck.”

------------------------------------------

Minerva is sick, which wouldn’t be a problem except for one part of his workout. He could skip it, but he needs to keep everything sharp for when they go to L.A.

“‘Drid? You got a few minutes?”

His assistant appears in the doorway, black jeans and white “Cramps” tank-top fitting him in a way that makes Duck want to hold him face down on the floor and find out how to take his breath away.

“What do you need?”

Duck points to the heavy bag, “You up for bracin this while I hit it?”

“I...I am not as strong as Minerva.”

“You don’t gotta be; this is just to keep the damn thing from swinging while I’m doin this speed drill.”

“Alright.” Indrid takes off his glasses and sets them on the folding chair, joining Duck, “how do I hold it?”

Duck shows him, does a few test punches to make sure he won’t send the poor guy flying. The round clock dings green, and he’s off. The bag wobbles for the first few seconds, then Indrid seems to find his footing and holds it stable enough for the drill to work. When the round ends, Duck steps baack, “okay, you can let go until the next round.”

“Goodness.” Indrid stretches his hands, “I feel for your opponents. I’m jarred just from that.”

“You need to stop? I got two more rounds at least, but if it’s hurtin you I caan skip ‘em.”

Indrid shakes his head, smiling, “nono, I like helping you with this. It’s exhilarating.”

The bell dings.

“Glad to hear it. Now brace it again.”

By the end of round three, Indrid is panting loud enough for Duck to hear him over the fan. He looks up, glove still on the bag, and finds them face to face.

“Minerva said three to five rounds for this. You wanna keep goin?”

Indrid, breathless and grinning, nods, “Can’t have you slacking off, now can we?”

Duck wants to bite his lip, just to see what happens. Blames the thought on the adrenaline. Then discovers the exact same thought waiting for him when Indrid, cleaned and in his most respectable clothes, joins him in the car to go to an interview.

Ned gave the P.A a list of likely questions, so they practice those as they creep across the Bay Bridge. But Duck notices that on both the trip there and back, whenever there’s a lull in conversation Indrid is on his phone reading about boxing. Duck knows the other man fixates on topics that interest him; knowing one of Duck’s passions has earned that distinction makes him smile.

After that, he starts inviting Indrid to watch him train, or shares his thoughts about matches with him. That’s all it takes for Indrid to start drawing him into long, animated conversations about his sport. When Indrid asks why there’s such debate over the proper way to wrap hands and also how does Duck do his, Duck demonstrates.

“Here, ‘Drid, now you try it on me.”

The P.A moves the wraps slowly, deliberately, moving Duck’s hand like it’s a priceless treasure he’s readying for transport. Every time he bites his lip in concentration or brushes hair from his forehead, Duck has to remind himself to breathe.

“Done.” Indrid is still holding his left hand, “Did I do well?”

The boxer tests the wraps, wiggles his fingers and clenches his fists. Then he squeezes Indrid��s hand, “you did perfect, slim.”

Duck can wrap his hands in his sleep. But whenever he’s home, he finds Indrid and asks him to do the honors. Indrid does them every time. Perfectly.

---------------------------------------------

Indrid stands in the green room with Ned and a cluster of arena employees. The roaring crowd a few walls away echoes through the screen. He’s never seen Duck fight, but this event required all hands on deck to handle P.R, scheduling, and making sure Duck had what he needed to win.

Duck and his opponent enter the ring. Touch gloves.

Indrid’s pulse climbs.

Then the bell sounds and no useful noises come through the T.V. Just the announcers shouting and being drowned out by the crowd. Indrid gives up on parsing the cacophony, focus only on Duck. He’s seen him practice, but in a true match he’s a different beast. His opponent is faster, that much is clear, but Duck is patient, steady, blocks and weaves until he can land blows that make Indrid hurt just watching them.

Duck is magnificent like this. Indrid has to draw him like this, has to capture this and keep it forever, he has to, he has…

He has a hard-on in the middle of the green room.

He sticks it out long enough to see Duck win and then bolts to the bathroom so it can be taken care of by the time the boxer is done with the post-fight interviews.

They go out to celebrate, and Duck never nudges Indrid aside to let someone more important sit next to him. And as the drive to the hotel, he nods off with his head on Indrid’s shoulder.

It only gets worse after that.

Duck will coax him into joining him for a run with the promise of a fancy breakfast. On cheat days, Duck orders food to the house or takes Indrid out to lunch, and somehow the thing he wants when not focused on macros is always the thing Indrid mentioned he’d been craving. He invites Indrid on hikes with him, starts taking him to all his events even though he seldom needs help or herding at them (“yeah, but it’s nice to have someone to crack jokes with”). And on days when Indrid needs to be alone, or wants to see other friends, Duck simply smiles and closes the door.

The most dangerous days are the ones without anything on the schedule. Then it’s all too easy for Indrid to pretend that they’re something they’re not while he draws at the table across from where Duck is building his model ship. Too easy to imagine that the water-wise garden Duck tends is something he put into their house, not his house that Indrid happens to live in. Too easy to admit that Indrid wants to look after him for no payment except being looked after in return.

Duck reciprocating his feelings is within the realm of possibility. Indrid’s caught him staring when he walks in on the P.A doing yoga, and the casual touches long ago made the leap from accidental to deliberate. He also knows that Duck can’t fire him--only Ned can--and hopes that might lead to the boxer slinging him over his shoulder and tossing him on the bed one of these days.

There’s also the tabloid site circulating a photo of them with a caption claiming he’s Duck’s “boytoy” in spite of them only being two years apart. They’re not even sitting that close in the picture; Duck’s just smiling at him like he’s the only thing in the world, that’s all.

Currently, he’s having an easier time keeping his feelings buried because--ever since they landed in Vegas-- Duck has been a dick the rest of the day. Well, as much as a dick as he can be; his offenses are mainly snapping at people and lacking his usual patience.

When he scolds Indrid over something silly in the hotel that night, Indrid turns and stares at him over his glasses.

“Duck, what’s wrong?”

“Wh-uh, fuck, nothing, why do you, uh, fuck, I’m fine.”

“You just snapped at me in a way that was completely uncalled for.” He crosses his arms, “is it the fight? I know it’s a big one but that’s no reason to be rude.”

Duck scratches the back of his neck, “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I swear I won’t. Or, if I do, it will be after you leave.”

That gets a smile, “I’m uh, well, I’m what you’d call ‘horny as all fuckin get out.’”

Indrid’s immediate thoughts would solve the problem at hand while creating a new and far worse set, so he keeps them to himself and replies, “If need privacy, I can come back later and hold all your calls.”

“Nah.” Duck sits on the bed, “You’re not supposed to get off before a fight. Makes you too relaxed.”

“That strikes me as an old wives tale. Old boxers tale?”

“Either way, it’s one Minerva still believes. If I lose, she will ask about every possible cause, includin that one. Better if I just cat nap before I start all my pre-match stuff. Come get me in fort minutes?”

“Of course.” Indrid waves and closes the door before he offers to lay down in the hopes of Duck having a wet dream while holding him.

--------------------------------------------------------

Duck wins, though it’s a tough battle to get there. He fucking hates these Pay-Per-View fights, they try to make it sound like he’s got beef with the other guy. In reality, once he’s down from a knockout, Duck is the one who helps him to the other side of the ring.

There’s a flurry of press afterwards, of questions and congratulations while all he wants to do is shower. He gets clean, promises Ned they can all go out to celebrate later. As he and Indrid finally escape to his suite he’s forced to admit that--if the thoughts of hitting the “fire” button and fucking Indrid against the wall are any indication--his problem from earlier hasn’t gone away.

“Do you need me to see if I can get a masseuse up here? You look very stiff.”

“Just uh, just tense.” Why did he tell Indrid he liked those jeans on him? He’s worn them as often as he can since.

Indrid cocks an eyebrow, “Still pent up even though the fighting is done?”

“Yep.”

The P.A shakes his head, hiding a smirk, “Do you need me to find something for you to watch?”

“No.”

“I mean it, this place has all the good channels.” He’s so earnest, picking up the channel guide like it, rather than those fucking jeans and shirt with Duck’s name on it, has what Duck needs.

“No.” He growls.

Indrid sighs, sets the book back down, “This mood is annoying us both, so just tell me what kind of porn you want and I can go out and buy it.”

“Unless they got somethin called ‘boxer jackhammers skinny artist until he cries’ we’re gonna be shit out of luck!”

The P.A blinks, “Duck, this is Vegas, I can probably find that. Or look for it on your laptop…” he trails off when their eyes meet. Duck knows he must look like he’s ready to jump him. Indrid licks his lips, “Duck? What, ah, what exactly lead to this situation?”

“You really wanna know, slim?” Duck steps across the carpet, notices Indrid padding over the black and blue patterns to meet him.

“Yes.”

Duck removes Indrid’s glasses, “Had a dream about you while I was on the plane. Woke up havin just finished fuckin you open. First thing I thought was “no big deal, ‘Drid’s right here. We can do the real thing once we get to the hotel.’ Then I fuckin remembered that we couldn’t, and I know for damn sure that if I jerk off I won’t feel satisfied because you’re be over there” he jabs his thumb at the door connecting their rooms, “so close and completely outta my reach.”

“So keep me right here instead.” Indrid purrs, fingers tentatively finding Duck’s hips. The light contact splinters his self-control and he practically tackles Indrid onto the bed, kissing him as the taller man moans and paws at his clothes.

The kiss takes the heat off enough to clear the steam fogging up his head and sits up, “This really okay?”

“I would have said if it wasn’t now for goodness sake please get back down here.” Indrid yanks him forward by the front of his shirt, smashing their lips together. He’s humming and sighing every time Duck touches him, rolling his hips to display a quickly forming hard-on.

“Aw, sugar, you gettin excited just from kissin’?” Duck grinds down just to see him gasp.

“Y-yes. I, Duck, I’ve wanted this for months.”

The implication of those words slam his desire into overdrive, “You sneaky little thing, that why you kept runnin around in tight clothes?”

“Most of my clothes h-hang off me.” Indrid holds tight to Duck’s thighs as the boxer strips his shirt off, “but yes I, I did start wearing what you liked more often.”

“Ain’t that thoughtful. And what were you hoping would happen, slim?” Duck yanks his sweats off and kicks them to the floor.

“This.” Indrid’s eyes keep slipping down to stare at Duck’s dick.

The boxer strokes himself lazily, “like what you see?”

“So much.”

“Then how about a closer look, sugar?” He crawls up Indrid’s body to straddle his face. It looks even better than normal framed by his thighs.

“Do I get to touch too?”

Duck guides his hands onto his ass, “As much as you want. You gonna be sweet and let me fuck your face, or am I gonna have to hold your mouth open?”

Indrid opens his mouth instantly, a whimper creeping out of it as Duck strokes his hair. The sound morphs into a louder, but muffled, moan when Duck sinks down. He teases his dick against Indrid’s lips, drags slick across his chin, feels his jaw tremble with wanting to close. Duck shifts so his dick touches Indrid’s tongue, “get to it. Oh fuck” he braces a hand on the wall, “heh, didn’t know Ned screened for cocksuckin skills.”

Indrid shakes his head, brown eyes wide as Duck roughly rides his face.

“No? He didn’t make you demonstrate on some of the other fighters? Didn’t make sure you could make a whole gym cum to prove your mouth was good enough for me?”

“‘O” Indrid shakes his head again, silver strands sticking to the pillow as he kneads Duck’s ass in a way that makes him groan.

“Too bad for them. Because now they ain’t ever gonna get a chance.”

A whimper and write of the torso; Duck glances over his shoulder to watch Indrid buck his hips in the air, pre-cum clear on his crotch. His feet, still in their shoes, point and flex as he moans around Duck’s dick.

“You like that, don’t you sugar?” He threads both hands into Indrid’s hair, pinning his head down or pulling it closer as it suits him, all the while gently rubbing his scalp “like knowin’ that you’re doin well.”

A harder suck in reply.

“Then be a good little cocksucker and make me cum.” He holds his head down and let’s loose, grinding and grunting in pursuit of the heat that starts at Indrid’s tongue and is steadily curling up into Duck’s belly. The other man holds him tight, moaning and licknig and sucking until Duck cums on his mouth, the lasts bursts of it happening against a slackening jaw.

As soon as his legs cooperate, he climbs off and guides Indrid to sit up in his arms. His attempt to check on the other man is interrupted by a frantic kiss.

“I was gonna ask if you wanna keep goin’, but I think I got my answer.”

“Yes, I mean no, I mean please don’t stop yet. Please I, we can do whatever you like, we can do just this, you can drag me out on the balcony and fuck me in full view of the city-”

“Easy, slim, easy.” Duck cups his cheek, “let’s start with somethin simple. Get naked and get comfy on your back for me. I gotta go grab somethin from down the hall.”

His memory turns out to be spot on; the vending machine on this floor has toiletries, including condoms and a travel bottle of lube. He buys ten of one and three of the other, drops them in the pockets of his robe and hurries back to Indrid. Sprawled on the bed, he looks painfully vulnerable, like someone who got used to life kicking him and telling him to stay down.

It’ll be different when they’re together, Duck can promise that much.

“Seem to recall you wanting me to keep you here.” He grabs a handwrap, holds it where Indrid can see, “how do you feel about me usin this?”

“Extremely good. Oh, oh hello.” He laughs when Duck rolls down beside him to pepper his face with kisses. The process of trapping his hands to the headboard is prolonged thanks to their mutual need to keep kissing every five seconds.

“Now” Duck kisses his shoulder, “I didn’t bring any toys to fuck you with, so it’s just gonna be my hand.”

“You say that as if it’s a disappointment to me and not incredibly sexy.”

“Some folks don’t think you’re fuckin ‘em unless you use somethin dick-shaped.” Duck shrugs with a flicker of sadness from the last time he had that conversation.

“Tell me who insulted your body or your skills in bed and I shall stand outside their window with a megaphone informing them of how terrible their manners are and how they missed out on the finest man in the world.”

“That’d be funny” Duck leisurely kisses his belly and hips before sitting up, “but you’d have to get outta bed.”

“True. Ah well, a sternly worded email will have do OOOh, oohhhyes.” He wiggles his hips as Duck presses in the first finger, relaxing under his touch.

“Get the feelin you’ve done this before”

“Yes.” Indrid’s chest is flushed and Duck reaches up his free hand to play with his nipples.

“What’s the most you’ve taken?”

“Th-three, I believe. I, ah, I’m usually facing away so I sometimes lose track.”

“You're takin four tonight. Can’t believe anyone would wanna miss out on how you look when you’re getting fucked.” He teases the second finger to prove his point and Indrid’s mouth curves with bliss.

“My ass is many people’s type; my face not so much.”

“Fuck that.” Duck pushes the second finger in. Indrid arches, then sighs as Duck keeps working him open.

“I find it difficult to care what they thought right now. I, ahhhn, it’s much more fun to think about you.”

“About me…?”

“About right you’re doing right now and, AH, what we can do next. I do so want to sit in your lap in the hot tub back home.”

“Can manage that. What else?”

“I’d very much l-like to fuck you, however you’ll let me and, and I want us to do it right after you train some day, you look so good like thatAHgod.” The third finger is in and Indrid is now steadily pushing down on them, “and one of the times you get me to run with you I expect a blow job in reward oh, ohfuck” his eyes are wild and eager, “please do the last one, I’m ready, I want it so badly, please.”

Duck begins teasing the fourth finger, “Think all those wants of yours sound real good. You wanna know mine?”

“Absolutely. AHaahnnnahgod” The wrap tightens as Indrid clings to it, trying to stabilize himself as Duck fucks his hand into him hard.

“Soon as we get home, I’m gettin the strap-on and fuckin you for a solid hour at least. Gonna leave you so fuckin raw and relaxed you won’t wanna do anything but lay there, and you’ll goddamn get to because you’re mine and I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Duck” it’s a happy sob, Indrid’s cock bobbing in the air.

“Gonna take a trip somewhere private, just the two of us, and you’re gonna spend the whole fuckin time tied up, to the bed, a chair, whatever the fuck else I feel like so I can ride your dick whenever I want.”

“Yes.” Indrid is barely getting out words between his cries.

“And the next time you have the fuckin nerve to wear tight jeans the day I gotta fight, I’m gonna shove a vibration plug up that cute little ass and lock your cock in a cage so we can both be horny without bein able to get off.”

“Duck please, I’m close, please touch-”

He wraps his fingers around Indrid’s dick and works him over hard and fast, “Soon as I’m done with that fight, you’re gonna blow me in the locker room so I can focus on nailin your ass into next week when we get--ohfuck!” Cum hits his chin as Indrid gasps and squeaks, scratching at the wraps and the headboard.

If Duck ever loses his memory, he hopes this is the last moment to go; Indrid Cold, happy, safe, and satisfied while he moans Duck’s name.

Indrid is boneless as Duck undoes the bonds, though he rallies enough to pull the boxer into a hug so he can cuddle him like a teddy bear. He kisses his throat, feels his pulse even out beneath his lips.

“Duck? Does, ah, does this mean what I think it does?”

The phone rings right as he’s about to answer. It’s probably Ned, so he holds up a finger and grabs the receiver.

“Go for Duck. Yeah, yeah that’ll be fine” he nods as Ned explains the plan for their exclusive, late night dinner, “yeah, tell ‘em five; you, Minerva, Leo, me and” he winks at a beaming Indrid, “my boyfriend.”

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #trans duck newton #reader request #meet ugly #boxer au

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tchallasbabymama · 3 years

Text

who you are (T’Challa x Black!OC)

6,281 words

A/N: Damn I wrote a lot. So I want this to turn into a series based around music, but I haven’t figured out the series title yet. It’ll come to me.

