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punkshort · 1 month

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In Another Life | Part II

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader (time travel au)

Chapter Summary: Danny unexpectedly drops Marcus off at your office, but it works to your advantage when you decide to use him as the subject for your next article, and your research brings the two of you much closer together.

Chapter Warnings: language, typical brother embarrassing his sister, threats of physical violence, a little fist fight, some blood from said fist fight, mention of drugs, jealousy, food consumption, fluff, flirting, sexual tension, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, fingering

WC: 8.4K

Series Masterlist

Your apartment had devolved into utter chaos the last two days. It seemed like every time you rounded a corner, you had to dodge some person or scrap of metal or power tool, and it was getting on your last nerve. New York wasn't exactly known for spacious living arrangements as it was, so to have what little space you did covet overrun with your brother's shit really sent you into overdrive.

"Lizard's mom has a house in Queens, why the hell is all this shit here and not in her basement?" you snapped at Danny early one morning after you stubbed your toe on a drill.

"He's worried about her finding out what we're up to," Danny explained, and you immediately scoffed into your coffee.

"She's deaf in one ear and hasn't stepped foot in her basement since his dad died."

Danny agreed to move his time traveling project to Queens later that day.

The scowl on your face smoothed out the moment Marcus entered your kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes and looking absolutely devastating in the pajama pants you had bought for him just a few days prior. It took all your willpower not to let your eyes drop below his waist, having already made that mistake the day before. The noticeable bulge hidden amongst the thin sleepwear had you spacing out the entire train ride to work and you couldn't afford any distractions that day. You had a big meeting at eleven where you had to present the next topic for your column and you were scrambling. The source you had for your long-distance relationship idea fell through last minute, so now you were tasked with brainstorming a spectacular backup plan in the next four hours.

"Morning, General. How did you sleep?" Danny asked as he scooped cereal into his mouth.

"Quite well, thank you," he replied, then his eyes met yours and he smiled. "Good morning, my lady."

You grinned like a school girl, your heart fluttering excitedly in your chest when you stammered, "G-good morning." Danny rolled his eyes but chose wisely to keep his mouth shut.

Marcus was able to find his way around by that point, however he still seemed hesitant to just start opening your drawers and cupboards when he needed something. Tired of reminding him to just help himself, you set down your coffee and picked up your loaf of bread from the corner of the counter.

"Same as yesterday?" you asked him as you popped two slices of bread in the toaster, anticipating his answer.

"Please," he said with a grateful nod, then dutifully clasped his hands at his waist.

When Danny watched you crack some eggs into a frying pan along with a few sausage links, his jaw dropped.

"You're making breakfast for him but not for me?" he whined.

You swiveled around and pointed your spatula in his face. "He is our guest, thanks to you," you reminded him, and Danny quickly shut up.

"I do not wish to be a burden," Marcus said. He hadn't moved but his broad frame felt like it took up the entire room.

"You're not a burden, Marcus," you told him softly, then gave him a small, reassuring smile.

"Yeah, no worries, man," Danny said, clapping him firmly on the shoulder before dumping his dirty dishes in the sink. "I'm just giving my sister a hard time because it's obvious she wants to jump your bones."

"Danny!" you shrieked while throwing an oven mitt at his head. He dodged it and ducked out of the kitchen, his laughter fading down the hall towards his bedroom.

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as you turned your focus back to the frying pan. When Marcus cleared his throat, you closed your eyes in dread because you knew what was coming.

"What did that mean, jump your bones?"

"Nothing, just ignore him," you said, sliding the eggs and sausage onto a plate. A few seconds passed when Danny's voice shouted down the hall, "It's a euphemism for sex!"

"Goddamnit," you muttered through clenched teeth. You began to storm out of the kitchen, prepared to kick Danny's ass, but Marcus shot an arm out to stop you.

"You look lovely today."

You gazed up at him, mouth agape, while you tried to find your voice.

Say something. Anything.

"Thanks. Uh, thank you," you mumbled, smoothing down the pink and white floral dress you picked out. On days where you had your big monthly meeting, you tried to make an effort to look like you belonged at a fashion magazine.

"Do you have plans today?" he asked, his eyes swooping down your frame appreciatively, and for once it didn't make your stomach turn when a man looked at you that way. "Daniel tells me there is a beautiful park in the city. I desire to see it and would very much enjoy your company."

You knew you were reading too much into it, but you couldn't help but feel like he was asking you on a date.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Marcus," you said, "I have to work today. But I promise we will see it before you go home."

Home.

His face fell at the word and he quickly dropped his gaze to the floor, trying to hide his disappointment.

"Of course, I understand. Thank you for breakfast," he said, sliding past you so he could pick up the plate you made for him. You chewed your lip and glanced at the time. If it were any other day, you would just call in sick, but today was too important to miss.

"I promise, okay?" you told him as you gathered your bags. "We will see Central Park before you leave. And whatever else you want."

He nodded and took a bite of his food. Although he appeared to be unbothered, you still felt an enormous amount of guilt.

"Danny!" you called from the front door, "this shit better be gone by the time I get home!"

"Yes, Mom!" he shouted back sarcastically from the bathroom. You rolled your eyes and gave Marcus a quick wave before hurrying out the door.

You were fucked.

You had one hour until your meeting and you had absolutely nothing.

Already, you had done your usual brainstorming techniques five times over. You scrolled through social media, hoping to find some trend or topic that might be popular and garner attention, but you were coming up dry, so you kept circling back to your long distance relationship idea. You had sent out every feeler you could think of, asking any of your usual contacts if they had anyone you could use for a story about your chosen topic, but so far you weren't having any luck.

Suddenly, your phone rang and you lunged for it, hoping it was a lead, then groaned when you saw Danny's contact picture pop up on the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hey..." he began, and you could tell by the tone in his voice that you should brace yourself.

"What did you do?"

He laughed on the other end. "I didn't do anything. Actually, I did do something - I am getting all this stuff out of your place, but there's just one thing."

"Spit it out," you said, your eyes flickering to the time. 45 minutes to go.

"I can't take Marcus with us to Queens. There's no room in Lizard's car."

"So let him stay in the apartment."

"I'm not leaving him all alone in New York City!" he protested. You heard some familiar sounds in the background of the call and you frowned.

"Where are you?"

Danny paused and you instantly began to put your defenses up.

"I'm... in your lobby. With Marcus and Lizard."

"You're what?!" you exclaimed in a loud whisper, glancing around to make sure nobody overheard you in your cubical.

"I told to him to just stay in the lobby and read your crappy magazines and if anyone asks, to tell them he's here for meeting."

"Danny! You can't do this, I can't babysit a fucking Roman General right now!"

You heard Danny walk a few paces away, presumably to get some privacy so Marcus wouldn't overhear, before he answered.

"He'll stay downstairs, I promise. I told him what floor you're on in case of an emergency but maybe you can pop down and take him for lunch. You've been making heart eyes at this Roman General for the past three days, don't try and lie."

Anger coursed through your veins but you were running out of precious time, so you gave up.

"Fine," you seethed.

"Great!" Danny said cheerily. "But I might not be back til late. We're burning tons of time moving all this stuff, we got work to do."

"So I have to bring him home?"

"Yes, you'll have to bring him home. You're going there anyway, aren't you? What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is he's going to be bored and lonely all day down there!" you snapped.

"He's not going to be bored. He's in New York City. The elevators alone are blowing his mind right now."

Despite yourself, you smiled when you remembered how in awe he was the first time he rode in an elevator.

"Tell him I'll be down to take him to lunch in like, a little over an hour. I have a meeting at eleven."

"You're the best!" Danny said, then before you could respond, the line went dead.

You grumbled obscenities under your breath when you heard a familiar voice say your name from the opening of your cube.