As soon as the sun peeked out over the horizon Ashanti’s eyes blinked open. It was going to be a normal sweltering January day in Wakanda, so the merchant tribe girl took advantage of the cool morning air. She threw on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts before putting on her running shoes and heading out into the world. She stood on her porch to stretch her muscles while she watched the sun begin to peek between the trees. Once she limbered up, she took off for her daily run around the streets of Birnin Zana. Her mind cleared as she processed her dream from the night before.

In her dream, a faceless man walked into her store and browsed for a long time before turning to face her. Ashanti was drawn to him. Her arms found their way around his neck and her lips met his. She felt a buzzing all throughout her body and her lips heated up like she had eaten hot peppers. Their breathing synched up and his hands roamed from her neck all the way down to her ass, cupping her cheeks and getting dangerously close to her dripping pussy. He introduced his tongue to her mouth and her knees buckled as she let out a desperate moan. Just as his right hand slipped under her skirt the sun rose and woke her from her utopia with her mystery man.

Ashanti kept a dream journal, and this one was one she wanted to have on record to come back to later. It felt like more than a dream, it felt too real for it to just be a dream.

Ashanti pushed through her run and made it back to her house in record time. When she walked in the door she could hear the sounds of her roommates finally rising for the day. Ashanti loved living with Kwame and Binta, and there was never a dull day around the house living with the two rambunctious fraternal twins. Both of their parents had died by the time they graduated high school, and the big empty house had been left to them. When the twins met Ashanti they had been looking for another roommate to make it feel like a home again, and it was friendship at first sight. They knew they had found a good match.

“Good morning Titi!”

“Ayy look who it is! How was the run today?”

“You wouldn't have to ask that if you’d join me,” Ashanti teased knowing damn well Kwame wasn’t one for non-sexual physical activity. Kwame rolled his eyes and shoveled more plantains onto his plate.

“Girl you know I don't do all that running mess. For what?!”

Ashanti and Binta giggled as they shared a knowing look and the older twin handed her a plate full of food that she had just whipped up while Ashanti was on her run.

The three of them had lived together since college and fell into their morning routine years ago. Ashanti would rise at the crack of dawn and go for her run, then Binta would get up and make breakfast which was somehow always ready by whatever time Ashanti got back and Kwame finally decided to join the land of the living. Ashanti asked her once how she had perfect timing every morning, and the twins responded in perfect unison.

“Magic.” “Magic.”

Ashanti never asked again, mostly because she couldn’t tell if they were serious or not. She wouldn’t be surprised either way.

Per their routine, Ashanti shoveled her food down and made her way to the bathroom for a shower. She turned on the water to let it warm up, and in the meantime she stripped down to her birthday suit and admired her body in the mirror. She had a love-hate relationship with her body for most of her life, but she found that the more she saw herself naked the more she loved what she saw. Ashanti wasn’t vain though, it was a self-esteem thing.

Once she tore her eyes away from her naked form she stepped into the falling water and just stood there for a moment letting it all wash over her. She grabbed her lemongrass and black soap bar and her loofa and went to town washing her body from head to toe.

Since she was a little girl Ashanti had a fear of singing in public, but when she was in the shower she never held back. Thankful for the soundproof vibranium-laced walls, she belted her heart out to her favorites. She even had a playlist just of songs to sing in the shower. Sometimes she would build a queue, but other times she would let the shuffle button have it’s way. This was one of those times.

This perception's got me restless I ain't dreamin' 'less you're there I supply what you require I need you like I need air You give me life with all the light you're shinin' Oh, there's no question It's evident that you would compliment the love you're not havin'

So how would you feel If I gave you somethin' real? If I told you I was serious I'm not spinnin' your wheels If I open up my heart Took a chance with you and maybe you can show me who you are

She carefully swayed her hips and sang along with Luke James, feeling every bit of the emotion in his words. The song made her feel warm inside like a first crush. That nervous yet adorable energy swirled around her as she reveled in the feeling of puppy love, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Ashanti had discovered western music when Wakanda opened itself to the world, and she wanted to personally thank King T’Challa for allowing the joys of R&B and other genres from across the diaspora into her life. The melodies and the beats were reminiscent of music from her home country in many ways, and she gravitated towards the love songs, songs about heartbreak, and ass-shaking music. She needed to feel it either emotionally or physically.

She could’ve stayed in that shower for hours if she had the time, but Ashanti had errands to run and work to do.

After getting dressed for the day, she grabbed her bag and flung it over her shoulder before heading back downstairs. Binta was lying across the couch staring at their newly installed hologram tv in contempt. Ashanti noticed it was playing some American reality show about rich colonizers that try to look like Black women.

Binta sucked her teeth.

“Can you believe this? Why do they look like that?!” Binta half yelled at Ashanti and half yelled at the screen.

“Because, girl look at us,” Ashanti gestured at her and her roommate’s beautiful assets and they both fell out laughing.

“You heading into work already? It’s barely 8”

“Yeah, I need to get some shopping done before I open up. Be good!” Ashanti pecked Binta on the cheek before sliding her shoes on and heading out the door for the second time that morning.

Ashanti walked through the bazaar and took in the sights and smells. She made quick work of her shopping list and even with being stopped to say hello to every other person she encountered on the way, she made it to her store in record time. She loved the energy of the marketplace as a little girl growing up in the Merchant tribe. When she was seven years old her parents, Chidi and Bisa Mostafa, opened up a restaurant, Zana Cafe, smack dab in the middle of the Birnin Zana Bazaar that’s been going strong for twenty years. When the shop owner from across the street grew too old to run her art supply store she sold it to the Mostafas for a low low price. There wasn’t another shop like it in the market, so Chidi and Bisa tasked Ashanti with keeping it running.

Ashanti eventually saved enough money to buy the shop next door and she transformed the space into a combination art gallery, supply store, and amateur marketplace. She wanted it to be a space where artists of all skill levels could come together, create, and even sell their work. She sold her own handmade crystal jewelry and had a children’s section full of finger paints and fun craft projects. The kids loved when she displayed their art along the shop walls. There was even a classroom towards that back of the multi-use space she used for community art lessons.

Ashanti had named the space after the first person to encourage her art, her umakhulu Taj. She missed her grandaddy more than anything in this world, and she dedicated her creative space to his memory. People from all over Wakanda knew of Taj’s, it being the only shop of it’s kind in all of Birnin Zana.

Chidi waved at Ashanti from across the street while he prepared the restaurant for the morning rush, and she blew him a kiss before stepping into her shop, her happy place.

She closed her eyes and smiled a warm smile before drawing the curtains and letting the light in. She turned on her music and danced around the shop, straightening up as she went. She still had that same Luke James song on repeat from earlier.

Did I mention, I love tension? No more stressin' when we touch My salvation, my temptation I felt safety in your clutch (clutch) Come save me now, just stick around No, you ain't gotta stay long How you make minutes pass like seconds I feel like I gotta hold on (hmm) So how would you feel If I gave you somethin' real? If I told you I was serious I'm not spinnin' your wheels If I open up my heart Took a chance with you and maybe you can show me who you are

A chill went down Ashanti’s spine as that warm fuzzy feeling filled her once more. Her face felt flushed and she kept grinning wider and wider as she shuffled around Taj’s, sweeping all the dirt out the back door. She went to sweep her stoop when the sight of the Dora Milaje caught her off guard. It wasn’t often that royalty made their way to the market, but she knew every shop owner would be clamoring to gain whoever’s attention. She kept sweeping then opened her shop doors wide before heading back inside.

Before she could make it halfway back to her spot at the front counter, she heard the chime that alerts her when new customers enter.

“Hi, welcome to Taj’s, what can I-”, her voice caught in her throat when she turned around and saw the king flanked by two of his Dora Milaje. She noticed two more stationed at the door and looked past them to see her nosy parent across the street staring into Taj’s to get a glimpse of what's going on.

“Kumkani wam.”

Ashanti saluted King T’Challa and a deep rumbling erupted from his chest before he cracked the most adorable crooked smile.

“Please, none of that.”

____________

Mornings in Birnin Zana were always calm and quiet until about 10am when the whole city woke up and went on about their day. This wasn’t the case for King T’Challa who preferred to start his day at 6. It was the only time he could really have to himself without interruption. He would always go for a run around the palace grounds or out into the lush Wakandan forest right as the sun poked out above the trees.

Another thing people didn’t know about the King of Wakanda is that he loved to cook. As a boy he spent so much of his time hanging around the kitchen staff they jokingly put him to work one day and he took right to it. Not only did T’Challa love mornings because of the solitude, he loved mornings because of breakfast. It was his favorite meal of the day. When he was a teenager he often cooked breakfast for his family, but as an adult it’s something he only had time for sparingly. He always had a meeting or a mission or something important and unavoidable in the way.

However, today he had the time because he had taken the day off. As king he answers to nobody but Bast and the people of Wakanda...but there are a lot of people and a lot of problems to solve so sometimes the king needed a day to himself. T’Challa trusted his sister and his cousin to keep things running smoothly in his absence,and he made them swear to only contact him if the country was about to collapse.

These would be a beautiful 24 hours.

After making his way back to the palace he quickly showered and threw on some clothes for the day. T’Challa felt relaxed being dressed-down and thought about maybe doing it more often. The royal robes were so stiff.

The king slid into the kitchen with a smile on his face, humming to some American song he couldn’t get out of his head but didn’t know the words to. He scooped up some mandazi the kitchen staff had left for him and took a bite while he rummaged through the refrigerator looking for whatever called to him. T’Challa found what he was looking for and got to work dicing and mixing and grating his ingredients. He had just thrown a pinch more of cardamom in the pancake batter when his mother strolled in.

“Mholo, unyana wam!”

“Good morning to you too mother,” T’Challa chuckled at the Queen Mother’s jovial mood.

He kissed her cheek and flipped the pancakes on the griddle. He turned around just in time to catch Ramonda taking a swipe of the batter.

“Mama you should know better. What kind of role model are you for your young impressionable daughter?”

“Hush, child”

The two smiled and settled into a comfortable silence while T’Challa sautéed up fragrant vegetables, making Ramonda even more impatient. Just as she was about to ask T’Challa how much longer until they could eat, her young impressionable daughter rounded the corner looking like she had been caught in a tornado. That was the normal for Shuri, a notoriously wild sleeper.

“Good morning mother, Gap Tooth,” Shuri yawned. “ Where’s Braille?”

T’Challa rolled his eyes at his little sister’s nicknames and cracked eggs into the pan.

“You know that boy only shows up right when the food is do-“

Ramonda was cut off by the doors opening and Prince N’Jadaka strolled in with sunglasses on and the same clothes they saw him wearing when he left last night.

He noticed all three sets of eyes were glued to his hungover form. He was surprised when instead of admonishing him for his obviously very unroyal behavior they all broke out into laughter. He couldn’t help but smile himself.

“Long night?”

“Man you already know, we’ll talk later when there aren’t sensitive ears around.”

The two male cousins dapped each other up before N’Jadaka kissed his Auntie and little cousin on their foreheads.

“Mornin’ Auntie, Rugrat.”

“Mholo Daka.”

“Topographic map.”

Even T’Challa had to give her that one.

The family of four sat down and enjoyed the home-cooked meal of spiced plantain pancakes drizzled with honey, an egg and vegetable scramble, cheese grits, spicy sausage, and fresh fruit.

T’Challa loved seeing the look of satisfaction on people’s faces when they eat his food almost as much as his family loved eating whatever he put in front of them. It was the perfect symbiotic relationship.

After breakfast, T’Challa hung around and chatted with his family while they cleaned the kitchen. They never let him do this part, and since none of the Udakus were big on relying on the palace staff for every little thing, the prince, princess, and Queen Mother of Wakanda rolled up their sleeves to do some quick manual labor. Shuri and Ramonda washed and dried the dishes while N’Jadaka wiped down the table and countertops. He finished and the two male cousins went to take a walk around the gardens.

The second they stepped outside the palace T’Challa pulled out a blunt of the finest Wakanda kush and lit the tip. He pulled the smoke into his mouth and let it float up to his nose. He inhaled and then exhaled the smoke as he felt it take effect. He passed it to N’Jadaka and started talking.

“Last night…?”

N’Jadaka took a hit.

“My nigga...so you remember that hot lil river tribe thang I told you about?” T’Challa nodded as N’Jadaka handed him the blunt.

“So I take her out, right? Tell me why, we get to the restaurant she starts acting brand new? Turns out, this whole time we been smashing she’s trying to lock this down. So I paid for dinner and had Aneka take her home-“

“So where did you end up staying all night?”

“With the waitress.”

T’Challa stopped walking and glanced at his cousin before they both broke out into a fit of giggles.

They continued to walk and talk and pass the blunt back and forth. As they neared the palace doors the blunt had burned down to the roach. The two “went for a walk” so much they had it timed perfectly.

“So what you got planned for your day off?”

“Absolutely nothing,” T’Challa said, grinning from ear to ear. “And it better-“

“Stay that way, yeah yeah nigga I know. The Brain and I got this, go enjoy your day. Do some shit you haven’t done in a while. Be lazy. Make something. Get some pussy.”

T’Challa cut his eyes at his slightly younger cousin but couldn’t deny the truth in his statement. It had been a while for all of those things and damn did he miss them.

He clapped N’Jadaka on the back and turned to walk in the other direction.

“Good idea, umzala.”

“Which one?...Aye I know you heard me witcho supersonic hearing ass…”

T’Challa just chuckled and flipped off his cousin as he rounded the corner.

“Don’t ruin my country while I’m gone!”

“I should burn it down again just for that.”

T’Challa roamed the Birnin Zana Bazaar with his Dora Milaje for the first time in at least two years. Yes, he was a busy man with very little leisure time, but the Bazaar also held a lot of memories that the king would rather not revisit. As he passed the winding staircase he sighed, thinking of his former lover Nakia. She was off living a happy life in America with her girlfriend Janelle and their two goofy looking dogs, and he was genuinely happy for her. He and Nakia had love for each other, but they eventually realized they weren’t in love and decided to split. The memories were bittersweet.

The king decided he would pay an old friend a visit. Growing up, T’Challa only had his father. His biological mother died in childbirth, and since his father didn’t meet Ramonda until he was 12, the only mother he knew as a young child had been his nanny Ada.

She was a firecracker of a woman who never let him get away with anything, and he loved her with his whole heart. She was still an unofficial member of the Udaku family with an open invitation to visit the palace whenever she wanted. T’Chaka and Ramonda had tried to offer her a room in the palace but she refused, saying, “It’s too quiet here.” After she hung up her nanny hat, Ada became an entrepreneur. She had always loved arts and crafts so she opened up an art supply shop in the middle of the Bazaar, thanks to a hefty check from the Udakus. T’Challa used to love visiting Ada’s shop, but when she grew too old to care for it anymore she sold it and he hadn’t yet seen what became of it. He decided he’d stop by the shop before visiting Ada.

People were everywhere, but T’Challa loved the hustle and bustle of the city. Many of the past monarchs avoided mingling with the public more than necessary, but T’Chaka had taught his son the value in spending time among the people. In fact, T’Challa’s favorite part of being king is when he makes his rounds to visit all the tribes.

The king and his Doras strolled through the market, periodically stopping to converse with excited children.

They rounded the corner of the main streetway and he noticed a woman sweeping the stoop in front of what was Ada’s shop. He watched the sway of her hips and tried to read her lips to figure out what song she was singing. As he got closer he could just make out her angelic voice singing over the acoustic guitar in the unfamiliar song. She had a dreamy smile on her face that made her deep dimples come out of hiding, and when she turned around to head inside the shop he noticed the thickness of her ass and thighs.

“Bast have mercy.”

His feet automatically carried him into Taj’s, and when she turned around to face him his knees nearly buckled. She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

——————————-

Ashanti felt her cheeks heat up. She couldn’t believe the king was in her shop of all places.

“My apologies, your highness,” she stammered and the broom fell out of her sweaty hand.

Before she could even reach for it, the king had already lifted the old broom from the floor. He passed it to her and when their fingers brushed against each other they both felt static in their fingertips, though neither of them broke their poker faces.

“Truly, it is not a problem.”

T’Challa tore his eyes from hers and looked around the multi-use space. His eyes and eventually his body gravitated towards the childrens’ artwork along the walls, taking it all in with an adorably crooked smile.

“How long has this shop been open?”

“Coming up on two years now...your highness.”

“No need for all the formalities miss…”

“Ashanti Mostafa, my kin- I mean, um, sir,” Ashanti stumbled over her words, unsure of how to address the royal.

“I took the day off so just call me T’Challa, Miss Ashanti,” he winked and continued around the space.

“Is Taj in today?”

“No, Taj was my umakhulu. He died five years ago, so when I got this place I named it after him because he’s the one who taught me how to draw and paint and mold clay...he shared his love of art with me, so I’m paying it forward with all this,” Ashanti gestured outwardly.

T’Challa was in awe of her. He listened to her story and walked towards the artist marketplace section of the shop. His eyes gravitated towards a golden vibranium filigree choker with an intricately wrapped garnet pendant.

“These pieces are beautiful, I would love to get one for my mother and my sister. Does the artist take custom orders?”

“They will for the king.”

“Well sometimes being royalty has its privileges. Ayo, will you get the artist’s information from Miss Ashanti here?”

Ashanti couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She was almost stunned to silence. The king liked her pieces.

“Actually your hi-,” she was stopped by a playful warning look from the king.

“T’Challa, I’m the artist.”

T’Challa became more and more enamoured with the shop owner every time she spoke. She was beautiful, talented, and her aura seemed to cover everything in its reach with her warm glow. He would definitely be visiting the Bazaar more often.

Ashanti rounded the counter and fiddled with her rose gold kimoyo beads before her other designs were projected in the air in front of the king.