"Hey, ready for the meeting?" Matt asked. You practically dropped your phone from his sudden appearance and he chuckled. "Did I scare you?"

"Yes," you hissed as you began to gather your things, trying to hide your annoyance. You looked over the top of your cubical wall, hoping and praying you would see someone - anyone - else to walk with to the conference room, but you were shit out of luck.

"Doing anything fun tonight?" he inevitably asked, like he always did, and you sighed. You made the mistake of hooking up with him after one particularly rowdy work happy hour and ever since then, Matt's been waiting for his next opportunity. "I know a guy who works at that new French restaurant, I can get us a reservation and then, who knows..."

"I have a friend in from out of town," was all you said. No matter how many times you turned him down, he remained persistent.

"That's cool. Girls night, then?"

"My friend's a guy," you quickly corrected him.

Matt stumbled over his feet as you reached the conference room. It was the biggest one on your floor, directly across from the elevator banks. The entire wall was made of glass, floor to ceiling, so you could see through the room to the opposite wall, where there was a fantastic view of the city.

"Oh, like a cousin, or..."

"Nope," you replied, voice clipped so he knew the topic was closed. With a frustrated huff, Matt plopped down next to you and flipped open his portfolio. You gave him a sideways glance, momentarily feeling bad for him. He was by all accounts a good looking guy. He wrote a column for the men's health section and based on his physique, you assumed he practiced what he preached, but sadly his looks is where his good qualities came to an end.

Charlotte, your editor, breezed into the room, her presence enough to make everyone sitting at the long table quiet right down. She ghosted her palm over her perfectly coiffed grey hair and sat her portfolio down in front of her chair at the head of the table. As you got yourself organized, your mind scrambling to come up with a lie about a long distance relationship source, Charlotte placed her phone down delicately next to her leather portfolio, then slowly uncapped the expensive looking pen someone once told you was gifted to her by Marc Jacobs. Everybody watched and waited until she was ready, which was signified by a dainty clearing of her throat and a quick, sweeping glance over the table followed by a curt nod. At that point, the usual routine began.

Without having to be asked, one by one everybody took their turn presenting their idea for the month. Each person's name was listed on the agenda in the order Charlotte wished, and mercifully yours was dead last.

Your anxiety began to spike when Sara, the girl who was before you in nutrition started to wrap up her brief speech about some gluten free lifestyle benefit bullshit.

Keep it short. Keep it vague, and you'll figure it out later. Everyone wants to leave, it's almost lunch.

Then some movement by the elevators caught your eye. Your breathing ceased and you broke out into a cold sweat when you saw Marcus had stepped out of the elevator and was fucking talking to the receptionist. Then you locked eyes when they both turned to look towards the conference room.

"Shit," you whispered.

Matt nudged your ribs and you startled, glancing around the room to see Sara had sat down and half the table was staring at you, waiting for you to begin. You shakily stood up and swallowed the lump in your throat when Marcus began to weave his way towards you through the maze of cubicles.

Call it a stroke of genius or divine inspiration, but an incredible idea hit you right as you opened your mouth to speak. You had about half a second to decide if you should wing it and trust your gut or talk out of your ass about your first idea.

Fuck it.

"This month, I have a very interesting idea that I'm super excited about exploring," you began, watching when Marcus came to a stop outside the glass door. He looked back and forth, his fingers twitching at his sides. "My topic will be Romance without Technology," you announced with a confident smile. "I'll be researching how adults navigate their love lives without the help of dating apps, social media, or even texting," you said, listing each item on your finger as you spoke.

"Who's that guy?" Sara asked, pointing towards the door. It was at that point you realized most of the table was gawking at the tall, broad, handsome looking Roman General waiting to get your attention.

You smiled and walked toward the door with your arm outstretched.

"This is Marcus," you said, holding the door open and ushering him inside. He murmured your name but you cut him off. "He's the subject I'll be interviewing for this month's article. He doesn't use technology of any kind. In fact, he doesn't even own a cell phone."

The entire room gasped and Marcus looked around, confused, but understood what you needed him to do. He raised one arm up to greet the room and said, "Good morning."

Most of the women began to whisper excitedly to one another, shooting him looks and giggling behind their hands until Charlotte cleared her throat and once again, the room fell into silence.

You chewed your lower lip anxiously as you waited for Charlotte to silently appraise you both. Finally, you saw the corner of her mouth twitch and she gave you a barely perceptible nod.

"I look forward to reading it."

She stood abruptly and collected her things, signifying the end of the meeting, and relief flooded your veins.

"Are you okay?" you asked Marcus, pulling him to the side while the room stood and slowly filtered out. He nodded.

"Yes. There were many vehicles that passed by with bright lights and loud sirens. When I asked what it was for, I was told there was an emergency."

You giggled and shook your head. "So the fearsome General was scared?"

His brows knitted together for a moment before he answered.

"No. I grew concerned for your well being."

Your heart could have melted on the spot.

"Oh," you said softly, and just like that, the annoying little flutter in your chest was back. "I-I'm fine, but thank you. That was... that's really sweet, actually."

He grinned as his eyes swooped down your frame, causing butterflies to awaken in your stomach.

"Did you wanna get something to eat?" you asked as you stared up at him, his large frame making you feel so tiny in comparison. "It'll be on the company's dime since I kinda just signed you up to be the subject of my next article."

He cocked an eyebrow at you and shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis, the action bringing up the memory of you measuring his inseam and you felt your face begin to heat up. God, you must have looked ridiculous, standing there in front of Marcus in the middle of your office, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

"Of course," he replied, "but what do you intend to write about me?"

You grinned and hurried back to your abandoned chair, scooping up your things before pointing to the door.

"Let me drop this stuff off at my desk and I'll explain everything."

"My marriage was arranged," he reminded you from across the table draped in white linen. You decided to take him to a nicer steakhouse not too far from your office, one that didn't enforce a dress code but still had good food that you rarely sprung for out of your own pocket.

"I know, but I'm sure you can still give me an idea of what romance was like," you replied. "For example, did you get her any gifts? Give flowers? Take her to places that were meaningful to you? Or to her?"

Marcus dropped his gaze to the table and shrugged. "We knew each other for such a short period of time, there was unfortunately not much in the way of romance."

You clocked the forlorn look in his eye and began to feel guilty for bringing it up. "I'm sorry. I'll just make something up, don't worry about it. No one'll know."

"No, no, I wish to help," he said quickly, his hand stretching across the table to loop two of his fingers around yours. "Just because I do not have many personal stories to share does not mean I cannot help with your research."

"I don't want to reopen any old wounds," you explained, your eyes fixed on the way his hand linked with yours so naturally on the tabletop.

He chuckled softly, his smile causing his deep brown eyes to sparkle and a dimple to appear on his cheek.

"It was a very long time ago."

When your salads arrived at your table, Marcus released your hand to pick up his fork, frowning down at the bowl before asking, "This is the salad named after Julius Caesar?"

You giggled and shook your head, the sound causing him to lift his chin with a warm smile.

"No," you said once you collected yourself, "No, it's named after another Caesar. The guy who created it, I think."

Marcus didn't seem to mind he was wrong or that you found his error so funny. In fact, he enjoyed it.

"You have a beautiful laugh."

Instantly, your cheeks flushed and you shyly looked down to focus on your salad. "Thank you," you said softly.

He watched you silently for another minute more, admiring the way your eyes fluttered shut when you tasted something good or tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, then took a hesitant bite of his salad.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and you grinned from behind your napkin.

"Delicious."

You giggled again and nodded. "Yes, it is."

Once your salads were taken away and before your main course arrived, you pulled out a notebook and flipped to a blank page.

"Let's start from the beginning. You don't have to go into excruciating detail. Maybe just some things you know of that others did to... court women? Is that even the right word?" you mumbled the last part to yourself as you scribbled something at the top of your paper.