“I thought you said you painted and molded clay. This is certainly not that,” he leaned on the counter as his Doras shared a knowing glance.

“That’s just how I started,” Ashanti explained. “I still paint sometimes when the mood hits, but nowadays I mostly craft jewelry. Oh I just got into beading, and you wouldn’t believe how sore my fingertips are.”

In that moment it took all of T’Challa’s willpower to keep from reaching out and kissing her calloused but delicate fingers.

Ashanti unconsciously leaned in closer to the king.

“So what brought you to my humble shop, T’Challa? Bast, it feels so weird to call you that.”

T’Challa chuckled, and Ashanti nearly blushed again from the deep rumbling.

“You’ll get used to it eventually. As I mentioned before, these pieces are beautiful. I would like to commission two. What is your price?”

“Two hundred a piece.”

“I’ll give you one thousand.”

Ashanti’s eyes blinked and her smile gradually crept up her chubby cheeks. The two went back and forth for over an hour over the details of the necklaces before the king bid the shop owner adieu with the promise to return in two weeks. Before he reached the door he turned around, almost catching her staring at him.

“I forgot to ask. Miss Ashanti, do you normally play the same song on repeat in the store?”

Ashanti hadn’t even noticed Luke James’ “Who You Are” had been playing ever since she opened her doors. Her mind had been clouded by the king’s powerful aura and kind eyes, and the only sound that mattered in that moment was the smoky melody of his voice. She blushed yet again.

“I don’t normally, but something had me a little distracted today,” she winked at the king. “The artist is Luke James, one of my favorites from America. You should check him out if you like what you hear.”

Her eyes locked onto his and he smirked.

“I’ll do just that.”

---------------------------------- A week passed and both Ashanti and T’Challa had listened to that same song on repeat more times than they could count. Neither one could understand how they had become so smitten with the other in a 90 minute time span.

Even the people around them had begun to notice the changes in their behavior. Unsurprisingly, the first two to say something were N’Jadaka and Kwame.

N’Jadaka slipped into T’Challa’s office after the council meeting wrapped up. His cousin had spent the last hour settling land disputes and was in desperate need of a break. They were too busy to take a walk, so T’Challa poured two generous glasses of the strongest palm wine in Wakanda. It wasn’t enough to make them drunk since the heart shaped herb running through their veins burned off alcohol too quickly for one glass to cause any damage. They’d have to drink a bottle a piece to even start to have a good time. However, they felt the effects of cannabis and psychedelics just like anyone else.

“What’s got you smiling so much? It’s starting to get creepy, you looked way too happy during that land dispute and I know you hate doing that shit.”

“I don’t know what-”

“You're really gonna lie to me? Your favorite cousin? I’m hurt.”

T’Challa rolled his eyes at his least favorite cousin’s dramatics.

“You are my only cousin, N’Jadaka. And besides, I really do not know what you mean, I have just been in good spirits lately.”

“Mmmhm. You got some pussy, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“You sure? Because you're acting like you got some pussy.”

On the other side of Birnin Zana, Kwame watched Ashanti glide around the living room with a dreamy smile on her face.

“Girl I know you’re not that happy about dusting. Spill.”

“What?” Ashanti giggled. “I’m just in a good mood today, it’s been a good week at the shop.”

Kwame cut his eyes at her and pursed his lips. He didn’t believe a damn thing she said. Binta told him she had seen Ashanti humming and slow dancing in the kitchen the other day, so he knew something had to be up.

“Did you get some dick? Or some pus- nah that’s a dick face right there.”

“Who’s a dick face?” Binta came in and grabbed some coconut water from the fridge.

“Apparently I have ‘just got some dick’ face,” Ashanti responded with an eye roll.

“Yeah you’ve had it for about a week now. Spill.”

“That’s what I said, twin!”

They did their annoying twin handshake and turned back to Ashanti.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, it’s just been a good week at the shop.”

Ashanti tried to get back to her dusting, but they wouldn’t let her.

“Nuh uh girl, get to talking.”

“B…”

“We’re waiting…”

Ashanti rolled her eyes so hard they almost got stuck, or so her mom would say had she seen it.

“Ok, fine! This man came into the shop the other day and had me blushing like a sixth grader with her first crush. He was just so...fine, and smooth, and sweet…”

Ashanti drifted off into a daydream while the twins sat there taking it all in. Kwame was the first to speak.

“Titi, your nose is wide the fuck open. Did you get his name, tap beads, something?!”

Ashanti couldn’t admit she had a crush on the king. For one, she was a little embarrassed because she knew how foolish she looked pining after a royal who could never return the sentiments. Secondly, if she told them she would never hear the end of it.

“Uh, his name is...Amare.”

Binta’s eyes went soft.

“Amare, I’ve always loved that name. What’s he look like?”

“Like Bast carved him out of vibranium.”

Kwame and Binta look at each other again.

“Like I said...wide open. So when are you opening those legs too?”

Ashanti tried to look busy.

“I’m uh, not sure if he’ll be back. His accent sounded American.”

She knew that would get them off her case. Ever since T’Challa announced Wakanda’s riches to the world they had opened up their doors to the Lost Tribe. For the last two years, Black people from all over the globe had travelled to Wakanda, so it would be an easy cop out for Ashanti.

“Well damn girl, you finally get a man and this is how it goes...maybe one day the king will allow outsiders to move here permanently and you can get your Prince Charming.”

“Heh, maybe. So what’s for dinner?”

——————-

Another week passed and the day had come for Ashanti and T’Challa to see each other again.

Both of them were nervous beyond belief, but only one of them had someone to confide in.

“I’m telling you, T, just be cool. Plus, you’re the king, she’d have to be an idiot to say no.”

T’Challa had planned to ask Ashanti out on a date. He couldn’t get her out of his head the whole two weeks they were apart, and he took it as a sign from Bast that she was something special.

He was nervous to see her again and he hoped it didn’t show on his face.

Right in the center of the Birnin Zana Bazaar, Ashanti fiddled with the custom necklaces she made at the king’s request. She hoped they were good enough for royalty and her nerves started to get the best of her. Her hands shook and her breathing sped up. She took a deep breath then walked out her shop and across the street to her parents’ restaurant. Her mom was the first to greet her.

“Hi honey, what brings you over to our side of the street?”

“Bisa you know the girl wants something!” Chidi yelled from the supply closet.

“Hush!”

“Hello to you too baba!” Ashanti laughed at her father’s antics.

“I’m just nervous. The king is coming back today...what if he hates them? What if Queen Mother or Princess Shuri hate them?!”

Ashanti started to get worked up again and Bisa rubbed her back in slow circles. Chidi brought her a cup of tea and the three of them sat outside the cafe in silence while she calmed down.

“Sweetie, it’ll be ok. He wouldn’t have commissioned the pieces if he thought they wouldn’t like them. And he’s seen your work, how could he not like it?! If so he’s a fool.”

“Baba! This is the king we’re talking about.”

“I don’t care! Anyone who can’t see my baby’s talent isn’t worth my respect.” He kissed her on her forehead and when he opened his eyes he noticed the women in red coming around the corner.

“Someone’s early…”

Ashanti looked confused for a moment before her mother gestured for her to turn around.

There stood the king and his Dora Milaje.

Bisa and Chidi quickly stood and saluted the king, Ashanti giggled and they looked at her in disbelief.

“That is unnecessary, please.”

“We are sorry, my king. Welcome to our restaurant, we are Ashanti’s parents. I am Chidi Mostafa and this is my wife Bisa.”

“We are so honored to have you.”

T’Challa reached out and shook their hands, shocking the older Mostafas.

Ashanti wondered if she looked this starstruck last time...she concluded she probably did.

However, this time when she stared at him she made sure to take in all his features. The faint crinkle around his eyes and his frown lines reminded her of their slight age difference and the stress of his job. His big bright eyes made him look like a puppy and his gap-toothed smile leaned perfectly to the left.

“Unfortunately I cannot stay long, I have other business to attend to that I cannot get out of. I do hope to see the two of you again, but I believe Miss Ashanti here has something for me.”

“I sure do. Mama, Baba, I’ll swing by later.”

She kissed their cheeks and walked shoulder to shoulder with the king to her shop across the street.

“I have had your parents’ food before, in my opinion it is the best in all of the Bazaar. You are very talented people, Miss Ashanti.”

She was getting really tired of blushing, but it happened again.

“Thanks T’Challa. So, um, let’s get to it so you can get to your important kingly duties.”

They shared a smile.

She pulled out two large velvet boxes and opened them. Sitting among the silk were two necklaces that were more beautiful than T’Challa had imagined.

Shuri’s necklace featured a rough sapphire gem wrapped in wire hanging from a structured v-shaped vibranium collar. The stones set in the vibranium gave the necklace an ombre look as the stones grew lighter and lighter all the way down to the sapphire. The necklace would land about mid-chest on the princess, and T’Challa just knew she’d love it.

Queen Mother’s necklace was even more intricate and more like the necklace he had seen his first time in the shop. The gold filigree collar necklace was dripping with small gems hanging from every loop, with one large ruby set in the middle.

“Miss Ashanti…” T’Challa barely breathed out.

“Oh no, You hate them.”

“No, no! Quite the opposite actually. They’re beautiful, I-I’m speechless.”

Ashanti breathed a sigh of relief.

“As I mentioned before, you Mostafa’s are very talented…and beautiful.”

Ashanti gasped. There was no way…

“My king?”

“What? It is true. You are a very beautiful woman Ashanti, among many other things.”

That damn song started playing in her head and her smile pushed her dimples deeper the larger it grew.

“Thank you, T’Challa. You’re...alright looking.”

They both had to have a laugh at that one.

“Just alright?” He leaned in closer to her across the counter.

“Hm, maybe”

“Will you let me change your mind?”

“How would you do that?” She asked, leaning closer and getting a whiff of the cocoa butter on his skin.

“If you’d accompany me for a night out tomorrow evening I could show you.”

Ashanti froze and backed up. For a minute there she almost forgot who he was, but she had to remind herself that he wasn’t just a cute customer. He was the king, and he had to have been out of his Bast-given mind.

Unless this was something he did often.

“My k-, T’Challa...If you are looking for someone to play with and discard, I suggest looking elsewhere. I’m sure there are plenty of your subjects lined up in waiting for the bachelor king to swoop them up.”

Ashanti immediately regretted her words, but they just seemed to tickle T’Challa.

“Miss Ashanti, I am not that kind of man. I believe you have me confused with Prince N’Jadaka.”

Ashanti snorted. She had heard many stories about the prince and sort of assumed all royals behaved in such a manner.

“Besides I am much too busy to play the field since becoming king. Had you known me 5-10 years ago it would’ve been a different story.” T’Challa winked and noticed her look away to hide her smile. She remained silent.

“Please, it would bring me great joy to see you again. If not I will leave you alone. Just think about it.”

He tapped his black and purple kimoyo beads to her rose gold ones.

“There, now you have my contact information. It’s my direct line, please feel free to use it.”

With that he turned and left the shop. Ashanti had to pinch herself to make sure she was awake. After a minute it started to sink in that the king of Wakanda had asked her on a date.

“That really just happened.”

She stood there in a daze and was only pulled out of it when a customer walked into the shop.

“Welcome to Taj’s!”

—————

Chapter 2

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fic #t'challa #t'challa x oc #playlist

67 notes · View notes

aliypop · 3 years

Text

Blood Lust

Word count : 2,105

Warning: Language

A/N : Some more Tiffany and the boys in the past! I did it I wanna dedicate this 2 days of writing this fic to @whatisgoingonpaul the source for the lost boys prequel as well as @a-supernatural-writer and @pitiful-anonymous-vampire

Near the dark, damp, humid Santa Carla bluffs sat several outlaws around a campfire. Tiffany and Stewart waited behind a few trees, her fangs sharp and ready to rip into the first ounce of flesh that she could get into. "Did ya hear somethin..." the two men who looked like bandits asked each other. The sounds of waves crashed against the rocks from below as the trees rustled. Darkness spreads across the bluff as Stewart blew out the fire. "Wh...Who's there..." one of the men says, feeling a deathly still presence from behind him. The cold hands of death touch the man's neck-snapping it in half as the mark of a lover's kiss is left on the corpse.

"Well, boys, don't just sit there..." Tiffany turned to face the freshly turned vampires and their sire Max. Standing like statues, the boys only looked at Tiffany and Stewart. Who were both covered in blood,

"Don't tell me you didn't ..." Tiffany glared at Max, who had the grin of a conman on his face.

" Didn't what Ms."

"How dare you turn these boys into vampires and yet have them figure it out themselves!" Tiffany shouted, her hands close to ripping her hair out. "First of all, little girl..." his hand underneath her chin. Tiffany nearly snapped at his finger, "I will rip you apart from where you stand..." she growled at him, hearing his already sickening laughter.

"Is everything okay..." David asked, his reddish-blonde hair poking up from behind Max.

"Not to worry... someones just being disrespectful, isn't she..."

"If Camilla hears about this... she'll make you wish you never were born... " Tiffany laughed as she then saw a long-haired blond pounced on top of a body, "Paul use your hands first and then teeth!" she smirked, her dark blue gown trailing behind her. Flesh ripping apart was the only sound that Max and Tiffany heard as the two sat by a fire admiring the skill that "his" boys were learning. "Jasper!" Max shouted at the younger boy, his hair almost as long as his older brothers.

"Yes..."

"Try harder, will ya..." Max said, a bit disappointed in the boy. Jasper only sighed as he continued trying to find the right vein to feed on; Max only watched as Jasper struggled, almost as if he got a kick out of seeing the young boy starve to death. Stewart shook his head, taking his nail to the wrist of the soon-to-be corpse splitting it open.

"Thanks..."

"Don't mention it, kid." he ruffled up his hair, getting a glare from Dwayne. The vampires had begun to travel further into the woods, trying to find the perfect place to make camp. Horses trotted in the woods,

Stewart, whose hands were around Marko's waist, rested his tired body against his back and turned to look at Paul, who only rolled his eyes at him and kept riding past. "I'm just saying, Tiffany, you'd make a great..."

"A great what..." she turned to face Max, her horse catching up to his.

"I would say mother, but you can't even side-saddle..." Max mumbled, taking note of the way she rode. "And to think you've trained to be a lady... " Tiffany only laughed as she shook her head, " I am no lady..." taking the reins of her horse galloping in the wind past Max, "I suggest we trot faster if you want to live." she sang from afar. Marko, Stewart, and Paul had taken camp together. The three wrapped tightly in a blanket. Tiffany stood in her tent, her locket an ice blue amulet in hand, memories of a life she wanted to leave behind. Tiffany could feel a cold touch reach up to her back, her skin crawling as the hand reached up to her shoulder.

"Poor little girl ... still waiting for happily ever afters, huh..."

"Leave me alone..."

"Or what you'll cry..." he laughed, "Lestat was right about you... You're easy too, eager," Tiffany wrapped her hands around his neck, urging her to squeeze him harder. Her vamping out only grew pale while Max nicked her with his nails.

"Hey, anyone seen my cigarettes ..." Dwayne poked his head in; The smell of her blood luring both him and David, Max, had only excused himself as both David and Dwayne invited themselves in, Tiffany began to back away from the two. Her eyes were now yellow and red from tears that wouldn't come.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay..." David took her hand,

"Look at me..." Dwayne said, his eyes trailing back to her wrist. Tiffany faced the two vampires as she took a deep breath.

"I'm so sorry I wish you didn't have to..."

"You're bleeding, dear..." David pointed out as Dwayne's eyes followed suit. Adjusting her wrist out, she watched as he hesitantly bit down on the already semi-healing skin.

"Wanna tell us what the hell that was about..." David pried.

"Just vampire stuff..." She shrugged, watching as Dwayne glared at her.

"I promise you two it's nothing... I need to rest and..."

"Tell us what's going on, Monroe." Dwayne pulled away from the wound, his hand firmly holding onto her hand,

"I'm not that important ..." she mumbled as the two boys looked at her,

"Max only wants me around you guys like a mother figure..." she laughed, removing her skirt,

" So what do you want to be..." David turned away, letting her undress. "Well, I want to be myself... " she bit her lips feeling hands ghost over her corset.

"And who would that be," Dwayne asked, glancing at the whalebone marks on her skin, "You tied this yourself..."

"Mhmm, what's wrong with it..."

"It's shit." he laughed,

"I beg your pardon!" she gasped, "It's perfect. "

"Yeah, if you don't wanna breathe." David turned his head, "You know Anastasia taught me how to lace up a corset."

"Here we go..."

"No, no, let him speak..." Tiffany suggested as she sat down in the grass,

"But if you can tie nautical knots, you can lace a fucking corset." David looked at the woman as she laughed. There was a sadness behind his eyes every time he mentioned the name Anastasia, but she must have meant so much to him. The colors of orange, pink, and blue began to crack amongst the dark sky as both David and Dwayne were asleep in her tent. Sitting out in the Dawn were Tiffany and Stewart watching daybreak hatch.

" I think it time I change a new leaf..." she huffed, the warm rays on her skin,

"What do you mean ..."

"It's a new era, and I can't keep being what everyone wants me to be... I can only be who I'm supposed to be." she looked back as she saw Jasper, who was getting a peek of what would be his last sunrise over California.

Sitting in the lobby of the Santa Carla resort was Tiffany, her thoughts heavy and her mind scrambling around. Looking down at her engagement ring, she admired every detail that Dracula had put into it. But she knew that none of it was hers: instead, it was just another way for her to become a trophy in his collection of wives. Max had then sat next to her, his hand on top of hers.

" Go away..." She grumbled.

"Or what..." Max smirked, tilting her head up with his chin,

"I'll take everything you've ever loved away from you..." she growled, "Including the boys..."