"It was seen as a sign of weakness for a man to become infatuated with a woman," he said, and you looked up at him in surprise.

"Why's that?"

"Marriages rarely were based on affection. They were viewed as a way to improve your social standing, but it was mutually beneficial," he explained, his finger tracing the design engrained in his fork. "Women were taken care of, looked after and tended to while the men were able to claim a high ranking senator or nobleman as their family. And, of course..." he trailed off, his cheeks staining pink when he dropped his gaze to the table and said, "received the traditional benefits of having a wife."

You smirked to yourself as you wrote notes on your pad of paper.

"Thought you were used to talking about sex openly," you teased. He cleared his throat and your pen paused over your paper to meet his eye.

"I admit, at times I feel nervous around you."

"Me?" you balked, but he just nodded and your brain scrambled for something to say that wouldn't entirely embarrass you. You landed on deflection.

"I thought it was a sign of weakness to grow infatuated?"

He grinned and leaned back in his chair. "I never said I agreed with that line of thought."

"No, I suppose you didn't," you said, shyly dropping your eyes to your paper. His gaze was too intense. Every time you looked at him it felt like he could see right through you. "So, tell me. Hypothetically. If we lived in Rome and I caught your eye, what would you do? How would you win me over?"

Marcus took a deep breath, his broad shoulders relaxing as he thought about your question for a moment, staring at your pen hovering over your paper.

"I would write you letters every day," he said softly, forcing your eyes back onto him. His voice was low and deep, smooth yet firm as he spoke. "I would write of your beauty. I would compare the color of your eyes to the flowers and fauna that grew in my garden, delicate and all encompassing. I would tell you how food tastes better on my tongue when you are around, and how I ache for you when you are not near. I would try to explain how difficult it is to breathe without you, and how I would gladly die a thousand deaths just to feel the softness of your lips against mine."

You stared at him, hand frozen where you left it resting on your notebook. He waited patiently until you finally blinked yourself out of your stupor and inhaled a shaky breath.

"Uh, s-so love letters, then," you stammered, shakily scribbling down something incoherent on your paper. Jesus fucking Christ, get it together.

"Yes. Love letters," he repeated. He sounded so cool and collected. How was he so relaxed? A moment ago, he was admitting you made him nervous. Maybe he was just better at hiding it than you.

Your server arrived and placed your food down in front of you, the heavenly scent wafting up and making your mouth water. Placing your pen down in favor of picking up your fork and knife, you asked, "Have you ever had steak?"

"I am not sure. What animal is it?" he asked, picking up his fork and testing the tenderness of his steak by giving it a little poke.

"It's cow. Try it, it's good."

"Cows were used for farming," he said before slicing a piece off and examining it closely. "We could not afford to slaughter them."

You watched as he popped a bite into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully before giving you a smile and nod.

"Good?" you asked, your heart skipping a beat at finding another food he liked.

"Very," he replied once he swallowed. "You are quite perceptive and have good taste."

"Thank you," you answered, taking another bite and trying not to preen too much from the praise.

"So tell me," he said after he finished up his filet and moved on to his potato, which he eyed wearily. "Do you not receive love letters as a form of courtship?"

"Uh, no," you replied with a laugh. "Closest thing to that nowadays would be a text and even those are... sub par."

"So what is it that you do?"

"What do you mean?"

He pointed to your notepad with his fork. "For romance. What activities do you take part in?"

"Oh," you said, wiping your mouth and pushing your empty plate to the side. "You mean dates. Uh, this actually. Get dinner together. Sometimes see a movie," you paused and rethought your word choice when you saw his face. "A show, or a play. Um, sometimes go to a bar. Stuff like that."

He nodded and let your answer roll around in his head for a moment before asking, "So, is this a date?"

Marcus smiled when he saw you become flustered. You thanked the server for clearing your plates and leaving the bill before responding.

"Uh, I don't know," you finally said shyly, making his smile grow even wider. "Do you want - I mean, well... I'm technically working, but, you know, if - if that was something you were interested in, then, I guess w-we could classify this, or, you know, it could be construed-"

"Yes or no," he said, interrupting your insane ramblings with a soft look and an outstretched hand. Your face was hot with embarrassment but you reached out for his hand, anyway.

"Yes."

"Yes," he repeated, squeezing your fingers. You grinned and nodded, your stomach doing cartwheels as you tried to steady your breath.

Once you paid with your corporate credit card, you walked back out to the street, Marcus holding the doors open for you before offering you his hand. You sheepishly accepted it and walked a few paces in the direction of your office before he stopped you.

"Must you return to work?"

You gave him a sad smile and took a step closer. "Yeah, I'm sorry. But maybe I can play hooky tomorrow."

Marcus raised a curious eyebrow at you while playing with the material of your dress with his free hand, gently pinching and feeling the fabric between his fingers. "What does-"

"It means I'll call in sick without actually being sick so I can have the day off," you explained without him needing to finish asking.

He grinned and dropped your dress in favor of cupping your cheek. "I would like that very much."

"Me, too," you said, gazing up at him while leaning into his touch. His strong, calloused hand felt rough against your skin, but you liked it. As if reading your mind, he stroked his thumb over your cheekbone and murmured, "You are so soft."

You hummed, not trusting yourself to speak when you watched him slowly lean down to your level, your eyes fluttering shut as you waited to feel his mouth against yours. But just when his shadow got close enough to block the sun behind your eyelids, you heard someone shout your name.

You swiveled around angrily, your hand still laced together with Marcus's as you looked for the person who interrupted one of the more romantic moments of your life.

And then you saw Matt stalking up to you from the direction of the restaurant.

"Is this why you've been ghosting me?"

You frowned and tilted your head. "What?"

Matt came to a stop in front of you both and jutted his chin towards Marcus. "Too busy sleeping with your profiles to hang out?"

"W-what?" you stammered again, too shocked to fight back with your usual vigor. You felt Marcus stiffen next to you. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he immediately sensed your discomfort. "I'm not - this isn't-"

"Oh, sure," he sneered, crossing his arms, his biceps bulging out of his thin dress shirt. "I saw you two in there. You were three seconds away from crawling into his lap."

Your mouth hung open in shock and humiliation. "Were you following me?"

Before Matt could answer, Marcus took a step forward.

"I am going to have to insist you stop yelling," he seethed, and even though Matt followed his own advice in his articles and worked out plenty, Marcus still towered over him.

Matt's eyes went wide for just a moment before his bravado returned. "C'mon, man. She's just using you, don't you see that?" Matt prodded, then he scoffed. "Unless you're good with it. Then by all means, have fun. She's a good fuck but I don't think she's got much else."

It all happened so fast, you couldn't remember Marcus dropping your hand and cocking his fist. You couldn't remember the first sickening crunch of his knuckles against Matt's nose, but you did remember hearing his pained howl.

Marcus only landed a few more blows before you came to your senses and tugged him by the shoulder. It was laughable to think you would be strong enough to move him, but you must have also said something because Marcus immediately stopped and turned back to you.

"Jesus Christ!" you cried shakily, hands trembling as they hovered in the air. You weren't sure what to do and people were staring as they walked by, driving up your anxiety. Marcus was fine except for his skinned knuckles, but Matt was much worse. He had a busted lip and already a bright blue shiner forming on his cheekbone, and when he stood to face you both, you noticed another cut on the other cheek.

"The fuck is wrong with you!" he spat, blood dripping down his chin.

"Mind how you speak to women and perhaps they will wish to spare you their time," Marcus snarled. Matt turned his attention to you, the pad of his thumb swiping against his lower lip.

"Who is this guy? What the fuck is his deal?"

You took a deep breath, your mind settling and your fortitude returning.