"You wouldn't..." His control over the other vampire fading, "You wouldn't know the first thing about raising boys..." Tiffany laughed as she broke from his grip, walking away from the power-hungry sire,

"You know something, Maxi..."

"What..."

"You've no power over me... nor does Dracula..."

"You sure about that..."

"Highly sure ... now if you excuse me, I've made arrangements with Paul and Jasper to go pickpocke-" she stopped talking as the ground under her began to shake, the infamous earthquake of 1906, the residence of the hotel had all rushed to the door,

the chandelier had started crumbling down from the lobby ceiling. As a few people got caught from underneath it, Tiffany looked back to see Jasper, who was reaching out for his brother's hand, Dwayne looking at Tiffany, while Marko Paul and Stewart tried to help.

"You stay awake, do you hear me ?! don't you dare close your eyes."

"Leave them, Tiffany..." Max said, watching as Tiffany tried to run from his hypnotic grasp,

"I gotta do something..." she tried to pull away as he only beckoned for her to follow as well as the rest of the boys.

"Who has the power over who now..." he mumbled, the once ever so astounding resort torched with flames and burnt memories; faded into the night sky, leaving the sound of silence and howls of wolves in the background. "I'm sorry about your brother I-" Dwayne kept looking ahead as the two kept walking,

"Don't worry about it, snookums, Dwayne, gets like that when he's upset..." Paul mentioned as Tiffany giggled, "Snookums eh... What god awful human did you learn that from."

"Some guy named Walter Emerson..." he looked at the pocket watch that he stole. He then looked back at Marko and Stewart, the two chatting away, while Tiffany looked at David, who had lost the love of his mortal life. She wanted to ask if he was okay, but his eyes looking towards the North Star said differently.

Tiffany sighed as she kept walking, her boots getting stuck in the mud while her hair begun to stick from sweat to her face. " Can't we just fucking rest for the night... " The young woman groaned,

"I mean David's fucking out of it, Stewart and Marko ate two rats, and Dwayne he's practically falling asleep, and Paul..." she looked back, "Holy Hell, where's Paul!" Tiffany turned to see the blond ripping the neck off a wolf open. Max grumbled both by his and her actions. He was irritated, but the nagging and the tiredness reminded him why he hated dealing with such newly turned vampires.

"My Feet hurt..." Marko grumbled,

"It's too hot..." David groaned.

"FINE WE'LL STOP." Max turned towards the boys, his teeth out and ready to rip into anyone else who so had a complaint. They found a campsite with fire, a few tents, and what seemed to be a few drunk soldiers.

"Tiffany, get rid of them." Max pointed in the direction of the men, "See boys: When you're more experienced, you'll also be able to cause as much bloodshed just like that..." he turned back to see limbs discarded amongst the ground, the perfect meal for a vampire feeding their young. "The place is all yours, boys..."

As the boys went to rest, Tiffany did as well. Dressed in her nightgown, laying on the cot, she could feel a hand stroking her hair as it kept singing her name.

Tiffany

She tossed and turned on the couch from up under her, teased out hair drenched in a cold sweat. "It's happening again..." Marko sighed, dabbing away beads of sweat from her forehead. Paul rushed over, holding her hand feeling, the odd heat radiating off her skin.

"Tiffany, sweetheart, I want you to drink this..." David said, trying to get her to look at him. It was the third time this month that Tiffany hadn't been so lucky when it came to feeding. She had caught a case of Blotoisis better, known as Vampiritis, a flu-like sickness that happens when a vampire consumes blood from a sick human.

"I ... I don't wanna..." she shivered, her eyes closed from the lighting of the fire barrels, "You gotta toots..." Marko kissed her forehead. Dwayne rolled his eyes, placing another cold towel on her forehead, noticing Angelica, who had been holding hands with Sam, and someone else who he presumed to be a friend of hers that she met.

" Babycakes..." Tiffany reached out to Dwayne, "Je ne me sens pas bien je veux des câlins." she pouted as Dwayne held her hand, "No cuddles until you feel better."

"I want you all to meet my friend..." Angelica said, walking further into the cave holding a can of chicken noodle soup.

"Not now, kiddo..." David shooed her away.

"But..."

"Tiff's sick..." Dwayne shrugged

"Will ya stop shooing away my girlfriend for one second," Jasper smirked, standing to the side, his dark hair almost as long as his brothers,

"Jasper..." the boys said, turning to face him.

"Sheesh, love what you did to the place..."

"I must be hallucinating ..."

#The Lost Boys 1987 #the lost boys the beginning #new stuff #paul the lost boys #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #jasper the lost boys #marko the lost boys #tiffany monroe the lost boys oc #max the lost boys #fanfiction #the lost boys

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eujazmine · 3 years

Text

TASK TWO: CHARACTER PLAYLIST ( x )

hall of fame - the script ft. will.i.am / champion - kanye west / just my luck - coco jones / rage - rico nasty / watch me - jaden / don’t stop the music - rihanna / hot girl summer - megan thee stallion ft. ty dolla $ign, nicki minaj / listen before i go - billie eilish / midnight sky - miley cyrus / smack a bitch - rico nasty / wolves - big sean ft. post malone / ordinary life - the weeknd / rise - willow, jahnavi harrison / power is power - sza ft. the weeknd, travis scott / icon - jaden / got it on me - pop smoke / OTHERSIDE - beyonce / until i bleed out - the weeknd / gone too soon - michael jackson / the other side - sza, justin timberlake / ohfr? - rico nasty / lonely - justin bieber, benny blanco / my sanity - thriii, messenger : 1 hr 15 mins

okay so this is basically a soundtrack of her life so far. i’ve included a rundown below including sample lyrics if you’re interested, so you won’t have to listen to get the gist, but fair warning there’s probably HELLA typos since it’s almost 6 am now <3

it starts off with hall of fame, bc as far as she can remember her father was always telling her that she was special and destined for greatness. according to her father, there was nothing she couldn’t do, no limits to how much she could achieve. she carried her godliness with pride, training hard to one day be one of the greatest.

“ yeah, you can be the greatest, you can be the best. you can be the king kong bangin' on your chest. you can beat the world, you can beat the war. you can talk to God, go bangin' on his door. . . you can move a mountain, you can break rocks. you can be a master, don’t wait for luck. dedicate yourself and you gon' find yourself. ”

next comes champion, where jazmine is starting to think that her father may not be as great as she thought he was, but her little siblings still view him as such. although there is this slight confusion going on with her father, she doesn’t want it to stop her from achieving greatness, so she keeps working hard.

“ this is the story of a champion. runners on their mark and they pop their guns. stand up, stand up, here he comes. tell me what it takes to be number one. ”

just my luck. at this point, she’s feeling that all the authority figures in her life, especially her dad, see her as a weapon rather than a person. she feels like she’s too under their control, so she begins to retaliate. around this time, she is nearly expelled from school and is then sent away by her father to full-year camp in greece.

“ I don't know where you're leading me to go. pulling me here, pulling me there. can't take no more. what happened to being happy? that's what I ask myself. ”

while the last song described her insecurities and stress, rage gives a glimpse into her anger from the situation. she starts to grow a chip on her shoulder, and she takes it out on the people around her.

“ keep my name out your fucking mouth before you find out what we about. type of shit that you read about. if you talk it, then be about it. ”

she channels her frustrations into her training. watch me represents how she no longer wants to reach the top for the people back home, but rather to spite them. she wants those that hate her to watch her reach the top regardless of their opinions.

“ watch me, watch me, watch me, do this. ”

don’t stop the music and hot girl summer are most relevant during her two years after school, which she spent traveling in europe and taking on quests solely for monetary and extra adrenaline. for the first time in her life, she is really letting loose, and she mostly focuses on chasing pleasures and easing up pressures.

“ I gotta get my body moving, shake the stress away. ”

listen before i go expresses how low her spirits are after her final confrontation with her father. at this point, she’s struggling to see her life’s purpose. midnight sky is when she finally starts relishing in her newfound freedom from completely cutting ties with him.

“ if you need me, wanna see me, better hurry 'cause I'm leavin' soon. ”

“ lotta years went by with my hands tied up in your ropes. forever and ever, no more. . . I was born to run, I don't belong to anyone. I don't need to be loved by you. ”

smack a bitch and wolves describe both her aggressive confidence in her godly lineage. and how her past has shaped her to be more vicious. she may no longer claim her father, but she’ll show people what she can do as a descendant of hecate.

“ since a baby in her tummy, mama knew I was great. they can't play me like a dummy, they know what not to take. ”

“ I was raised by the wolves, ate 'til they full. run through the night, playin' with your life. go against the pack, that's risking your life. ”

ordinary life depicts her acknowledgement that her life isn’t normal, but she doesn’t think she was meant to have an ordinary life. at the same time, she feels desensitized -- like something’s missing.

“ and she said that she'll pray for me. I said, "It's too late for me," ‘cause I think it's safe to say... this ain't ordinary life. ”

in rise, she resolves to start making her actions purposeful again. she commits to more important, high-stake quests. she’s no longer searching for whichever quests will make her the quickest money.

“ don't be nervous; run towards the light. I need to live for higher purpose. ”

she feels empowered again, as heard in power is power, got it on me and icon. she’s started to make a name for herself in the demigod world, with a nearly impeccable completion rate. feeling invincible, she almost pities whomever she has to defeat next. she thinks that the only thing that could slow her down at this point would be forming attachments with others.

“ a knife in my heart couldn't slow me down ‘cause power is power, my fire never goes out. I rise from my scars, nothing hurts me now. ”

“ many men wish death 'pon me. yeah, I don't cry no mo'. I don't look to the sky no mo' 'cause I got it on me. ”

“ I am not a Mayan, I'm a menace. ”

in otherside, she knows that there is a high possibility that this mission in opposition of zeus may be her last. despite herself, she feels bonded to celeste and adelphie, and she feels grateful to have met them regardless of what the consequences may be.

“ if it all ends, and it's over. if the sky falls fire. best believe me, you will see me on the other side. if we wake up, lose our patience, or even lose our lives, oh, I'll feel lucky to say that you've been a friend of mine. ”

until i bleed out encompasses her feelings in the cave. she’s questioning everything she’s done up to this point in her life, which she fears is quickly coming to an end. after she tries to revive the already-deceased adelphie and watches celeste be thrown off the mountain, all she can feel is paralyzing shock and terror.

“ I can’t move. I’m so paralyzed . . . I can’t explain why I’m so terrified. . . well, I don't wanna touch the sky no more. I just wanna feel the ground when I'm coming down. ”

gone too soon - reminiscing of a fallen friend.

“ shiny and sparkly and splendidly bright. here one day; gone one night. like the loss of sunlight on a cloudy afternoon. gone too soon. ”

in the other side, jazmine starts to consider her new beginning. she’s enrolled at eonia and is studying business, of all things. it’s the closest to normal she’s ever been, and it feels weird.

“ back on your feet again, lift your head, hold it high. you wanna run it back, but you can't turn the time. you start to feel like you're losing your shine, but the grass ain't always greener on the other side. ”

she knows that people at eonia may have varying opinions of her depending on what they’ve heard, but she feels that she doesn’t have to explain or change herself for anybody, which is represented in ohfr?.

“ ... wе reel in any bitches fishin' and seekin' out for attention, geekin' in the mentions. please don't make me have to smack a bitch. ”

the next song is lonely. she’s still proud of the name she’s made for herself, but now that she’s mostly away from all the chaos and mayhem, she realizes how alone she feels.

“ everybody knows my name now but somethin' 'bout it still feels strange, like lookin' in a mirror, tryna steady yourself and seein' somebody else. ”

she’s not quite at my sanity yet, but she’s trying to get there.

“ when I'm feeling like life's really putting up a fight, and I don't know the reasons why. from the front to the back, throw my hair down my back, and I know it's gonna be alright. ”

#euplaylist #eutask #( musings. )#idk how to make graphics so this gif will do

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johannstutt413 · 4 years

Text

(requested by anonymous)

Penguin Logistics and Rhine Labs were never strongly associated; the unofficial leader of RI’s RL faction, Silence, was cordial with Penguin’s actual leader, the Emperor himself, and their interactions didn’t need to go any further. For most of their time side-by-side, the two groups really had nothing to bridge them together.

Until, that is, one arctic explorer joined from Rhine Labs. Magallan, the bright-eyed cold-weather drone specialist loved by her colleagues, had already spent some time with the Emperor. She’d visited the far north many times, and being a Liberi with some penguin-like features herself, she got along quite well with the true avians there. It was only natural that she’d find the Emperor absolutely adorable. What the employees of Penguin Logistics hadn’t quite expected was for Maggie, as the Emperor called her, to become an honorary member of PL...in a sense. After all, it’s not like his girlfriend wouldn’t be involved in the company’s affairs somehow, right?

As for the logistical concerns of their relationship...that’s not our place to speculate.

A week after she first arrived at Rhodes Island, Magallan learned that the Emperor spent a substantial amount of time in a sector of RI dedicated to him and his people; essentially, he bought that portion for his people as another of his bases, but after some time working with the Doctor and his people, it made more sense to make it their main post. He was commonly found in their office, playing hip-hop or some of Sora’s music while doing paperwork, which made him easy enough to find.

“Excuse me,” Magallan called out into the lobby of Penguin Logistics, “but is Emperor around?”

“Oh, hey, Miss Maggie! He’s in his room in the back - you can’t miss it.” Exusiai directed her from the couch, where she was splayed out, a magazine in her hands.

She nodded, mentally preparing herself. It had been awhile since she’d seen him, honestly, and even knowing he wasn’t the sort to change, what she wanted to ask him today...she had good reason to be nervous. Like Exu had said, it wasn’t hard to figure out that the room that smelled like fish and liquor was his, especially with the rap tracks pouring through the crack under the door. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. “Hey, Emperor? Do you have a minute?”

“Maggie?” The music turned down several notches, enough for her to hear the skittering of his feet across his room. A minute or two later, he opened his door. “As I live and breathe. When’d you get here?”

“A week ago. I was getting my workshop and everything set up, but I heard you were here, so...Gotta minute?”

Emperor swung the door wide open, gesturing around an office/bedroom in wild disarray. “Sit anywhere, move anything, don’t matter. I’d get you a throne, but Bison’s out right now.”

“Bison?” She perched herself on his bed, legs dangling over the side. “Is he new?”

“Yeah, new intern. Good kid, needs to learn to let loose. You’ll meet ‘em. Whatcha wanna talk about?”

Maggie blushed. “Right. Um...Do you want to go ice-skating some time?”

“Hell yeah! I know just the spot.” He crossed his flippers. “You alright, Maggie?”

“Oh, I’m more than alright,” she smiled.

Emperor nodded. “Good shit. When you wanna go? I’ve got all the time in the world for you.”

“So we can go tonight?” Maggie hopped off the bed and walked over to where he was standing by his desk. “If that’s alright with you, I’m gonna go home and change. Call me when you’re good to go?”

“Sure thing, Magpie.” He stretched his neck up and clicked softly and happily as she ruffled his feathers in just the right way. There were a few people who could get away with something like this, but he only asked for it from Magallan. No one else knew the right spots without being told.

After a good ruffling, she kissed his forehead and went on her way. A quick shower, a can of sardines, and a rifle through her closer later, and Magallan was ready. The phone rang not long after she’d gotten dressed. “Hello?”

“Hey doll, how’s it kicking?” Emperor chuckled, a very birdlike variant of the sound. “Texas is gonna take us out there; they froze a lake out near Chernobog fighting that rabbit-girl from Reunion the Doc’s got on ice in the medbay, and it’s pretty lit.”

“Sounds good to me. Wait, we’re taking care of someone from Reunion?”

He made a noise she understood to be shared confusion. “Beats me, Magpie. We’re on the way to grab ya, if you’re good.”

“I’m ready when you are.” Maggie giggled. “Poor Texas, though.”

“Don’t worry, I worked somethin’ out for her, too.”

A voice from the front seat. “Hi, Maggie!”

“Hi, Sora!” She giggled again. “Alright, I’ll see you soon.”

“Sure will. Tex, juice this puppy, we ain’t got all day!”

Magallan and the Emperor rode in the back of the car, the penguin sitting in Maggie’s lap, while Sora flirted with Texas in the front. As they drove at impressive speeds, propelled by the Lupo in the driver seat’s lead foot, the two of them made small talk, catching up from their time apart and falling back into their lovey-dovey rhythm. They’d always had a way of picking right back up where they’d left off, but because of their frequent absences from each other, it meant not much progress in between. And frankly? Both of them were tired of that. The Emperor didn’t just keep a bunch of cute girls (and Bison) around because they were effective; he needed distractions, and having a couple of Angels for his Charlie certainly made that easier...but Maggie wasn’t just another girl. His little Magpie was a Liberi closer to him than the vast majority, a well-blended mix of cheerful and rational who could temper his admittedly over-the-top personality if it needed to be, and she was cute as all hell, which amplified her other positives because he’d be paying attention to her regardless. To Magallan, the Emperor was simply incredible - a penguin, a penguin of all things, with enough mastery of Ancient language to become a successful rapper renowned for his skills and owner of perhaps Terra’s greatest logistics company (if not in size, then in spirit)? He was utterly fascinating to her, but it went further than that. The Emperor was a bad boy, the kind of person who took what he wanted when he wanted it, and yet he showed her nothing but patience. If he’d wanted, he could have had at any time, but something held him back. That kind of self-restraint was so hard to explain with the rest of his character, it had to mean something, didn’t it?

They arrived at the lake, and while Texas parked the car, Magallan and the Emperor headed directly for the ice. With one click of her heels, Maggie had her ice skates ready to go, and her date simply extended a flipper for her to hold as he slid on his feet.

“I’ve never seen a penguin skate,” she mused, watching him more than the lake around them. “Have you been practicing?”

“When your lady loves the ice, ya gotta stay fresh, so every now and again I come out for a skatin’ sesh.”

Maggie chuckled. “A rhyme for every occasion.”

“It’s not about memory, but flow, you see. Tell me, doll, why’d you invite me out this eve?”

“I wanted you back around once I had my feet on the ground; I never guessed I’d be so blessed to find you in the same town.”

He chirped for joy. “You’ve been practicing, too.”

“Gotta keep up with my boo.”

“I’m glad you do...damn.” He shook his head. “Missed the perfect line.”

Maggie smiled. “You make mistakes? I thought they were just fakes to trick the fools who don’t grasp the stakes?”

“When we’re the only two here to hear? No joke, though - shoulda said ‘Damn, I love you.’ Waste of a verse, might as well toss me in the hearse.”

“...Could we instead turn back on that subject and converse?”

Emperor looked up at her, bemused. “You know I love you.”

“I do...it’s just, you’ve never said it before.”

“Like you said, I make mistakes.” He shifted his weight to one foot as they rounded the lake’s steepest curve. “Not saying that more often is high on that list.”

She blushed. “Empy...”

“Oh, why you gotta be so damn cute.”

“When we get back,” Maggie asked, “do you wanna come over to my place for a nightcap?”

Expressing the cocktail of emotions the suggestion flooded him with wasn’t an easy task. “You askin’ me to come over?”

“At least for a drink...maybe more.”

“Lordy, lordy, lordy.” He set his other flipper to his head. “Ladies ask me back all the time. Never thought you’d follow the line.”

Magallan rolled her eyes. “Then stop holdin’ out on me, Empy.”

“Alright, then. Tonight’s the night.”

“Alright!” Without warning, she picked him up and began twirling. “You don’t wanna know how long I’ve been waiting, baby.”

Emperor flapped his flippers rapidly as if he could slow his spinning down this way. “Whoa, whoa, I getcha, I getcha, but I’m gonna retch if ya don’t quit twirlin’!”

“Sorry!” She straightened out as she let her radial momentum dissipate.

“It’s fine, you’re excited.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “We’ll go whenever you wanna.”

Maggie chirped happily. “We’ll let them have a little more time...and then you’re all mine for the night.”

#arknights #magallan (arknights)#emperor (arknights)#there's an angle to this one that makes me uncomfortable #like emperor's cool #but he is basically just a penguin #so... there's that #arknights fic

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calitraditionalism · 4 years

Text

Arc One: Chapter Nine

After the coterie gathering, Mistface and Greyleaf had parted ways. The warrior had, in fact, managed to barter for one of those ‘halo pieces’ mentioned during the story, and brought it along back home. He probably wouldn’t have gotten one if it were just for himself, but Mistface figured that Nettlecloud would appreciate the small trinket.

Once he arrived home, Mistface headed over to his mother. Though the sun had set by now, she was laying down but awake, stargazing.

“I’m back, Mama,” Mistface greeted her, setting down the sparkling rock. “Surprised you’re up, though. I’d’ve thought you’d be gettin’ rest about now.”

With an amused purr, Nettlecloud responded,”I’ve been restin’ all day, love.” Her voice still sounded a bit weak from illness, Mistface noticed. She looked over at the halo piece that was now sitting in the grass. “No need to dwell on that, though. Looks like you got yourself a deal with the Magpies?”

Mistface nodded, before sitting down next to her. “Thought I’d bring you somethin’ from that coterie. They’d been talkin’ about the moon aspect’s halo pieces durin’ the Margays’ tale.”

“Awful nice of you to do that,” Nettlecloud said with a smile. With a gently teasing tone, she added,”Perhaps you could join the Magpies yourself, with that charisma of yours.”

He rolled his eyes, but smiled back. “Mama, you know I’d be caught halfway to Starclan before you’d find me runnin’ off to try and sell everything I find.”

Nettlecloud chuckled at that. “Alright, you needn’t be so dramatic about it.” She paused, looking him over before adding,”Anyways, you should be gettin’ some rest, now. You’ve been up all day, after all. I’d love to hear more ‘bout the coterie in the morning, though.”

“Fair enough. I’ll make sure to tell you more later.” Mistface began to head over to his usual resting spot, before throwing over a glance to add one last thing. “Make sure you try and get some more rest too though, Mama. I don’t want you gettin’ sicker, alright?”

With some amusement, Nettlecloud agreed, “I will, don’t you worry. I’ll get back to restin’ off this illness soon enough.”

As the week passed, however, and Nettlecloud only seemed to be getting worse. Mistface’s concern grew as time went by.

Beetlefoot stopped by one afternoon near the end of the week. Swiftly, he headed over to Mistface. “I have another message for you and Nettlecloud from Greyleaf,” he stated promptly once he reached the tom. “Is she around?”

“Are you goin’ to insist she’s gotta be around for it?” Mistface asked with just a hint of annoyance. His tail swished a bit.

“No. I was simply asking,” Beetlefoot replied with a frown.

“Oh.” Realizing that he might’ve jumped to conclusions too quickly there, he gave as close to an apology as he could. “I’ve been a mite antsy about her. She’s restin’, at the moment. Still sick.”

“I see.” Beetlefoot shuffled his paws slightly. It occurred to Mistface that the tom actually seemed worried about Nettlecloud.

The messenger cleared his throat. “Well, Greyleaf’s message is that ‘I had a safe trip back from the coterie gathering. Thank you for coming to see me there. Thornstar’s still sick, so I’ve been busy with that, but he seems to be recovering now.’”

“That’s good,” Mistface said, but it was somewhat half-hearted. There was a brief silence between the two cats.

Beetlefoot was the one to speak up again. “Is Nettlecloud… getting better, at least?”

Mistface shook his head. “‘Fraid not. She’s only been gettin’ worse.” Another pause. “If only Greyleaf were here to check it out.”

“I could take a message to him to come back,” Beetlefoot offered, though he looked uncertain. “If she’s getting worse like you say, though, that might not be prompt enough. Even with my speed.”

The blue-grey tom, though disappointed, hummed in agreement.

“Or I could fetch a wandering healer. I know of one called Shinerpelt that should be in the area.”

This wasn’t all too comforting to him. “Pelt, you say?” Based on the suffix, it sounded like this cat didn’t have the same skill level as Greyleaf. Sure, of the options Mistface was given by a Scattered deputy, he had chosen one that wasn’t talent related, but most cats wouldn’t do that.

“Pelt,” Beetlefoot affirmed. “From what I know, he’s still quite competent, just not exceptional.”

“Right,” Mistface stated. He didn’t feel entirely convinced, but he knew it wasn’t really rational to doubt this Shinerpelt. “I’m just used to the best, I suppose. Gettin’ Shinerpelt makes the most sense. So you’re allowed to deviate from your route like that?”

The smaller tom looked a little uncomfortable. “I- Technically, Phoebestar wants messengers to stick strictly to their routes. Easier to keep track and make sure nobody’s missing, that way. She focuses a lot on safety, more so than previous Fleet leaders. But I’ll make an exception. I doubt anyone will get too upset, even if they notice at all.”

Mistface was surprised, with how dedicated to his work Beetlefoot seemed in past encounters. “I appreciate it,” he responded, with a nod. “After you send word to Shinerpelt, could you get a message to Greyleaf? Tell him our Mama has been gettin’ sicker and he should really come over for a visit, if he can.”

Beetlefoot dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I can do that. I should get going, then.”

With that, the tom sprinted off, and soon disappeared from view once again.

#warrior cats #steorra #together and apart #arc one #chapter #chapter nine #story #comet #mistface #nettlecloud #greyleaf #beetlefoot #phoebestar #shinerpelt

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justasuicidecase · 5 years

Text

Four Months

i saw this post (thank you @incorrect-goopsquad-quotes, you mates are amazing) and needed to write some light-hearted stuff for these dumbasses. hope you enjoy it!

---

Schlatt rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Editing proved to be a bitch, once again. He spent the past hour trying to cut together clips but nothing felt right. It also didn’t help that two of his friends were downstairs, making enough noise for it to travel upstairs, through a thick wooden door, and into his ears. While Charlie was just staying for a couple days, he now lived with Carson, and Cooper, Noah, and Travis. More loud jokes and rowdy laughter from the first floor. No man could focus in these conditions, Schlatt thought as he saved his progress on the half-finished video. He glanced at the clock at the bottom right of his computer’s screen. 7:53 in the evening. Time to grab leftovers for dinner, join in on the fun, and water his plant. As dumb as it was, he couldn’t help as his heart swelled with love as he thought about the tiny succulent. It was a gift from the house to him when he first moved in. Not only did it help him feel welcomed, it gave him a reason to go downstairs to the kitchen and eat on the days he forgot to. Also, he felt a sense of pride every time he watered the thing. Subconsciously, he saw it as his child. With a little extra pep in his step, the man raced down the stairs. The guys greeted him, which he weakly returned, and he moved directly to the kitchen. He had a responsibility that he needed to do. He filled the tiny cup marked for the succulent with cold tap water halfway. With the utmost care, Schlatt gently moved the plant down from the window seal—the home he dedicated the plant to after hours and hours of research about the little guy and his need for light, both natural and artificial—and set it on the countertop. The water turned the parched soil a rich brown, some droplets stayed intact on the leaves. “C’mon, you gotta get in the soil,” Schlatt muttered as he tenderly lowered the leaves with a finger. As the soil greedily soaked up the beads of nutrition, the man noticed something he hadn’t before. The feel of the leaves under his finger felt off. He investigated closer. Stroking the leaves, they felt fake. Confusion clouded his thoughts. How was this possible? Why did the leaves feel strange? Only one conclusion came to his mind: The plant he’d cared for and grew to love was fake. The bathroom door opened and closed from behind him. “Hey, Schlatt.” Carson’s voice made his fists clench. The man gripped the plant’s pot and stomped towards the living room. “Four months!” The blond’s face mixed between the dread of what he might do and amused that it took him so long to figure it out. Charlie broke in, “What’s going on?”A moment after, “Schlatt, it’s not that big a deal-”“Four months you stood there and watched me water a fake plant!” He threw his hands out in a childish rage. They waited for him to stomp his feet next. The two on the couch burst out into laughter. Schlatt wasn’t having it. He stomped back into the kitchen and placed the plant back in its spot. Even though it wasn’t a real succulent, the little guy was still his succulent. He still had a special place in his heart, and probably always will. The laughing began to cease by the time he came back. Carson wiped his eyes. “Stop baby raging over a fucking plant, man.” He couldn’t attempt to hold back the laughter that burst out of him. Schlatt sat on the couch with them, “Let’s find somethin’ to watch.”

#639 words #goopcast #smplive #jschlatt #callmecarson #slimecicle #ik ik. the ending is shit but we gonna ignore it #k folks?#writober stuff will return to normal by tomorrow #hopefully #it's a pretty weak promise #but a promise nonetheless

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returnn-of-the-mac · 5 years

Note

The companions reacting to sole not taking care of themselves not eating sleeping or drinking just doing mission after mission nonstop (and maybe the faction leaders and Haylen?)? Thanks if you do!

Thank you for the request! I loved writing up this one! Please enjoy! 😊

Fo4 Companions React: Sole Neglecting Their Health

Sole had gone weeks without properly eating, drinking, or sleeping. [He/She] had completely dedicated their time to serving the people of the Commonwealth. Despite their fragile state, Sole continued accepting quest after quest in an attempt to make the people happy. After accepting yet another hostage quest, Sole’s companion— who had been silently worrying about their friend’s condition— finally cracked:

Piper: “No more missions for now, Blue. We’re taking a break.” Sole shot an angry look at Piper, who glared back in response. “Open your eyes! take a look at yourself! You aren’t the friendly, witty, hopeful [name] I met in Diamond City anymore. You’re a hollow shell; a mindless zombie who just does mission after mission. I don’t even think you have that genuine passion to help others like you used to.” Sole looked hurt and the reporter sighed. “I’m not trying to be mean, Blue. But trust me when I say you’re falling apart. I can see it. Please, start taking better care of yourself.”

Cait: “Are ye tryin to run yerself into the ground, darlin?” Cait asked. Sole turned around to face their companion, and quickly noticed how concerned the redhead looked. “Day after day ye do this task, and ye do that task, and ye do this favor and that favor and tons of favors,” Cait took a breath, “Seems like all ye do is give, give, give. But you never take for yerself. And ye need that sometimes. Look at ye,” Cait said, scanning Sole from head to toe, “Yer pale as a ghost and bony as a skeleton! Ye look like a corpse. Eat some potato crisps. Eat somethin...anythin! Ye better not die on me, dammit.”

Codsworth: “[Sir/Mum]? Please take a break. You look unwell,” Codsworth stated, floating over to his companion, “I don’t think I’ve seen you look this drained since the first month Shaun was born. The little bugger kept you up all night!” The robot dryly chucked. “In all seriousness, you need to take care of yourself. I’m very concerned about your health...”

Longfellow: “Ever hear that folktale about the sea captain who worked himself to death among his own crew?” Sole shook their head and Longfellow chucked, “Good. Cuz I just made that up and if you’d said ‘yes’ I would’ve caught you in a lie.” He quickly composed himself, “But there is some truth to that, you know. The captain is you and the crew are the people of the Commonwealth. These people are more than capable of taking care of themselves once in a while. They were fine on their own before you came out of the Vault. But from my decades of living, I’ve come to realize that the more you give, the more people are going to take. You can never please everyone, and that’s exactly what’s happening here, lad. It’s time to help yourself now.”

Nick: “You can’t go on like this.” Sole stopped and looked at the obviously concerned detective, “You’re going to work yourself to the grave. You need to have a bite, have a drink, take a darn nap every so often.” Sole blinked and Nick’s tone softened, “I know you’re making tremendous sacrifices for the people— and that’s wonderful— but you can’t be of much assistance if you’re dead.” Nick put a supportive hand on Sole’s shoulder, “Take it from a guy who was on the same boat decades ago. I’ve burnt myself out with cases, and I’ve damn well learned my lesson. Now I’m passing this information onto you so you don’t make the same mistakes I did. You deserve happiness too, you know.”

Hancock: “When are you gonna stop, my friend?” Hancock asked, concerned. Sole looked at him. “Look, I don’t judge and I don’t like tellin people what to do. People deserve the freedom to make their own decisions. I will, however, step in when I see that things start going to shit. And I think you’re in that boat right now with your health.” Sole‘s eyes widened and Hancock gave them a stern look. “I don’t wantcha thinking that I’m some sorta bad guy, because I’m not. I’m just telling you this because it’s damn heart wrenching to watch you destroy yourself like this.” Hancock sighed, “I care about you, [name], and that’s why I’m being such a pain in the ass. Just chill out for a bit, get some food, sleep. You need it.”

Gage: “Er...boss? I think we need to talk.” Gage awkwardly looked around trying to figure out the best way to discuss the topic of his partner’s health. “I think ya need ta stop. Ya...ya look like shit.” Sole glared at their companion and he scratched his head. “What? I’m bein blunt. I ain’t gonna lie. You look like ya haven’t eaten or slept in weeks. Ya need ta start thinkin about yourself more. Your own well-bein is just as important as all those other people’s.”

Preston: “General...I think...I think this settlement can wait. You look exhausted.” Sole looked shocked as their partner looked at the ground. “I hope I’m not working you too hard and I’m so sorry if I am. I can see that you need a break, so please...just take all the time you need to recover. You deserve it.”

Strong: “Strong notice human look weaker than normal,” the supermutant commented, “Why human make self weaker? Supposed to make self stronger!” Sole stared at Strong, genuinely surprised that he’d noticed. “Human need meat. Meat make human strong. Human need sleep too. And milk. Milk make human strong like Strong!”

Curie: “Please!” Curie snapped, on the verge of tears, “Please just stop for a moment and recover! You’re dying, [Monsieur/Madame]! You’re withering away before my eyes!” The synth sniffled and wiped several tears that had begun to stream down her face. “I care very much about you, and it pains me to see you like this. You look so sickly and weak,” Curie continued, “I sincerely apologize if I am being rude, but I just want you to be healthy and happy.”

MacCready: “Uh...hey...” Macready was at a loss for words. Sole looked at him just as he finally gathered his thoughts, “We need to talk.” Sole waited and MacCready sighed. “Look. I get that you’re busy and you want to help people and all that. But when are you going to start taking care you yourself again? You look terrible.” Sole frowned and MacCready frantically tried to recover. “Hold on. Wait, wait, wait. That’s not...exactly...what I meant. What I meant was that you look really...unhealthy. You look like you haven’t had a bite of food or a millisecond of sleep in weeks. I’m really worried.” Sole remained silent and MacCready continued. “I know this probably isn’t what you want to hear, but you should really just relax for a little bit. It could do you some good. It’s hard to watch you do this to yourself, [name].”

Ada: “[Sir/Ma’am]? Maybe you should rest,” The robot stated, “You look jaded, pale, fatigued, malnourished...all symptoms of overexertion. This state can lead up to something more dangerous.” Sole stared at their companion. “Lethal conditions that can manifest as a result of these preexisting symptoms include but are not limited to: hypoglycemia, heart arrhythmia, seizure, stroke, and cardiac arrest.”

X6-88: “[Sir/Ma’am]? There’a something serious I’d like to discuss with you. Is now a good time?” Sole nodded and X6 reciprocated the gesture. “I’d like to talk to you about your health. Or rather, lack thereof,” the Courser began, “You’re deteriorating rapidly. I think it’s because you’re not allowing yourself adequate time to recuperate after an assignment.” Sole looked at the ground and X6 continued, “You are a valuable asset to the future of the Institute. We can’t afford to lose you. Come back with me and take a week off. Eat, drink, sleep, recover. You deserve it.”