"If you had just backed off when I said no the first dozen times, maybe you didn't have to find out!"

"Oh, come off it. You like the chase. You get off on guys trailing after you-"

"You're the only fucking one, Matt!" you yelled, no longer caring who was looking. "We hooked up once, years ago, and you just can't take the hint! I'm not interested!"

His eyes clouded with disbelief as he propped his hands on his hips and shifted his weight to one foot, standing there as if he were somehow new to being shot down.

"I'm telling Charlotte about this. About your little..." he trailed off and gestured vaguely over your shoulder, "guard dog. I'm sure she will love to hear about one of your profiles assaulting an employee."

You crossed your arms defiantly and made a face. "Oh, yeah? Do that and I'll recommend to HR they give you a drug test."

His face paled for a moment but he tried to hide it. "Drugs? I'm not on drugs."

"Oh, so you're telling me your balls are just naturally that shriveled up and small? Because, shit," you laughed, "if it's not steroids, you might want to see a doctor about that. That's not normal."

Matt swallowed tightly and clamped his mouth shut. You smiled and turned around to Marcus, who had been listening to your entire argument and probably understanding less than half of it.

"Let's go."

You tugged on his arm and he obediently followed, leaving Matt to lick his wounds.

"Your work - the building is the other way."

"I know," you said, raising your arm to hail a cab. "I'll figure something out. We're going home."

Marcus watched as you paced around your kitchen, phone pressed against your ear as you spoke to your boss and faked a sudden illness that included the word cramps. When you finished up, you looked over at him from across the room.

He looked so normal now. Sure, he spoke a little strangely but without his tunic, clad in khakis and a polo shirt, he looked like he fit right in. Like he always belonged right there.

"I don't think I even thanked you," you said. Marcus smiled and shrugged.

"No need."

He was so damn adorable, it was killing you. "I've never met anyone like you before," you confessed, leaning a hip against the edge of your counter.

"In a good way, I hope?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. You giggled and nodded, the sound making his heart soar.

"Yes, in a good way."

He brought his hand up to smooth over his mouth nervously and your stomach dropped.

"Oh, my god! Your hands!" you exclaimed, crossing the room to snatch one of his massive hands within both of yours.

"It is alright, there is no-"

"Come on, let me clean up your knuckles at least," you said, pulling him towards your tiny bathroom, which somehow felt even smaller when you were both crowding the space. "Sit here," you told him, pointing towards the closed toilet seat, "I have some stuff somewhere," you muttered under your breath as you rifled through the medicine cabinet behind your mirror, then tugged open the drawer in the vanity that always stuck. Marcus did as he was told and watched you with amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Ah ha!" you announced victoriously when you held up a bottle of clear liquid and a box of bandages. He smiled as you washed your hands before meticulously laying everything out you would need. Picking up a cotton ball, you doused it with the liquid and turned to him, having little choice but to stand between his knees and lifting one of his hands to look at it closer.

He splayed his hand out flat, palm pressing against your palm while you carefully dabbed at the dried blood.

"You have laid with that man before?" he asked out of the blue. Your cheeks felt warm when you nodded and avoided his eye.

"A long time ago. It was a mistake."

He didn't say anything else for a few minutes, just watched as you tenderly cared for his broken skin, your proximity and touch overwhelming his senses.

"Did he mistreat you?"

Quickly, you shook your head. "Oh god, no, nothing like that," you told him. "It just... wasn't a good fit."

Marcus couldn't stop staring at the soft slopes of your face and the bright sparkle in your irises, growing infatuated with the way your brow scrunched together in concentration while you worked.

"Did he not worship you?" he asked softly, watching as your breath hitched and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"Uh, no," you finally said, setting down the cotton ball in favor of a tube with some salve. You squeezed a small dot onto your finger and began to apply it carefully to his knuckles. "Can't say there's been a lot of worshipping happening in my life," you added with a dry chuckle.

"No?"

You shook your head and wiped your finger with a tissue and tried not to let his injured hand that had fallen to your hip distract you.

"No," you whispered, your shaky voice betraying you.

He tsked and brought his other hand up to your hip, slowly splaying his fingers wide and crumpling the fabric of your dress. "Shameful. You deserve to be worshipped."

All of the air rushed from your lungs, your body thrumming with desire. Marcus noticed the fine hairs on your arms raise when goosebumps flashed across your skin and he delicately picked up your hand, flipping it over so he could press a kiss against the inside of your wrist.

His deep brown eyes met yours and with his lips still brushing against your skin, whispered, "Will you allow me to worship you?"

You found yourself nodding before your voice had a chance to catch up with you, then his hands gently cupped your face and pulled you down to his level. The moment your lips finally met, you forgot how to breathe, how to move, how to think. His lips were so unexpectedly soft and tender as they slowly massaged against your own that it sent you into a tailspin.

You pressed your mouth against his with a little more force, the fear that he may just stop at one kiss gripping your throat and driving you forward. He made a soft, surprised noise in the back of his throat when you began to kiss him with more intensity, but he didn't skip a beat. He tightened his hold on your face, fingers dimpling your cheeks and his nose bumping lightly against yours.

Your hands pressed against his chest, then your fingers curled to grip his shirt, wanting to tug him closer, wanting to feel him everywhere but you were still in your stupid fucking tiny bathroom and it was difficult to maneuver. Seemingly anticipating your next move, you felt Marcus stand. Your head tipped back, neck craned upwards at an impossible angle, refusing to break the kiss even for a moment so he began to carefully walk you backwards towards the door. Every step towards your bedroom felt like you were walking deeper and deeper into the sea, drowning in his overwhelming presence and touch.

Marcus's palm slid over your shoulder, down your arm and only stopping when he found your ribs. He wound his arm around you as you both stumbled through your doorway with as little grace as you would expect from two people growing more and more intertwined by the moment.

Once you felt your mattress pressing into the backs of your knees, you released your death grip on his shirt so you could reach behind you and unzip your dress. The cool air washed over your bare skin when it pooled around your feet and suddenly, you felt extremely exposed. What kinds of women was he used to being with? It felt like every day when you went into work you learned something new that men found desirable in women. How could you possibly be expected to keep up in the modern world, let alone with what Marcus might find appealing?

But when his palm reconnected with your middle and he felt your smooth skin under his hand, he grew desperate for more to the point where you could sense it, pushing your insecurities to the back of your mind. His injured hand left your cheek so he could glide both massive hands over the soft swell of your curves, his fingers twitching as he sought out more of your skin but when he came in contact with your bra, his hands stopped.

You could feel his hesitation by the way his lips stalled against yours so you took his hands and wrapped them around your back, wordlessly guiding him to the clasp as your tongue slid inside his mouth.

He figured out the hooks on your bra after only one or two fumbles and it dropped to the floor to join your dress.

"Fuck," he whispered when he finally managed to pull away to admire your nearly naked body. Your eyes widened with surprise.

"I don't think I've heard you curse before."

He inhaled a ragged breath, his eyes still drinking you in when he murmured, "I did not have a reason to before now."

He gently grazed over your breast, barely even touching you while he watched with fascination as your nipple tightened from the brief contact. "You have stirred something within me," he said softly, his eyes and hands continuing to roam. "Something I believed did not exist for a long time."

You leaned into his touch when he cupped your breast, enraptured with how soft you felt under his hand. Your fingers curled around the waistband of his khakis, sliding your nails across his lower stomach, across the coarse hair you very much wished to see while his mouth descended on your throat. His beard tickled the spot below your ear and it sent a shudder down your spine. His lips curved into a smile against your skin at the involuntary movement and he asked, "What else do you like?"

It was becoming difficult to breathe. The way he was so slow and careful yet sure of himself was unlike anything you had ever experienced before with a man. It was making your knees weak and your head swim.