Father: “Some things never change,” Father stated, catching Sole’s attention. “Just like in the old days, you’re still a workaholic and a people-pleaser. Working long hours, neglecting your own needs. When will you learn? The more you give, the more these people will take,” Father explained, “They’re never going to be completely happy. So put yourself first. Come back to the Institute and rest up. It saddens me to see you in this state.”

Deacon: “Hey pal. We need to talk. Seriously,” Deacon stated, sternly. Sole faced him, shocked by his unusually serious demeanor. “I know your busy and stressed and stuff but...for once I can’t lie. You look terrible.” Sole was taken aback, and he continued, “Look, I’m not saying this stuff to be mean. I’m just worried about you. I know you haven’t eaten, drunk, or slept in days. Starvation, dehydration, and exhaustion aren’t exactly easy on the looks. You’ve gotta take better care of yourself.”

Desdemona: “Hey. You need to take a break,” Desdemona stated flatly, “You’re going to burn yourself out at this rate.“ Sole faced the redhead, who promptly lit a cigarette. “I know I’m not one to be preaching about self-care, but I’ve seen countless people work themselves to death.You need to take care of yourself, and you need to do it now.”

Danse: Danse hesitated for a moment before finally speaking. “When you have a moment soldier, I...uh...I’d like to discuss something with you.” Sole stopped in their tracks and looked at their partner. The Paladin shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not my place to talk to you about this but...I’ve been concerned about your health lately, solider,” he continued, “I admire your dedication to helping others. Your allegiance to the people of the Commonwealth is truly commendable. But at some point, you have to put yourself first.” Sole frowned in shame, and Danse furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t want you beating yourself up over this, alright? In the future, just be more mindful of your physical and mental health, soldier.”

Haylen: “Uh...hey. I think it’s about time you take a rest,” Haylen stated, her voice laced with concern, “You’ve been running on empty for the past, what, like three weeks now? Don’t you think it’s time for a break?” Sole shrugged and Haylen rolled her eyes. “Between you, Danse, and Rhys...you’re all so stubborn. Why don’t you take care of yourselves for a change?” She focused her attention back on Sole. “It might be better in the long run for you to...eat and sleep every so often. It’s not healthy to run yourself down like this. You’re going to seriously hurt yourself.”

Maxson: “Hm. I understand you want to help the people of the Commonwealth, but your health seems to be at stake right now,” Maxson commented, “Maybe you should consider food? Or sleep? Maybe water?” Sole stared at Maxson, and the Elder continued, “As valuable of an asset as you are to our team, I am going to have no choice but to put you on temporary leave until you are healthy enough to serve for us. Consider this a warning. Either start taking care of yourself, or you will be barred until you are considered fit for duty again.”

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eivor-wolfkissed · 5 years

Note

kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing, for Orthur and reader maybe 🤠

Hhh thank you sm, this has been sitting in my inbox a bit and I’m excited to get it out. Gender neutral reader and fluff ahead!

————————

Arthur intently ran his pencil down the page of his journal, pushing curves and pulling smooth lines to create a portrait. He never knew what kind of trouble he would run into these days, drawing was relaxing, and he wanted to make the picture last. He watched you on the other side of the small camp you both made, sitting on a rock overlooking the cliffside and fiddling with your knife. The mountains breaching the blue skies before them, the focused expression on your face, and the blessed quiet put Arthur in a creative mood. He poured as much detail as he could into the scene so he could remember it.

Arthur glanced up to compare the art to his reference only to find you suddenly gone. Typical, he thought to himself. I don’t think I ever seen them sit still for more than ten minutes. Despite it all he still found it rather amusing. Over the last few months, Arthur had taken it upon himself to do a proper portrait of you, which had proven to be difficult since he never had a still reference, as you were definitely a more active member in the gang. But he relished the challenge. The dedicated artist went back to his picture, adding little flowers here and there and adjusting some details to your figure. He was so caught up in it that he didn’t hear your footsteps behind him.

A soft kiss on his cheek caught him completely off guard. Arthur dropped his pencil in the grass. “Jesus!” He looked to find you standing over him, pencil in your hand. “Didn’t see you there,” he ducked his head down, slightly embarrassed as he gently took the pencil from you, brushing his fingers against yours and going right back to the sketch. You watched him for a few more moments. Arthur was seemingly engrossed in his art, but you were bored, so you sat right next to him and kissed him on the cheek again.

“What’re you up to, cowboy?” You said between kisses, planting another one on the corner of his mouth. Arthur smiled, putting his pencil down.

“You causin trouble again?” He flipped his journal closed. “You’s always up to somethin ain’t you?”

“Yep,” You smiled back at him, a mischievous glint in your eye. “I’m bored. And dreadfully curious about your latest picture....”

“Well it ain’t finished yet sweetheart, you gotta wait.”

“You know patience really isn’t my strong suit, case you weren’t aware...”

Arthur laughed softly. “Oh I’ve noticed alright,” He tucked his journal underneath his leg, fully aware of the tactics you were using on him now, and decided to turn the tables. “Need you to listen up a bit.”

You stopped, brows furrowed in confusion, when he suddenly pulled you into another kiss. A proper one this time. It was now your turn to be caught off guard, you thought as you returned his kiss enthusiastically. He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and finished with a chaste kiss on your hand. “Appreciate you takin me out here,” Arthur mumbled softly.

“Anytime,” You grinned and drew closer to him, laying your head on his shoulder. It was moments like these that kept him going, little reminders that even someone like he wasn’t unworthy of being loved. If he could attract someone like you, Arthur mused, maybe life wasn’t so bad after all.

#arthur morgan x reader #asks #kissing prompts #arthur morgan x gender neutral reader

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interrogatormentors · 4 years

Text

Event Ten: Ghosts

Despite all of Eridan’s hopes to the contrary, life did not return to normalcy after the events aboard the HBC Condescension. The Reichenbach found its flight path altered a perigee later, rescheduled from routine patrols near the Syphoran border to instead orbit around the Empress’ ship in a listless rotation. Tensions rose within the ship as the crew grew restless with inactivity, with no answers from the higher-ups as to why their schedules had changed so drastically without warning.While hiring hadn’t been in his repertoire when he gained the position, Eridan had grown to take pride in his success in finding dedicated crew members as Head Admin. None of the people he hired had come to the Reichenbach seeking a cushy escort ship position. But how could Eridan even begin to explain the Empress’ sudden obsession with him when he barely understood it himself?

Another night saw another orbit around the HBC Condescension, and Eridan’s finger tapped an unsteady beat on his own arm held behind his back as he watched the ship pass underneath them from a viewport. Sometimes coming this close meant nothing, just that their hulls almost kissed with the two helmsmen aboard each ship playing a careful dance around each other. Most of the time, however, it meant an interruption to Eridan’s routine. If he waited by the airlock for a summons, odds were half the time that the Empress would keep him waiting for hours before sending him a flippant message that she had no need of him that day. If he tried to get any work done with the schedules or order forms, that was always when she needed him most.

Eridan reached into the breast pocket of his uniform as he watched the other ship, fumbling out a small flask he’d taken to carrying with him. God, he hated this backup uniform. The pockets were so tight he had to shimmy out his flask with more than a little difficulty, garnering odd looks whenever he did so. He didn’t have a dependency or anything, despite the concerned glances the crew cast towards him. There was no shame in steadying his nerves. What did anyone expect? The Empress had an intimidating aura by virtue of position and maybe some pheromones; anyone would need a little help to withstand her presence. Besides, she seemed to like him better a little tipsy anyway. His jokes seemed to land more, eliciting tinkling laughs that echoed Feferi in the most pusher-pulling way. And when the Empress had trimmed and pierced his bitten fin with her own nails, setting golden rings and fuschia stones in the membrane, he had soldiered through the pain without so much as a whimper.

Bricks’ voice pierced through his musings, and Eridan hastened to stow away the flask before turning around. “Were you listening to me, Ampora?”

“What?” Eridan ran his fingers through his hair, mind struggling to catch up to the conversation. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course.”

“So you’ll be there in an hour?”

“Yeah.” Eridan glanced to the side, back to the other ship out the viewport. “I’ll be at…?”

“Shakes’ DnD session? You missed the last three,” Bricks said. “You doing okay?”

Eridan nodded, opening his mouth, but squeaked and jumped instead as his palmhusk buzzed. He fished it out, waving off Bricks’ questions as he opened Trollian.

[textileAperture [TA] has begun trolling caligulasAquarium[CA]!]

TA: 8< is this Head Admin Eridan Ampora?

CA: wwhat howw did you get this handle wwhore you

TA: 8< um

TA: 8< the Empress’ seamstress.

TA: 8< she said you’d be here at four for a new uniform fitting?

Eridan wracked his pan for any mention of a fitting, checking the time. Five. Upon drawing a blank he stuffed his palmhusk back in his pocket. “Sorry, gotta go,” he said, making for the airlock without hesitation and brushing past Bricks. “Tell the others I can’t make it.”

“What?” The odd tone of Bricks’ voice rankled Eridan in a way that had him hunching his shoulders. “Hey Ampora, if you need to talk--”

“Get back to work, Bricks,” Eridan called back down the hall. If he sounded a little too quick, too agitated, that wasn’t anyone’s business but his own. He had his priorities in order. The Empress came first. Any thoughts to the contrary were tantamount to treason.

He broke into a run once Bricks was out of sight, speeding across the length of the ship until he came to a halt in front of the airlock doors. Eridan inhaled sharply to catch his breath before hammering on the intercom button.

“Oh my god, stop!” Shakes’ voice said from the intercom. “You wanna dock?”

“Yes! Of course! Hurry it up!”

“Do I have to? The Helmsman gives me the fucking willies every time I have to interface. He didn’t think entering the docking code in Wingdings was funny last time either. Everybody fucking looooves the Wingdings.”

“Fuckin’ dock now, Riesse!” Eridan pressed his face an inch away from the intercom, not bothering to swipe away the sweaty hair that fell into his eyes. How could he have forgotten? He was late, so fucking late, and the Empress would have his head if she found out.

Shakes swore under his breath, and the ship changed directions to align its docking bay with the HBC Condescension. Eridan bounced on the balls of his feet, every muscle tensed as he watched the other ship extend the docking corridor. “Come on, come on, come on,” he said, chewing his lips like a woofbeast worrying a bone.

The moment the airlock opened Eridan sprinted off, footsteps clanging on the metal. The Helmsman’s voice crackled over the intercom as he ran. “Welcome back, Eridan. Do you know where you are going?”

“Not now, Helmsman. I’m late!” Eridan grabbed onto the corner of a wall as he slid past, swinging himself in a wide circle into the intersecting hallway without slowing his momentum.

“Late for…?”

“The fuckin’-- the uniform fittin’! Shit-- Okay, where’s the fuckin’ seamstress at?”

“Which one?”

Eridan stopped, boots squeaking once on the floor as he came to a standstill. “Uh. Fuck.” Had he forgotten another detail? What was happening to him? “I dunno. A jade- She had a scissor quirk or somethin’.”

“Ah, you want Marlen. Uploading floorplan to your palmhusk now.”

Eridan flinched as his palmhusk buzzed, but pulling it out showed only a message from torpidAnnihilator, with the map of the ship as promised. Part of Eridan wondered if anyone else was privy to such information. He could see every pathway, every escape pod, every crew member flitting about with their attached hex code. Eridan pulled his eyes away from the #77003C currently stationed somewhere in the upper decks, following the plan as it zoomed in without any input on a hexcode in the X74 zone of the ship.

Eridan started running again, glancing down every time he rushed into a new corridor to assess his progress. He ignored HBC Condescension crewmembers he passed in their gilded uniforms, having no time to waste on the way they tittered as he passed. By the time he made it to the X zone of the ship from B, his lungs burned with a fire like switching from salt to freshwater without time to adjust.

Eridan slammed his hand on the pad outside the door, swearing when the pad flashed red. “No, fuck, this has to be the right block!” He slapped the pad a few times, breathing starting to catch in his throat before the door slid open to reveal a tall jade holding a bag.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, setting the bag down. “I didn’t get a response, so I was just packing up to go.”

“No, well, I’m here now,” Eridan said, pushing past her into the block. He turned his head, coughing into his elbow as his chest continued to ache. “You’re Marlen, right? Look, if you’re busy, you really shoulda told me so I could reschedule instead of bookin’ my ass all the way here for you.” He pulled his flask out again, draining the rest and stifling another cough around the burning soporific.

“Sir, you never--” Marlen stopped herself after catching the look Eridan shot at her, closing her eyes and taking a breath before starting again. “Of course, Admin Ampora. Just let me get set up again. Go ahead and get undressed behind that screen there.”

Eridan went behind the folding screen the jade indicated, starting to relax once he was both out of immediate sight and starting to feel the warming effects of the soporific he’d just imbibed back around Bricks. He smoothed his hair down, letting his fins wave freely to cool himself off before stripping. He donned the overlarge uniform that the seamstress draped atop the screen’s edge, eyes lingering for a moment on the fuschia strip running the length of his sleeve.

Eridan slid the folding screen back, stepping out into the room again once he stopped hearing his pusher beating in his eardrums. Kanaya was waiting for him, comparing two seemingly identical spools of black thread with a pin already pursed between her lips.

Kanaya?

Before Eridan could open his mouth to ask where Marlen had gone, Kanaya had vanished and Marlen was back. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment. “... Is everything alright, Admin Ampora?”

Eridan cleared his throat and shook his head, closing his eyes. “Yeah, uh. Sorry. Shit. Where do you want me?”

And there she was again when he opened his eyes. Kanaya waved her hand in front of her and he obeyed, in a daze as he tried to figure out what was going on as he stood before the mirror she indicated. This wasn’t right.

But as Eridan closed his eyes and opened them again, Kanaya remained. She extended an expectant hand, and without thinking he stuck out his own arm. Kanaya plucked the pin from her lips, pinching his sleeve to judge the give before using the pin to close up the excess fabric. “I must say, Eridan, I was not expecting much upon meeting again and yet somehow, I am still disappointed in you. Is this really how you are spending your time now?”

Eridan swallowed, managing a strangled “Nnng,” that Kanaya quickly dismissed with an imperious upward quirk of her eyebrow. Eridan cleared his throat before trying again. “Nice to… To see you, Kan?” His voice was a trembling murmur, almost unintelligible.

Kanaya let out a soft tsk, the click of her tongue echoing in the entire block. “Oh, do speak up if you have anything to say... though, I cannot say I can return the sentiment.” She held up a finger, looking down her nose at Eridan until his words shriveled like so much ash on his tongue. “You are well aware of what you did, and what you are doing now.”

“Do I?” Eridan flinched when Kanaya cast him a disdainful look, another pin coming dangerously close to piercing one of his torso gills. “Er, I mean, sure. I guess? I ain’t doin’ anythin’ wrong anymore, though.” His throat felt dry, a tickle itching at it and an increasing need for the bottles of soporifics starting to pile up in his block.

“Nothing legally wrong, perhaps.” Kanaya picked up her thread again, thumb running over the individual spools before selecting the thread on the right. She touched the end of the thread to her tongue, wetting the end. Her sharp fangs caught in the light, somehow so much sharper than Eridan remembered. She threaded the needle, getting to work tightening his sleeves. “But tell me, Eridan dear. How much dignity do you have left to you at the moment? I cannot imagine much, considering you are going belly-up faster than an inadequately fed pet fish.”

Eridan kept himself staring forward, focusing on the wall ahead despite the echoes of highblood rage gathering in his acidic digestive pouch. He tried exercising the control the Condesce had been doing her best to drill into him. You have to learn to control those feelin’s, guppy. Just turn them off, like a husktop. “You’re wrong.” Despite himself, his wigglerhood stutter almost lead him to stumble over his w’s, and he clenched a fist so tight his nails dug into his palm as he refocused his control.

“Oh, damn, I find myself helpless before the verbose defense you have placed before me,” Kanaya deadpanned, tutting again as she pulled out a pair of shears from her belt. The blades barely whispered as they cut through the excess fabric. “Why do you even bother denying this? You are only lying to yourself at this point.”

“I--”

Kanaya pointed her shears directly at him, and Eridan shut his mouth with an audible snap. “You know it. Your crew knows it. They whisper behind your back and it is only a matter of time before there is a mutiny against your authority that not even your captain will have the capability to suppress. The Empress will tire of you eventually, and you will be left to pick up the pieces should she deign to leave you anything.”

Eridan looked down at the ground, sweat dripping down the length of his nose again as Kanaya went back to hemming his uniform jacket. “No,” he said. “She’s thinkin’ of namin’ me a’ official consort, so I don’ know where you’re gettin’ all this talk of me bein’ some kind of throwaway lapwarmer.” He gritted his teeth, flinching to look away as Kanaya scoffed. “Really. I wanted this. I’m finally gettin’ the respect I deserve.” His nails dug even tighter into his palm, voice beginning to shake as violet blood started dripping down his knuckles to the floor. “I dunno where you’ve fuckin been, Maryam, but I’m makin’ strokes in the fuckin’ world all of you rebel fuckheads couldn’t imagine in your wildest dreams.”

“A gilded cage is still a cage,” Kanaya said. She almost sounded sad, then, but her tone quickly adjusted to reflect her earlier distaste. “Colors aside,” she paused, tapping the stripe of tyrian running along his sleeve before picking up her needle once again, “she marks you so shamelessly she may as well have you branded to finish the job.”

Eridan stiffened, suppressing a growl. “You don’ know anythin’.”