When it took too long for you to answer his question, he lightly pinched your skin between your teeth, causing warmth to bloom just underneath the mark.

"T-touch me," you stammered, your eyes sliding closed and your head tipping back, surrendering yourself completely to his prowess.

His hand slipped down your body, over your stomach and underneath your panties. You gasped sharply when you felt one thick finger part your folds, sliding over your clit and dipping into your entrance, drenching him with your arousal.

"Lay down for me," he whispered in your ear while wrapping his free arm around your back, holding you steady so you didn't collapse from the torture of his singular finger working in and out.

He laid you down carefully in your bed, his hand never losing its rhythm and his mouth still ghosting over your neck and chest.

You whined and bucked your hips under him, fingers getting tangled in his thick curls while he whispered words of adoration into your skin, imprinting himself on you forever.

He could feel you growing rigid, your muscles tense and your exhale coming in short bursts. He brushed his lips over yours at the same time his thumb grazed over your clit, making your jaw drop and a sob erupt from your throat.

"Relax," he murmured, increasing the speed of his wrist while slowly sliding his tongue alongside yours. "Relax and let go for me, cor mea," he said against your mouth.

Your body convulsed beneath him when he brought you to your climax with just one finger. His mouth locked over yours, swallowing down your cries and allowing them to feed his ever growing desire. When you whimpered and lightly pushed his hand away, he withdrew from between your legs but continued to deepen the kiss. It was so sweet and loving that it sent you reeling, wondering how you would ever find satisfaction from another man again after Marcus.

"Take these off," you breathed, tugging on his belt loops. He reared back to sit on his heels while deftly undoing the button and zipper of his khakis, leaving them gaping open at his waist before yanking his polo shirt over his head and tossing it onto the floor. You bit your lip, admiring his bare chest for the first time while he pushed his pants down and kicked them off.

"Christ," you muttered, eyes trailing over his tanned and scarred skin. You reached out and traced a particularly jagged one on his shoulder but he was more focused on ridding you of your underwear. If you ever questioned the validity of his time traveling story, any doubt was erased from your mind when you saw his body.

"Did these hurt?"

He paused and followed your gaze to his marked up torso.

"Some, at the time, yes."

Your expression softened to one of pity as you continued to scan his body, losing count of the shiny, pale scars.

"W-what... how did these..." you trailed off, unable to keep the emotion from your voice. Marcus cupped your cheek and pressed a kiss against your lips.

"It is alright. I have been in many battles. It is my job, and just like yours, I must do it."

You laughed but you didn't really find it funny. "You risk your life every day while I write about best places to take a first date or what to do if you're faking orgasms with your boyfriend. You can't compare the two."

Marcus cocked an eyebrow as he hovered above you. "And do you have much experience faking orgasms?"

You felt your face flush. You knew he was just trying to distract you, but it was working. "Some."

He leaned down and kissed the tip of your nose, then each one of your eyelids before asking, "But not a moment ago?"

You shook your head and raked your fingers through his hair, making him growl at the sensation of your nails across his scalp. While he focused on positioning himself at your opening, you dragged your mouth over his shoulder, tongue dipping to trace over his scar. You couldn't do anything about them now except show them love, something you were realizing Marcus was desperately lacking in his life back home.

Home. The thought entered your brain right when he first pushed inside you, stealing the air from your lungs and bringing tears to your eyes. You did your best to brush it aside and focus on the present, like the way he stretched you open or the soft noise he made when he fully sheathed his heavy length deep within you.

"Fuck," you gasped, clawing at his shoulders while you tried to get your bearings.

He released a groan so guttural and deep it had you squeezing around him. Your mouth found a home on his neck as he slowly began to rock his hips, your lips and teeth leaving temporary marks over his skin to join the scars. Every kiss was slow, every touch was attentive and it was hard to stop yourself from giving into him.

"You - oh," he moaned, eyes sliding shut as he lost himself in the moment. It might have been the first time you'd seen him ever falter, and the thought sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. "You are so soft and beautiful," he mumbled before finding your mouth once again and plunging his tongue past your teeth. "I fear it is almost too much for me to bear," he confessed between kisses.

Marcus was unlike any man you had ever met in so many ways. His vulnerability staggered you. Most men you had known would consider it weak or embarrassing to speak the way he spoke, but Marcus managed to do it without sacrificing an ounce of his raw masculinity.

His broad shoulders and thick arms caged you in, giving you a feeling of safety and security you never felt before with another person. It was always you who had to be strong, who had to figure everything out and be responsible. And for once, with Marcus, it felt like you could let go and not have to worry.

Your body relaxed beneath him, legs spreading even wider to accommodate his powerful thrusts. He pulled an arm out from underneath you to press down on your thigh, pushing it into the mattress next to you in order to open your hips up even more. Then he leaned up just a fraction so he could grind his hips against you with his new found space, drawing a shaky moan from your throat when he came in contact with your clit.

Marcus paid attention. He took note of what you liked, what made you writhe and gasp and he teased you with it until you were begging him for more. He couldn't deny you, so he gave you what you asked. When you whined for him to go faster, he did. When you begged him to touch you, he did. He gave you everything you asked for until your legs trembled and your breath quickened and you were tossing your head back into your pillow, his name on your lips as you fell apart for him.

Then you gazed up at him, eyes smoldering, your lips swollen and parted and looking more beautiful and satisfied than he ever could imagine. Pulling him down to you by the back of his neck, you whispered his name in his ear and he shuddered, his hips faltering for a moment all because of one simple word from your lips.

"Marcus," you whispered again, mouth sucking a bruise into his neck. "Are you going to come for me?"

"Yes," he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he neared his peak. A lazy smile spread across your face, body still flooding with pleasure as he fucked you a little harder seeking his own.

His hand fell to your side, pulling you closer, rolling your hips in rhythm with his, and with his teeth bared and eyes flashing with hunger, he came with a broken groan that sent a shiver down your spine. You gasped at the feeling of him emptying himself inside you, eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy. His mouth crashed over yours with your eyes still closed. Your tongues danced together, first with lust, then once your heart rates slowed and your skin stopped tingling, with something more. Something like longing and desperation to hold onto the moment as long as you possibly could.

You both spent a little too long sharing tender kisses and gentle touches. For once, the world around you ceased to make noise and the only thing that mattered was what to order for dinner so you didn't have to leave your bed the rest of the night. You picked Mediterranean food and spent the hour after it was delivered discussing how it compared to the food he was used to, neither of you daring to mention the elephant in the room.

You curled up into his side, his arm draped around you, his back leaning against your headboard as you watched a romantic comedy together. Just as you were explaining the plot and how you had used the movie as inspiration for an article the year prior, a breakthrough was happening in Queens.

The volume on your phone was off and neither of you were paying attention to it lighting up on your nightstand, too busy ignoring the movie in favor of fusing your lips together again with your limbs slowly tangling together under the covers to notice the text come through.

Danny: staying in Queens for the night, we're on a roll. The mighty General shall be out of your hair b4 you know it.

#marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius #gladiator 2 fic #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 fanfiction #in another life fic #marcus acacias smut

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disasterousduo · 3 months

Text

Incorrect Quote Generator

I might draw some of these later/tomorrow

——————————————————————— Sun: Croissants: dropped Solar: Road: works ahead Moon: BBQ sauce: on my titties Lunar: Shavacado: fre Earth: Miss Keisha: fuckin dead Eclipse: Eclipse, grumpy: I didn’t understand a single word of that and I hate every single one of you.

———————————————————————

'Can I copy the homework?' Sun: I can help you with it! Solar: Yeah, sure. Moon: Bold of you to assume I did the homework. Ruin: lol nope. Earth: Wait, we had homework?!?!?! Bloodmoon: *Read 5:55pm*

———————————————————————

Solar: Is something burning? N!Moon: Just my love for you. Solar: Moon, the toaster is on fire.