Kanaya sighed, setting down her needle and putting a hand on her hip as she gestured with the other towards his cut ear. “You know your history, Eridan, and you spend quite a bit of time with the last remnant of Ancient Alternian slavery practices.” She began to circle around him, leaning her cheek into her hand in exasperation. “You know why the Helmsman’s ear was cut, to identify him in the slaving markets. You know why the Condesce bit your ear, and why she failed to heal it back to functional status it despite her more than capable regenerative abilities.” Kanaya advanced on him, eyes narrowed to predatory slits as she reached out. “You’re nothing more than a lowblood slave playing at royalty.”

“Stop it! Stop it! Shut up!” Eridan lashed out before Kanaya’s fingers could touch his torn fin, digging his claws into the flesh of her cheek and flinging her away.

Marlen slammed into the mirror behind her with a crack with the force of Eridan’s strike, falling to her knees as she raised a shaking hand to the fresh wound on her face. Eridan’s chest heaved, mind reeling as he attempted to reconcile what he had just experienced to the terrified troll in front of him. He shook his head so hard his glasses flew off his face, jade and violet speckles of blood spattering to the floor from his now quite injured hand. “Go.” When Marlen hesitated Eridan bared his teeth, screaming as he threw out an arm. “Go!”

Marlen scooted backwards before she found her footing, scrambling up and bolting for the door. She bobbed an awkward curtsy as she left, which Eridan for the most hopeful moment thought intended for him until he caught the scent of the sea. He sank to his knees, defeated and staring down at the floor as he caught the sound of heels against tile.

“Oh, guppy, what have you done to dearest little Marlen?” The Condesce extended her trident, tipping up Eridan’s chin with a prong to enforce eye contact. “She looks a right wreck of a wiggler.”

“I… I’m sorry,” Eridan said. His throat felt dry, so dry, but he knew all too well that he’d drunk his entire flask only a few minutes before. He wanted to disappear. “I didn’ mean it.”

The Empress reached down, hauling him up to his feet as if he weighed no more than a couple of grapes, grabbing his glasses almost as an afterthought. She took his injured hand in hers, swiping away a streak of jade from the puncture wounds in his palm. The skin glowed pink before healing over, pain fading to a memory. She pushed his glasses up his nose, tutting at him. “But I so hoped you’d appreciate my little surprise. Don’t you like your new uniform, little clam?”

“Surprise?” Eridan struggled through his panic, trying to fight through his sopored up fog. “But… But she said you scheduled me for four? I was late. I didn’ mean to disappoint you, I’ll make it up to you, really.”

The Empress tittered as she circled Eridan, smile widening into a wicked grin. “Oh, did she? I must have forgotten to let you know. How shelly of me!” She slid across his shoulders, giving them a soft squeeze.

Eridan choked back a whimper, but the Empress’ amusement immediately snapped into cold indifference at the sound. “What was that?” Her claws bunched in the loose fabric on his shoulders.

Panic ran through him but he couldn’t afford to show it. He couldn’t give her a reason to be upset, he had to be good. “Nothin’.” There was only a fleeting sense of relief that graced him for the fact that those words didn’t shake.

“Eridan, Eridan, you shelly, foolish buoy.” The Empress stroked his cheek before sliding a hand down his forearm, moving back around to hold both of his arms at the wrists. “What did I say about your feelin’s?”

“They don’t matter,” Eridan said. He swallowed. “I gotta… gotta control myself.”

“That’s right,” the Empress cooed. She squeezed his wrists once before releasing him, setting her trident upon the floor. She held a hand out, eyes flicking once to the shears. Eridan obeyed the implicit order, fumbling the shears once before managing to hand them over to her. “Good buoy.” The Empress stroked his hair, rubbing a hornbed until Eridan sagged and closed his eyes. “And what happens when you lose control of yourself?”

“I get… I get punished.” Eridan could hardly more than a whisper, his adrenaline from his earlier experience fading into dull resignation. “It’s what I deserve,” he continued when the Empress paused in her ministrations.

“You’re learnin’, good.” The Empress pulled her hand from his horn, lifting his hand. Eridan opened an eye a crack, muscles tensing as she raised the shears to his finger tips. The Empress began to cut his nails with the shears, agonizingly slow so the nails fell to the floor in perfect crescents. “You know I take no joy in this, guppy. I want you to succeed, I want you to rise above your baser instincts.” The shear’s blades cut into the quick of Eridan’s pinky, but he schooled back his expression into a blank mask. He was lucky he wasn’t losing a finger at the moment. “Until then, we gotta take these preconchions. I don’ like treain’ you like a pitiful little meowbeast, but I can’t have you savagin’ any more of my trusted workstaff. Do you know how much I must invest into a reliable member of my staff? Do you know how easily ranks can be infiltrated by traitors?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Eridan flinched as a cool hand touched his cheek, but relaxed when the Condesce only wiped away an errant tear that he hadn’t even been aware of. “I won’t do it again. I promise.”

He yelped as the Empress smacked at his face with the flat of the shears’ blades, his eyes shooting wide open. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, guppy,” she said, no sickly pretense of tenderness left in her voice. “We both know what you’re like. What are you?”

“A… A failure.” Eridan knew the answer she wanted by this point. There was no point fighting it, at this point. He’d learned.

The Empress lowered the shears, rage immediately dissipating. “That’s right.” She set the shears down, considering she’d clipped all his nails anyway, holding out her arms out. Eridan’s feet moved of their own accord, shuffling him forward into her embrace. She tucked his head into his chest, rocking him slowly in a rolling motion like the waves. “There we go. Should we retire to my blocks? We can get you a nice pick me up before you work to make up for what you’ve done. Do you like the sound of that, little one?”

“Yeah, yeah. I want to.” Eridan hung his head as the Empress pulled away, staring at the floor all the way back to the Empress’ bedchambers. After a few drinks, the panic his own mind had conjured faded into the background. His view shifted from floor to ceiling, the intricately gilded designs of the Empress’ ceiling tiles branding themselves into his eyelids. He saw nothing more.

#homestuck #homestuck au #interrogatormentors #fic #eridan ampora #the condesce #illustrated fic #hallucinations #kanaya maryam #gaslighting #emotional manipulation #abuse #visual hallucinations #alcoholism #alcohol use

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theheartchoice · 5 years

Text

Providence

dean/cas | teen | 2k | canonverse s6 | ao3

for @profoundnet's bi-weekly Bot Stat challenge. prompt issued: July 9th 2019

dedicated to @saltnhalo ~ crack-free! 😘

Dean is cleaning his gun. Cas is the pizzaman. Sam is on the demon blood again.

Dean doesn't miss the apple-pie life, not really. He's a Hunter and this is what they do, this is the life for him. Doesn't mean he can't do with some small comforts, now and then. Or some hope - even if it's just a clue to find a way to stop the stuff of nightmares from wreaking havoc on the world. Pizza helps, too.

So, she broke things off.

..Unclip the mag..

So what?

..Clear the chamber..

Not like Dean really expected it to last, right?

..This cloth probably needs to be thrown..

Guess it was nice while it lasted.

..Where's the pipe cleaner?..

Maybe it would've been nice to last a while longer.

..Need more oil..

Had a whole year, though. And it was a pretty good year, as Hunter standards go.

..Should grab some rock salt, too. Runnin' low..

Sure as hell wasn't perfect. Dean was no model boyfriend or parental figure. Not with all his baggage, his demons.

..Need to make a list. Probably need a bunch of stuff. Wonder if Soulless Sammy's hacked any more cards yet..

That life isn't the thing to miss, though. That's not the life for him. He misses them. Her smile, her strength, her warmth. Little Ben growing up so fast, Dean pained he'll miss the rest. But he's not that guy - Mr. Family Man. They deserve better.

..They can hit the store before they leave town. Baby needs fuel. Grab some Johnny to replace the backup. Get outta dodge before the rains come. Sam can find 'em a case once they hit the interstate. They need snacks for the road, too. With any luck they'll find some monster to gank by nightfall..

Dean's only halfway through with their arsenal when his stomach reminds him he's past due for supper. Dinner had been a bust; Soulless Sam needs a lesson in acceptable menu classics, asap. Forget beheading a vamp with a baseball bat he could've sworn wasn't on the pitch a moment earlier - Dean'll be lucky not to get salmonella poisoning from that so-called food!

The mini fridge is bare, the cooler barer - unless you count half a dozen syringes of Dead-Man's blood. Dean doesn't. But considering Sam's choice for dinner, maybe he does? Never again. Sam is off food-duty until further notice.

What Dean could really go for, right now, is some pizza. Extra Large and all to himself. There's gotta be takeout menus around here somewhere.

He's barely scuffed one boot over the worn carpet when there's a rap at the door. At midnight. Sam wouldn't knock. Soulless Sam even less likely.

Grabbing one from the newly-cleaned stash, Dean silently draws up into the crook of wall between door and curtained window, gun cocked. Swift to pull it open and hard to throw himself against it, on the other side of that door is the last person Dean expected to see. "Cas?" Standing in a fuzzy halo of sickly yellow halogen, holding a goddamned miracle in his arms. "Is that pizza?"

"I thought you might be hungry."

"For me?" Cas nods. Dean yanks him - and the pizza - inside. "I'm starved, actually. That's some good timin'."

And so much for the brief trip into Bizarro World where a certain Angel actually respects personal space; Cas' hands are on Dean - shoulder and forehead as he tries to lean over the table, flipping the lid to inspect the toppings. Meatlovers and extra BBQ sauce. Awesome. But those hands are turning him away from pizza, now. "What's up with you?"

"You're not in any stage of starvation, Dean. You're in perfect health.. Aside from you-.. your wrist." He takes Dean's arm from bicep to sprain without hesitation. "What happened?"

It's kinda hard to shrug outta the grip of a guy who could literally throw you as far as the eye can see. "Vamp nest. But we got 'em, no biggy." No more deaths once they arrived in town, too, which was a nice change. "Can we eat? Sam bought, like, raw fish for dinner, man - I think it's still swimmin' around in there." Dean eyes the garbage where he tossed his takeout container, forcing back bile at the memory: one hasty bite before he'd realised his mistake. It had been.. slimy.

One of Cas' hands slips from his bicep to palm over Dean's stomach. The other leaves his wrist, at least, so Dean seizes the moment and steals the nearest slice from the box; chase away a bad memory with something good. OH, yeah - screw clouds - this is heaven.

"Nihon unagi."

"Huh―?" Dean tries not to let the precious pizza tumble from his mouth.

"Freshwater eel, and they're not swimming. Not consciously, anyway."

Dean's jaw stills. He stares at Cas.

"Digestive enzymes."

Oh, of course.

Cas' eyes refocus on Dean's pizza. No - his hand. His injury. "May I..?"

Mid-chew, Dean figures it can't hurt. He switches his pizza from right to left and holds out the sprain he'd forgot he had.

Cas' hand closes careful around it, a slip of warmed ice flowing quick through Dean's veins - and then his minor injury is minor no more.

"Thanks," Dean murmurs, and follows it with another mouthful of beef and pepperoni.

Cas leaves him to his second slice to survey the room. "Where is Sam?"

"Li'b'ary.." This is food. This is what every meal should taste like. All the meat, rich with smokey goodness. "R'se'rch."

"I thought you said the case was over?" Cas regains some proximity to the little round table where Dean stands with hips hugging the large pizza box. He takes a few moments to chew, swallow - rushing the savour-part, but Angels don't really understand the pleasure of a good pizza-pie, now do they?

"Not that. Purgatory." With slice #3 in hand, he realises he's got nothing to wash it down with. Slightly annoyed, he leads Cas past the bed laden with guns to the one neatly made with a duffel bag open on top. He pulls out a book, hands it over. "Officially, it's a work of fiction, and we still don't really know what we're dealin' with exactly, but.." He takes another bite. "..There may be a way to counteract the spell Crowley plans on usin'. Last line of defense, sorta thing."

Cas goes pensive and Dean goes back to his pizza, leading Cas over to their Wall of Crazy. They're still trying to track Crowley's whereabouts; It's ongoing. Vamps get beheaded on slow progress days.

"It's almost midnight."

So..?

"The library would be closed."

Dean gawks. "You know what time libraries close in small-town America?" Cas nods, clearly not seeing the issue. Whatever. "Not a library, a church. Secret archive in the foundations. The pastor, Father Roberto, let him in, a favour for takin' care of the vamps." The fact that one of them had been a colleague of his must've hit close enough to home to warrant unlocking the storm shelter: a small basement room stocked with hunter-esque reads. The guy had only been in their once - twice, including when he caught his former colleague breaking the rules with B&E (and reading).

They may not find anything ther, but since Sam doesn't need sleep nowadays he agreed to pull the all-nighter and check for certain before they skip town.

Gaze flitting from Dean and his pizza, to the leatherback book in his hands and up to the Crazy Wall, Cas keeps his thoughts to himself. He looks concerned, wary almost.

"You okay?"

Cas turns the book over, gently. "Where did you get this?" he says to the back cover.

"St. Bruno's. Got quite the collection of lore stashed away in the basement, but Roberto confiscated that one from one of the vamps, before.." Dean trails off, leaving out the details of his bloody foul ball at the local park. "Demonic possession's a big feature, no surprises there. Some monster stuff and gods stuff scattered through - most of it we know already from Bobby's. Also a bunch of balony text. But there was a couple dozen copies of that," he points at Cas' hands with his pizza tip, "so we figured we should see what else was down there that might be useful."

He joins Cas by the map printouts, newspaper clippings, highlighted notes and online article stubs. He watches as Cas traces delicate fingers over the black leather and gold-embossed spine. There's something about the way he handles it - with such care, and hesitation. It's a little odd, but then again he did kinda the same thing with Chuck's books, too. Only this time he hasn't even opened it.

"It's a graphic novel," Dean explains, "Words and images in a badass, super freaky, pretty damn cool comic strip setup." He'd been more impressed by it than Sam. Apparently his brother's passion for all things Geek was another thing that'd been left behind. It's one thing Dean never thought he'd miss.

Cas is still regarding the ripples in the leather when Dean's pocket vibrates. "You find somethin'?" The last thing he expects to hear are the words Demon and Blood, but measured against the bar of strangeness and crappy circumstance that is their lives, Dean's not as freaked out as he probably should be.

Soulless Sam, Heaven at war with itself, Purgatory existing, Angelic pizza-men.. Anything's possible these days.

"What about Demon Blood?" Cas must feel Dean's eyes on him because he looks up to pay attention. Dean nods along, shakes his head, wishes he had that spare Johnny to wash down the news. "Yeah, okay. Grab what you can. Forget finding a new case, we'll head to Bobby's in the morning." Hanging up, Dean can feel Cas' eyes on him. "Apparently, St. Bruno's has a book on demons we haven't seen before. Says somethin' about Demon blood relating to Purgatory, but he can't read much of it. Says it's in 'some kind of code'," and Dean shakes his head away from the shadowy thought of just how much of 'Sam' is really left.

Code-breaking? He used to do that shit for fun, at breakfast, before Dean had even poured his first cup of coffee. Now he.. can't? Or he's just not interested? Dean's not sure which is worse.

Cas' face steals back to Angelness, all signs of wariness painted over with a blank canvas. He glances at the clock, oddly, and places the book gently down on the nightstand. "I have to go."

And it's not like Dean expected him to stay, but it would've been nice. Least he brought pizza. "Yeah, okay. We'll keep in touch, let you know what we find."

Cas nods, and Dean can tell he's about to I Dream of Jeannie it outta there, so he quickly adds, "―You too, you hear me? Don't be a stranger." They lock eyes for a moment, and it feels like old times. "Thanks for the pizza."

With a tilted trace of a smile, Cas nods again, softer. "Be careful, Dean."

The fridge kicks on as invisible wings take flight. An owl hoots somewhere outside, waiting for an answer. It's suddenly quiet and the room feels empty in a way it hadn't before. Lonely.

He flicks on the old box set, turns some late night movie low, and snags the pizza box along with the little black book to settle down in the neatly made bed, tossing his duffel aside.

HP Lovecraft may have some relevance to what they're dealing with, but for now he just reads for the hell of it. To get lost in it; someplace else, somehow familiar. It's a clue, a step in the right direction, hopefully. And though it's not exactly a comfort, there's something grounding in knowing the answers are out there, somewhere. They just gotta keep looking.

There's fiction and there's reality, and sometimes the impossible is what's real. Sometimes it's a nightmare instead of a dream. That's the Hunter life. Figuring out what's dark fantasy and what's really lurking in the shadows.

No Lisa, no Ben. No Sam, even if he walked through that door right now. Bobby three states away. Cas off at war.

He's got pizza and Lovecraft's Cosmicism and Mitchum on the grainy tube. It's not everything, but it's enough. With any luck he'll dream of something better, something more. Probably the best he can hope for, really: if he can't have a better life, dreams might be the closest he ever gets.

But as long as he gets his four hours, he'll manage, dreams (or nightmares) or no.

The telltale pitter-patter of rain starts in, grows steadily heavier as the pages turn, the black-and-white noir futzing and pizza filling him, making him sleepy. He drifts off to the flicker of blue neon through the tear in the curtain by his bed, distantly wishing he'd removed his boots or at least his belt; it's digging into him, but he knows on the plus side he'll be ready to jump up and fight if something goes bump in the night.

Just another night in the Hunter's life.

#destiel ficlet #s6 #profoundnet #botstat #angel cas #pizza #soulless sam #night #lonely dean #hunter dean #myficlets #deancas #cv #teen #dean pov #motels #hp lovecraft #purgatory portal

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alitheamateur · 5 years

Text

The Grind-Chapter 29

I helped clean up the dishes, and he emptied all our trash into the dumpster behind the shop before we journeyed to the next stealthy location on his to-do list. I made sure to cork the pricey wine bottle so I could take the last bit home to sip on in bed with him, not wanting to waste a drop of the bittersweet goodness. Colton peeled off his jacket to drape over my bare back since the evening temperatures had chilled noticeably, then we locked up and he offered his aid to the car, considering my acutely inebriated state.

Instead of following the traffic further into the eventful side of town, we made a left and headed off towards the outskirts. It was a part of Pittsburgh that normally would have me on edge consider the late hour, but with Colton at the wheel there was truly never any reason to fear. He wasn’t a certified superhero, or a proclaimed savior of humanity, but I felt he was my own personal, daunting vigilante. I was independent, and capable on my own, but with him I could be fearless.

I looked out the side window as the streetlights and skyscrapers became scarce, and felt the dizzy aftershock of the merlot floating through my veins, creating a warm blaze over my cheeks. Rolling the window down a crack for some cool breeze to chill my alcoholic hot flash, we turned on the very familiar street where Mac’s gym used to sit. I stretched in my seat to get a good look around, continuing the trend of confusion.

“You okay, Livvy?” Colton tested as he parallel parked directly in front of the cloudy, dust stained windows of the unoccupied building.

“Yeah, just a little hazy from the wine is all. And wondering what we’re doing here.”

He only half-smiled and opened the door, gesturing for me to follow suit. Checking carefully for any oncoming vehicles, I slung open the passenger side to meet my offered escort on the sidewalk. The “A” of the sign above the doorway was cracked and barely hanging on by some sketchy wires, and the street number that was stickered on the glass was pared and faded. I felt instantly sad for Colt seeing the current state his once second home. In fact, it had probably been more of a home to him than the old, dingy apartment he was held up in when we first met, considering the innumerable hours he spent training here. As our steps accidently synced in speed toward Mac’s, Colton tore away a graffiti marked “For Sale” sign heftily tapped to the glass. He disconnected our hands to pull a key tucked away in a pocket of his wallet…

Shards of broken glass from the overhead lights furthermore shattered as we walked over the polluted floor of the abandoned gym. Most of the equipment remained intact and the ring still stood in its place, only now stained a bit with the passing year of lacked maintenance. A red-wrapped box, taped with a black bow had been placed in its center, which I gathered was exactly where Colton was dragging me. He gaped the stretchy, leather-like ropes open and grasped my forearm to keep me from woozily face planting. From side glance, I watched him drink in the sight of my leaning figure, and the spilling out of cleavage as I did so.

“I hate seeing the place like this. I know it has to be pretty brutal for you too, babe.” I weakly slurred in a sympathized manner.

“This place got a lotta memories, for sure. For the both of us, hm?” He approached me from behind covering me in a bear hug, kissing the crook of my neck, and inhaling in my most customary scent. A reminder of the first night we spent together standing in that very spot made the echo of our moans, and the feel of his hands on me play back like a fantasy in my mind, and I sunk further into his body.

“Be careful talking about such things, Ritter. I might just be drunk enough to let you take advantage of me right here again.”

“As much as I need to get my hands on you, you should open ya’ present first.” He suggested, nudging me onward with a pat to the behind.

I squatted to lift the box, and felt the barely-there weight of its contents. Colt remained in observance over my shoulder, quietly inspecting for a reaction as I worked my nails over the knotted, silk bow closure. It fell to my feet, tickling over my exposed toes in the stilettoes I wore, and I then dropped the cardboard lid shortly after. Lined with tissue paper inside, the black gloves Colton wore to fight Danny Mendez were laid next to each other. The grained leather was softer than when I had first gifted him with them, now broken in and loose due to the blows thrown, and punches blocked.

“Colton. These belong to you, babe. I don’t even deserve a pair this nice. And besides, they have your name on ‘em, silly.” I reasoned, turning slow to face my one-man audience.

“I think I can maybe do somethin’ about that little name issue, pretty girl.”

Suddenly, the crisp box and its contents crashed to the floor, falling buoyantly from my now numb hands. Instead of spinning around to meet his smiling eyes, I had to sink my sights to discover him knelt a few feet from me, caressing a square velvet case.

“Colton, what ar-.”

“You listen, ‘n let me talk this time, baby.”

Uncontrollable outlines of mascara black tears initiated abruptly, and the white noise of passing traffic, and distant sirens ceased.

“The second I looked into those bright emerald eyes of yours Livvy, a fuse kicked inside me. All those emotions that I had turned off a long time ago, fuckin’ came roaring back. The typical me, woulda walked right out that morning with a coffee to-go, without a second thought. But it was like every time I looked back at ya’, I swear I could literally feel my heartbeats inside of me. I coulda counted them out loud, Liv. You had me in this… this trance or somethin’. You know I ain’t gonna say all this the way you deserve to hear it, but I need you to know what you are to me, Elliott. How much you mean t’ me.”

I could hear his voice crack under the pressure he had put on himself, and the lump of tearful release he was trying to choke back into his throat.

“There’s a billion damn reasons why I don’t deserve ya’. We both know that. But there’s another billion reasons why I want to. You’re the most intelligent woman I’ve ever met, and the only one I know who could get me laughin’ like a damn idiot the way you do. I love that you always have a little smudge of leftover makeup unda’ your eyes when you wake up every mornin’, and that you can have me beggin’ in desperation the second you put on a pair of those shoes like the ones ya’ wearin’ now. And don’t even get me started on how thrilled I get seeing you strapped into a pair of sparring gloves. As nervous sick as it gets me, I love it all the same. I ain’t never wanted to be a better man, babe. For myself, and sure as hell not for anyone else. But the man I am with you, the man you turn me into, is a far better one that I ever thought I could be. C’mere, Livvy baby. I ain’t gonna bite.”

Following the suggestive direction of his nod, I weakly closed the distance between us, and he took my chattering hand into his. He laughed, and tried to still the very obvious nervous, euphoric emotion coming through my skin.

“You are such a beautiful, loving, kind heart. Not to mention sexy in the most subtle ‘n real way. You’re strong as a fuckin’ ox, inside & out, and you sit my ass straight in line every day. God knows I need that. I want to spend the rest of my life being ya’ sidekick, and watchin’ you succeed with whatever your heart wants. I can’t promise I’ll be as perfect as all the otha’ men you truly deserve, and I need ya’ to be patient wi’ me when I get all caught up in me head. There ain’t nobody else I’d rather have nursin’ my wounds after a fight, or eatin’ a whole gallon of ice cream with on a cheat day. You’re my only light, and any chance I have at bein’ a decent man is only because of you. So, Liv Caroline Elliott, will you marry me?”

The flawless solitaire sent iridescent beams of sparkle bouncing across the ceiling as the light caught it in Colton’s suddenly shaking hand. The stone was impressively hefty in carats, and was uniquely chiseled into the shape of an octagon. I knew that little quality wasn’t just a coincidence, and Colt had made this purchase with careful consideration and lots of preparation. His dedicated search for the perfect diamond to join the two of us together was a thoughtful sentiment no one could refute.

He bore his soul without question, so unnaturally against his nature, and let his every emotion spring forth for me to potentially criticize and dismiss. The metamorphosis I had witnessed overtake him the last months satisfied my hearts every yearning, and I knew fully that Colton Ritter was the only man who would ever fill the shoes of my true love. As tears began saturating his soft, bristle-like eyelashes too quick for him to conceal and rub away with his shirt sleeve, I wordlessly nodded an accepting, smiling ‘yes.’

“You ain’t gettin’ off that easy 2-1. A man’s gotta hear you say it.”

“Yes, Colton. Yes, yes, yes! A hundred times over, yes. I will marry you. Only if you promise me, to stop selling yourself so short and trying to convince the world what a monster you are. When it comes to the cage, sure you’re unforgiving and dangerous. But otherwise, we both know that’s so far from the truth. Whether I’m the only lucky individual who gets to see it behind closed doors or not, you’re so kind. And you’re the most loyal man I have ever met. Any time I’ve been lucky enough to spend with you, have been the best minutes of my entire life. And when I happen to think about the time passed without you, I cringe at the memories we could’ve made. I want nothing more than to spend whatever life I have left by your side.”

The feeling of the cool silver band as he slid it with ease over the knuckle of the proper finger sent a tsunami of wedding color schemes, and potential venues flooding into my train of thought. Never was I the girl for fairy tales, and tulle and princes riding in to rescue the damsel, but the countless possibilities of marital bliss with Colton had birds chirping and singing around my head.

My newly crowned fiancé lunged in to seal the celebration with a deep kiss, pulling me into him by a hand on the back of my neck. The sticky tears wetting his face mixed with my own as our faces touched in embrace, and Colton dipped me like the closing move of a Salsa dance, laughing when I yelped in surprise.

“What is it about this little place, I wonder? It seems Mac’s has been pretty important to us over the last years.” I pointed out, as he kissed the fine jewelry now situated on my finger.

“Yeah…… Well, uhm... About that…”

I looked at him through slit eyes, and cocked a quizzical, suspicious brow at what had him so apparently tongue tied.

“You’re right. This shit hole has been pretty damn important t’ me. And a’ course, to us too. I can’t stand to see it just sittin’ here. Rotting.”

“I’m sure if there was anything Mac could do, sweetheart, he would’ve already. Maybe we’ll get lucky and the next owner will give it a good makeover, y’know? Freshen it up.” I attempted to cheer him up with positive outlook, and cheery suggestions.

“Oh, I think you right. The next owner is gonna get this place back on its feet, and back to it’s roots. Some new bags first thing, and a definite fuckin’ fumigating.” His nose crinkled as he looked around at the mildewed ceiling.

“It sold? Someone finally bou-“

I froze, and Colton’s instantaneous smile furthermore proved my suspicions. He had torn down that weathered ‘for sale’ sign before we came inside, and the little key tucked in his wallet should’ve been my tell-tale.

“COLTON?! It’s yours? You bought it? How? Whe-“

“Hey, hey, hey, hey. Take a breath, ya’ crazy chatterbox. Yes, I bought it. And yes, it’s OURS.” Colton annunciated the significance of ‘ours’ in his confession, assuring I understood that this cherished little corner of a rickety, dark corner block in Pittsburgh now belonged to us. Together.

“I was thinkin’… How does 21 Punches sound to you? I mean, I’d like to have Mac maybe be a manger for me, y’know, when I can’t be here ‘n stuff. But I do wanna change that sign out front.”

Invisible atoms of a tranquil fog consumed the every corner of being, and my legs felt insubstantial on a cloud of celestial contentment. This stiff as cement man, who seemed to turn to near wet, molding clay in my presence wanted to name his most prized possession after a silly, what I viewed as irrelevant, high school basketball number from my ancient days as a Westfield Warrior. I half expected a hidden crowd to jump out into a surprise party, or a horse drawn carriage to wheel up outside to seal the finishing touches on an evening of unadulterated shock and romance.

“I think you’re the best thing about this smelly, foggy, freezing city. And I think you should take me home right now, and let me show you exactly how amazing I think you are.”

Forgetting any class or feminine daintiness, I grabbed firmly around the bulge of his thin, extremely well-fitting slacks and parted two buttons of his shirt to tickle his beating chest.

“Home? We own the place now, ya’ naughty lil’ thing. I could just take ya’ right fuckin’ now if I wanted to.”

“Slide your hand under this dress and get to it then, Mr. Ritter.” I sighed fervently into his ear, sloppily sucking his neck just under the line of his beard.

The lack of undergarments he discovered as he used two fingers to crawl up the side of my leg caused him to groan out hauntingly.

“Your wish, is my fuckin’ command, Mrs. Ritter.”

tags: @torialeysha @eap1935 @mollybegger-blog @littleluna98

#Tom Hardy #tomhardy #tomhardyfanfic #tomhardyfanfiction #tom hardy fanfiction #elizabeth olsen #thegrind

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pokeshippingflashfic · 5 years

Note

Hahah! “I'm determined to appreciate you, you can't stop me” I do appreciate you though! And you can’t stop me! ❤️

The question had been at the back of her mind for the better part of a week.

Misty Waterflower had waited literally years for Ash Ketchum to come around. Truthfully, she had wondered at times if it was better to be more proactive, and thought at others perhaps she should concede because the continuous wedges driven and distance placed between them made an ongoing relationship (platonic, romantic, specifications honestly didn’t matter) rather difficult to bear.

And yet, mysteriously, the day had come to pass when Ash finally grew up enough to recognize the uniqueness of his bond with her and… dared to ask her out.

Things had been completely and utterly perfect since that time almost a week ago; a.k.a., absolutely flawless; a.k.a., boring as heck.

So she couldn’t help wondering to herself about the transition in their relationship… but she didn’t yet dare to broach the subject with him. Don’t fix what isn’t broken, right? Wasn’t that how the saying went…?

But things… were broken, from her perspective at least.

Misty didn’t quite know how to explain the disillusionment she felt after entering into a romantic relationship with her friend, Ash Ketchum. Things were… different? The hefty weight that had been dormant at the back of her mind and bottom of her heart was finally lifted after all that time but… relationship!Ash was weird.

Misty’d always thought she’d like a dedicated, suave man to sweep her off her feet but with Ash, it was entirely unnatural and it freaked her out.

Between the gifts, the showers of praise, the overabundant assistance in managing the gym, the constant attempts at remaining in touch, the conscientious nature…

He was broken and she was discouraged from one of the few things she’d wanted for most of her adolescence… Part of her wondered if it had anything to do with that ‘honeymoon phase’ her sisters had mentioned to her a couple of times. She hoped that, if she gave Ash a couple of weeks or so he’d figure out that she didn’t want whatever this mess was that he was offering her…

However, true to his dense, bullheaded disposition, he remained completely unaware and, admittedly, it wasn’t until he offered to postpone his trip back home (where he’d be learning about the next region and league he’d be participating in) that she knew she was going to have to enforce a change in their current dynamic.

“Mwah! Agh!” Ash yelped as the redhead shoved him into the living room of her family’s loft, then leaped up and brought down all her weight to make him take a seat. “Yikes, Mist, what’s goin’ on?! Somethin’ wrong?” he groaned afterwards, tenderly rubbing his shoulders and upper back after her assault.

“Is somethi–,” Misty sputtered blasphemously in reply to this ignorant question, “Is something wrong?! Are you kidding, Mr. Pokemon Master?! I’m here to ask you that!”

“Wha’d’ya mean?”

“I mean I don’t understand what’s going on with you! You’re acting -- you’ve been acting crazy this whole week and I don’t get it!”

After her initial (not entirely helpful) confession, she was somewhat intimidated by the glint of hurt reflecting in Ash’s eyes before he averted his gaze, falling into the back cushion of her couch and sighing up at the ceiling.

“Ash, c’mon, look at me. Talk to me. I’m sorry, I’m just… trying to understand. Remember… this is new to me too,” she tried again, afraid to inflict more intimate contact on him

Arms spread wide across the back of the couch, still finding more confidence in a conversation with her first floor roof, he clamped his lips tightly shut and blew air forcefully from between them.

“I dunno how to explain it, Mist. I don’t even know why we’re here.”

“You told me you’d put your trip back home on hold! You’ve never held back when it was time to run off to a new league before! This isn’t like you, Ash, you gotta admit that at least!”

Finally he chanced a glance at her, one brow creasing while the other raised suspiciously.

“But don’t you want that? I mean… isn’t that the kinda effort someone has to give? I don’t…”

Misty stared blankly at him as he struggled, finally nodding her head softly as if to urge him further on into his explanation.

“I just thought… Look, I’m not good at this stuff. And I only… I only realized what my feelings for you were or what they meant less than a month ago. I told myself as soon as I got home and saw my mom and stuff that I’d rush to Cerulean and let you know too. And I thought that girls… that you… would expect these kinds of things from me… or from any guy, right? You’d want the whole, y’know, the whole romantic package.”

The question she’d been holding back burned and burdened, finally overpowering her fear with the will of need to know.

“Yeah, that does sound nice…” she lamented softly, then chuckled at Ash’s scandalized retaliatory expression, “… but not coming from you. Not when we’ve known each other long enough for me to see you’re faking it.

“And you know what, Ash? I’ve spent most of this past week asking myself… What do you want from this relationship? O - or do you even… want it at all?” the redheaded trainer finally had the courage to ask, though her voice cracked a couple of times. “Because you’ve changed a lot of yourself to fit some build that you think I want. And that’s not to say that I expect no change at all from you! O - of course I’d like to spend time together, just us… and of course I’d like you to call a little more often and care about what I think, what I have to say…

“And… even the compliments…” she faltered with a mildly embarrassed blush. “It’s nice to think you think highly of me… But, again, if you don’t want... if you’re just faking saying this stuff ‘cause you wanna fit some romantic archetype then…”

“Hey! Wait a sec!” the teenage boy countered emphatically, leaping upright at her latest accusation. “I spent five or so years playing blind! Five years completely dumb to what I felt about you or what you really meant! How much you actually helped when I needed it most! I’m not the kinda sap you want from a guy - a boyfriend… but my feelings are real for sure and I definitely, absolutely wanna be with you! As for our relationship, I just... wanna know that I’m yours and you’re mine!

“And for the record, Mist,” he paused, waiting for her to look him in the face before continuing, “after all that time not knowin’ how much i feel for ya… I’m determined to appreciate you now and you can’t stop me!”

Misty, feeling her face burn so hot she was sure her skin would melt off, quickly covered her flushed cheeks with her hands, sniffling to hold back what felt like a stray tear or two.

“Wai - hey, what’s up with you?” her boyfriend asked her, completely baffled after his own proud declaration of adoration.

“I… that’s just…” And the redhead lightly kicked him in the leg with one of her feet to offset some of the unbridled joy she was feeling, apologizing internally at his hiss of pain, “… that was just the most romantic thing you could ever say to me, you dummy.”

#pokeshipping #flash fic #fanfiction #aaml #ash x misty #requests #word count: 1498 #inuyashaeienni

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