———————————————————————

Ruin: English is a difficult language. It can be understood through tough thorough thought, though. Bloodmoon: You need to stop.

———————————————————————

Ruin: I made tea. Eclipse: I don’t want tea. Ruin: I did not make tea for you. This is my tea. Eclipse: Then why are you telling me? Ruin: It is a conversation starter. Eclipse: That’s a lousy conversation starter. Ruin: Oh, is it? We are conversing. Checkmate.

———————————————————————

Earth: What time is it? Eclipse: I don’t know; pass me that saxophone and we’ll find out Eclipse: *Plays sax loudly and extremely out of tune* Moon: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE SAXOPHONE AT TWO IN THE MORNING Eclipse: It’s 2 am

———————————————————————

Sun: If I accidentally sat on a voodoo doll of myself, would I be trapped forever in that position, doomed to starve to death? Moon: How am I supposed to know? Lunar: You say, as if we don’t use you as a source of knowledge of the occult. Moon: *sighs* Moon: You wouldn't be trapped.

———————————————————————

Lunar, texting Solar: Solar! Help I’m being kidnapped Solar: Where are you? Lunar: I’m with some strange person. In a car. Help. Solar: I’ll call Earth. Earth, answering their cell: Y’ello? Solar: Where’s Lunar? They texted me that they were being kidnapped. Earth: Lunar? Whaddya mean, they're right next to me- Earth: Earth: I’ll call you back. *hangs up* Earth: THE NEW HAIRCUT ISN’T THAT BAD! Lunar: WHO ARE YOU?!

———————————————————————

Earth, talking to Sun on the phone: Did you preheat the oven like I told you to? Sun : You bet! Earth: At what temperature? Sun : 535. Earth: That's the clock. Sun: Earth: Sun : 536.

———————————————————————

Sun: Man, I only ever see you awake, do you ever shut down or stop running? Solar : Oh, I’m always running Solar : The question is from what

———————————————————————

Ruin: Jail is no fun. I’ll tell you that much. Solar : Oh, you’ve been? Ruin: Once. In Monopoly.

———————————————————————

Sun: Favorite horror movie? Solar : It Lunar: Saw Moon: Annabelle Earth: High School Musical. after watching it I spent all my middle school years terrified that the entire school would start singing something and I’d be the only one who didn’t know the lyrics

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Sun: Nothing in life is free. Solar : Love is free! Lunar: Adventure is free. Moon: Knowledge is free. Jack: Everything is free if you take it without paying.

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Sun: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Bloodmoon will and will not eat. Solar : Grass? Yes! Sun: Moss? Yes!! Solar : Leaves? Ohh, yes! Sun: Shoelaces? Strange but true! Solar : Worms? Sometimes! Sun: Rocks? Usually nah. Solar : Twigs? Usually! Sun: Ruin's cooking? Inconclusive! Moon: How did you… test this? Sun: You just hand them stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if they eat it, they eat it. Moon: ... I don’t know how to feel about this. Ruin: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

———————————————————————

Sun: We need more help. Maybe I should call my friends. Moon : ... Your what? Sun: My friends. Solar: Are they saying “friends”? Moon: I think they're being sarcastic. Lunar: No, no, no, this is delirium, they've cracked from being awake all night. Hey, Sun! All of your friends are in this room. Sun: I have other friends! You asked me to make new friends, I made new friends! It was a task. I complete tasks.

———————————————————————

Sun: That's it, we're gonna go out and find what we need! Moon: To the city? Sun: Yeah, no matter what! Earth: Well- How exactly do you propose we do that, exactly? Sun: I... I don't know! Solar : Oh come off it, be serious! Sun: I am serious! Solar : You're insane! Lunar: Why, if only we were all wiener dogs, our problems would be solved! Everyone: Sun: What??? Lunar: Or maybe it was a basset hound! Solar , panicked: YOU'RE ALLINSANE!

———————————————————————

Sun: If you bite it and you die, it’s poisonous. If it bites you and you die, it’s venomous. Chica : What if it bites me and it dies!? Moon: Then you’re poisonous. Jesus Christ, Chica , learn to listen. Freddy: What if it bites itself and I die? Monty: That’s voodoo. Bloodmoon: What if it bites me and someone else dies? Chica: That’s correlation, not causation. Freddy: What if we bite each other, and neither of us die? Monty: That’s kinky. Sun: Oh my God.

———————————————————————

Sun: Hewwo. Jack : Hihiiiiii! Moon: Greetings, Humans. Solar: Three kinds of people. Lunar: I want pudding. Sun: Four kinds of people. Bloodmoon: WHAT’S UP FUCKERS? Solar: Five kinds of people.

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wings-of-fire-confessions · 5 months

Note

Hot take. Everyone needs to stop pointing at one character in Jade Winglet and be like “AH! They're THE asshole of the group! That one! That one specifically!” Because everyone is an asshole.

Moonwatcher won't shut the fuck up which causes people to feel bad (Reference; Winter Turning, Pg. 75) because, hypocritically, she only has a censor if it “benefits” (hard quotation because it has always failed her. Reference; Luna and Moonwatchers interaction) her.

Qibli is an ass, like, a HUGE ass. He pressures Turtle and berates the very thing he's self-conscious about. He's got massive main-character syndrome; he wants power, he always wanted power, but he wants COMPLETE control of power without any repercussions. One of the reasons he refused Darkstalker's offer was because he wasn't entirely sure he would slip something in there.

Winter is an ass, he literally attacks other dragons without thinking about it (Reference; Peril), he's quick to strike and like Qibli, berates Turtle for being “a waste of potential” to his tribe.

Kinkajou goes off on everyone's backs and uses the remnants of the magic scroll to control and transform Darkstalkers against his consent or will. She has essentially killed him via poison. The whole book and DS character arc was trying to push through a narrative that you shouldn't control people, that you shouldn't take away their free will, and that you shouldn't transform their being into a form for your desire and comfort. Yet it's completely flipped on its head because Kinkajou wanted to be “a little silly” with her solution in ending the IceWing and NightWing conflict. She does exactly just this and that makes her part of the asshole list.

Turtle is inactive, his inaction causes a lot of problems for the others in a negative way in order to preserve his own self. He uses animus magic on Anemone just to make sure that he doesn't get any attention but this backfires and his sister is left not only being used as a WMD by Queen Coral, additionally, she is also left feeling alone in her magic. Turtle just sat on the sidelines as he actively watched Anemone get used like a tool by her mother and groomed by a disgusting snotball of a power-hungry political obsessed eel bbq dragon. His “neutrality” was incredibly toxic towards the upbringing of his sister. Yet, despite being the one guy everyone likes to pounce on and beat down he's probably the LEAST asshole character out of everyone in Jade Winglet. You can point at Turtle's issue of “not doing anything” and dig deeper to realize he's a child for one (an even younger child when he enchanted Anemone) and for two it's an unhealthy trauma response from his family. He has helped and supported every single Jade Winglet member in their “fall/on their knees” development and all he ever got in return was those to treat him like garbage (with Peril being the only one who wanted to help him and realizing how shitty animus magic is for him and attempted to make a situation better by ripping up the scroll with good intentions in mind).

Peril is probably the most self-explanatory but she tries. I can't really say anything else about the flaming toaster oven w/ the pizza box inside it dragon that not everyone else has said negatively about Peril before. She's uncontrollable and she constantly talks about hurting others, yak yak yak… Brownie points is that she's attempting to become a better person and trying to find her own path in life.

Now that everyone has run away typing furiously in the comments reblogging tags about this and that I want to emphasize that everything I said above is about CANON CONTENT. You can LOVE YOUR ASSHOLES!!! I personally LOVE MY ASSHOLES!!! There is nothing wrong with acknowledging that the protagonists that you read aren't the greatest people in the whole wide world. I know I wouldn't want to be in the same room as Peril if she was an actual person; with that said that doesn't mean she ISN’T my favorite dragon in the whole gosh darn freaking series. Winter is a bastard, I love Winter. Qibli is a bastard, I love Qibli. Moonwatcher… Actually, no. Moonwatcher can not. (this last one is a joke and a personal opinion, if I was to look at her into it retrospectively and have a positive thing to say I would say she's very neurodivergent relatable, and her power is very autism-coded.).

Jade Winglet is full of bastards.

I love my Jade Winglet bastards.

Stop being in denial and using “well I don't like [Insert Jade Winglet Member] because of what they did with [Insert Plot Point Here]” and accept that your favorite is a bastard. Tired of hearing about this rank system on who's more fucked up than the other and debating if they deserve love and respect for that. Ofc they do. They're your favs, y'all don't need to push or morally justify trying to like your favs by putting another Jade Winglet member down. You aren't impressing anyone or going “GOTCHA!” for this thought process.

Now stop fighting you cursed dragon hyperfixated disaster fandom. (/j)

Drops Mic

#wings of fire confessions #wof confessions #wof #wings of fire #Jade winglet #arc 2

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desswright29 · 1 year

Text

PROVE IT

Word Count: 5.6k

Contains: Angst, Smut 18+, Anger, Fluff, Mean Shuri

A/N: Listen…..I know. Enjoy 😁

Previously on Half Crazy:

Finally you were able to walk out. You look in Shuri’s direction. Had you not witnessed what you did in that lab. The sight would’ve torn you to pieces. Her pressed into a wall to keep her stable with Okoye cradling her head like a baby’s. But all you could feel was hatred. Anger. Removing your Kimoyo beads and rings you drop them to the floor with a clang and walked away. Shuri released a grunt that sounded as though she’d been punched in the gut at the sound.

You were gone and she didn’t know why.

Please come find me.

A week Later

“LUUUUUUU!! LUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!! OPEN UP I KNOW YOU’RE HOME!” A druken biligerent Shuri pounded on the door of Tolu’s home. Her loud slurred words carrying into the night. “Come on man!” She hiccuped. “HELP ME LU!” Her head began to swim, her tounge jutting out to moisten her dry lips before she stumbled backwards falling onto her bottom. A groan escaped her throat before she let out a befuddled laugh. “I’m a mess Lu! Just let me talk to her! She’s not answering my calls!” She pleaded her voice cracking. “I just need to know she’s ok Lu!” The door knob wiggled a few times before the door flew open. “Shuri it’s after midnight!” Tolu stood irritated wrapping her long silk robe around her body, her Afro protected by her silk bonnet. Her eyes landed on Shuri and her heart sank to her belly, face slightly softening. Shuri sat on the ground, completely dejected, curls matted to her head. She wore grey sweats with a sports bra, a wrinkled short sleeved button up falling from her shoulders. Her skin lacking its usual luster, gloom sucking the light from her eyes.

“Get in this house before you wake my neighbors and they see the Queen in a drunken stupor on my porch!” She yelled in a whisper, croutching over to help Shuri to her feet. Once on her feet she stumbled forward almost falling on her face before Tolu’s forearm clutched her torso. “Come on get it together Shuri.” Tolu practically dragged her inside the house as she stumbled forward. Once inside Shuri staggered out of her embrace. Straightening herself to the best of her ability as she arranged her clothing to appear more groomed. “I got it.” Shuri stated stubbornly. Tolu sighed stepping back enough to give her space, but to still be able to catch her if she fell. Shuri’s eyes scanned the wide entryway, eventually settling on the top of the staircase. She stood staring, unknowingly swaying on her feet. “I-is she still s-sleeping?” She swallowed, her eyes not leaving the stairs Tolu sucked in a bit of air her eyes closing before delievering Shuri the news. “She’s not here….She’s left Wakanda Shuri.” Her body stiffened, head snapping over to look at Tolu her words powerful enough to sober her. “L-left Wak-k-kanda?” Her eyes became misty as reality sunk into her chest “W-where is she Lu?”

“She’s safe. That’s all I can say.” Shuri shook her head, anxiously rubbing her hands over her hair and back down her face. “W-What did I d-do?” She choked out. “Can you t-tell me that? P-please. I have to fix this. I can’t do this without her. It’s driving me crazy. I’m falling apart Lu.” She broke into a sob.

“Come. Let’s have a seat Shuri. Let me get you something to help soak up some of that alcohol.” Shuri’s head hung again. Shoulders sagging in defeat as Tolu lead her to the kitchen sitting her at the table while she went to grab a bagle from her bread box. She popped them into the toaster oven and started some tea. “Shuri, you’re really telling me you have no idea why y/n left you? That sounds like bullshit.” Shuri sat sideways in her seat. One arm on the table the other placed on the back of her chair, she faced Tolu slowly shaking her head. “I-I have not one clue. Everything was going so perfectly. Then for some reason I went to the lab an-“ It hit her like lightening. Another memory. Her and Riri’s body’s pressed together on top of a table inside of the lab.

She could hear Riri moaning her name almost as though she was standing next to her whispering in her ear. She felt her vagina molding to the shape of Ri’s fingers. Heard herself moan Ri’s name. The sound of the bagle popping out of the toaster snaps her out of the memory. Just as fast as it came it went away. Shuri was met with a concerned looking Tolu once reality set back in. Her mouth opening and closing not knowing what to say. Tolu turned away to fix up Shuri’s bagel and tea as Shuri sat in silence at the table. Wondering what was happening to her.

Once Tolu finished she sat the food and tea on the table beside Shuri who was almost in a zombie like state. Pulling out a chair she sat adjacent to her. “Eat something Iphitshi” Shuri’s eyes fluttered upward towards Tolu a smile ghosting over her lips. The first since you’d left her. “You haven’t called me that since we were kids.” Tolu smirked sitting back in her chair. “Before y/n came and stole us from eachother huh” Shuri let out a hmph as Tolu pushed the plate towards her encouraging her to take a bite. Shuri slowly lifted the bagel from her plate slightly shaking, the alcohol catching up to her. She took a bite chewing slowly to try and keep it down. Chasing it with a swallow of tea. She sat back taking a deep breath as though that was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. “I don’t get it. Where did I go wrong Lu?” Tolu shook her head letting out a huff.

“She said she walked in on you with Riri in the lab….. Fucking.” Lu gave it to her plain. Shuri shook her head from side to side. Her eyes down cast, confusion covering her face. “ I didn’t.. I-I couldn’t… I wouldn’t have done that to her. Me and Ri had sex ONCE! And I told her about it as soon as we decided to work things out. I can understand her being upset that I let her stay for the remainder of her trip but she could’ve talked to me about that. To say I had sex with her again so she could leave me is crazy. I didn’t do that shit and she knows it!!!” Shuri smashed her fist against Tolu’s glass table causing it and everything on it to shatter on top of them as her veins began to glow purple. Tolu screeched jumping back. Shuri’s eyes widen as she falls out of the chair onto her knees without thinking to try and clean up the mess.

“AAARGH!! Fuck!!” She screamed as glass implanted itself into her hands and knees. “Shuri! What the fuck!” Tolu rushes over to her as safely as possible to help her to her feet. “Damnit I’m so sorry! I’ll get it cleaned up and get you another table. I’m good for it. I swear I didn’t meant to. Fuck what’s wrong with me. I’m so fucking stupid -“

“Hey! Stop it Shuri.” Tolu said sitting her at the bar. “Hell yea you’re gonna get this cleaned and get me a new table, but I’m not concerned with that tonight.” She rushed off to get a first aid kit and tweezer. She came back to Shuri with her head lowered. Chin to chest. Tears streaming down her face, watching blood leak from the wounds on her hands as they sat palms upward on her legs. Tolu timidly grabbed Shuri’s left hand and began to remove tiny shards of glass. “Never would I have ever thought I’d see little Peach so defeated. But it makes since that y/n’s the one that got you here.” Shuri continued looking down a small hiccup escaping her mouth.

“Remember it was just us. You were my bestfriend in the world. But when that pretty girl with the golden skin walked through those palace doors I knew I’d have to share. Who knew she’d steal both of our hearts.” If Tolu didn’t know any better she would’ve thought she heard a chuckle. Until a hoarse voice began to speak. “You were always the coolest girl in the world to me Tolu. So little but intense. A mini Dora.” Shuri said. Tolu chuckled.

“Same, even though you were an arrogant little prick. You really had every reason to be.”

“Fuck you” Shuri winced as Tolu was a bit rougher with the last shard of glass. “You did that on purpose.” Tolu smirked as she disinfected both of Shuri’s hands and wrapped them. “How are your knees?”

“They’re fine” Tolu gave a slight nod. “Shuri I don’t know what’s going on. None of this makes since to me. But you can’t break like this. You have a country that’s depending on you to be healthy and in your right mind. So you have to find a healthier way to cope while we get this figured. Our Queen can’t be stumbling around her kingdom intoxicated. And this isn’t going to get you your wife back. I love you both dearly. And I don’t want to see either of you hurting the way that you are.” Shuri’s eyes fell to the ground. “I can’t let you leave here like this. So take the guest room tonight…..And don’t worry Shuri. You and y/n will be back like never before in no time.

3 months later

“AAAHHH OH MY GOD!! Shuri! Fuuuuckk!!”

“Shut up” Shuri’s voice is low and raspy. Sweat pouring down her sculpted body as she pounded into the equally sweaty trembling girl bent over beneath her. She yanked back on the leash attached to the collar on the girls neck. Tears pouring down her face. “You like being the Panthers slut don’t you?”

“Yesss Panther! Pl-please cum for me!! I can’t take m-much more!”

“Awww, is your pussy tired from all that cumming?” Shuri pulled back harder causing the girls eyes to reach the ceiling. Her view was soon obstructed by the view of Shuri’s beautiful face. Nine freshly done shoulder length jumbo braids fell from her scalp waving back and forth with each stroke. “Y-yes Panther! I c-can’t take another one.” Shuri smirked. “Oh but you’re going to give me another. Now arch that fucking back for me.”

Riri let out a loud grunt as she arched her back and began tossing back her ass in an attempt to match Shuri’s strokes, determined to make her cum. Shuri enjoyed this. Putting on a large normal strap and fucking Riri into exhaustion. But she would never cum and it drove Riri crazy. As Tolu had suggested, Shuri had found a healthier way to cope with y/n leaving. She trained hard. With Tolu, Okoye, Ayo, Aneeka, and on her own. When she wasn’t training. She was in her lab, in meetings, or fucking Riri into an oblivion. Shuri had left the lab at 3 am with her mind set on the latter. It had now been almost 2 hrs.

Shuri reached underneath Riri and began to rub circles into her swollen achy bud. Instantly the arch left her back, causing her to look hunched over. Shuri tsked. “Now what am I supposed to do with this?”

“Shuri I c-can’t Ahhhhh haaaaaaa!” Drool leaked from her mouth as her body spasamed running away from Shuri’s thrust. “If you’re tapping out that’s not how it’s done.” She pressed her front into Riri’s back and began to thrust harder, her hand rubbing faster circles into Riri’s clit. Taking her other hand off of the leash she wrapped it around Riri’s throat squeezing lightly. Riri’s body began to jerk violently underneath Shuri as she tried to form a coherent sentence. “G-ggooo ahhhh SHIT!!!”

“That’s not it either Rianna.” She seductively whispered into her ear. “SHUUURRIIIIIIII!!!!! I-I Aah! I submit P-Panther UUUHHHHNNN!!” Right as Shuri let her go and pulled out of her liquid once again began to gush from her center. Her body went stiff. The intense painful pleasure causing fierce jolts to run through her body making her convulse as she came for the umpteenth time. Shuri watched as the liquid continued to sputter out with Riri’s reaching between her legs to try and stop it. “I ca-ant ssstop cummming Uhhnngg”. Silently Shuri continued to watch as Riri began to slip in and out of consciousness.

Riri walked the halls of the palace. Her feet guiding her to the familiar hall that led to the Queens home. Nodding at the Dora standing guard she entered. The closer she got to the door the more she could hear the echo of Shuri’s cries. She’d stayed away for about a week. Allowing Shuri time to process. Now it was her time to make her move. You see her intent was never to use the atoms continuously. It was made to throw enough of a wrench in Shuri and y/n’s lives to allow her to be able to squeeze her way in. And now the time had come for her to make her move. Now standing infront of the door she realized it was slightly cracked.

She stepped inside looking around. It was dark, the mess from the day y/n left still present. “Damn she did a number on this place.” The sound of soft whimpers caught Riri’s attention as she exited the foyer. “Shuri. Shuri it’s me Ri.” Still no answer only light cries. Following the sound Riri found Shuri sitting on the floor of her living room back up against the front of her couch. A bottle of scotch sat next to her as her head lie on her knees. “Oh Shuri.” Riri sat on the floor across from her. “I’m so sorry this happened.”

“I don’t know what happened Ri. Everything was ok. Now she won’t talk to me. She won’t even tell me what I did wrong.” She was obviously intoxicated. Her words slurred and she would hiccup on occasion. “That’s not okay Shuri. It sounds like she was just looking for an excuse to leave. You deserve better. Someone who can communicate their issues with you.” Shuri finally looked up into Riri’s eyes. “Is that you? You can do that for me?” An inquisitive look passed over Shuri’s face and had Riri payed a bit more attention she would’ve noticed the small serpentine glint in Shuri’s eyes. But filled with her own ulterior motives she moved forward in her plan. A smirk lifted one side of her mouth. “I can. If that’s what you want. I could make it all better for you Angel. If you’ll let me.”

A slow smile formed on Shuri’s face before she broke eye contact grabbing her bottle of liquor. She settled back onto the front of the couch. A chuckle leaving her before bringing the bottle up to her lips guzzling down 3 gulps and removing it from her mouth. Her eyes then settled back on Riri. “You’re gonna make me all better huh?” She said, Her bottom lip getting trapped between her perfect teeth. Eyes low from her drunken state. “If you want me to.” Riri came closer. Now sitting on her knees beside Shuri. “Ask me if you can Rianna” Shuri’s eyes bore holes into Riri’s face. The depth of her voice sent chills down her spine. “Can I make it better for you?” Riri removed the bottle from Shuri’s hand, once again placing it beside her.

Straddling Shuri’s lap she held her face in her hands, locking their eyes together. “Please let me be here for you. Stay with you. Dry these tears for you.” She leans in. Her lips grazing over Shuri’s. Her mouth slightly open, breath tickling Shuri’s lips. Shuri’s tounge slowly escapes her mouth. Taking access to Riri’s that she happily accepts. She closes her mouth around Shuri’s tongue, her eyes closing upon reflex at the taste of her. The bitter taste of the spirits mixed in with her earthy taste driving her wild as she sucked before opening her mouth and intertwining their tounges. She’d done it! She was here kissing her girl without the use of her device. Shuri was going to fall for her!

“Ri, RI!!! Get up I’m hungry!” Riri was jarred awake by a freshly showered, fully dressed Shuri. In her dark Maroon sweat suit and black combat vest, her chains sitting neatly on the outside of her shirt. She stood impatiently over the top of her, placing her braids in a bun at the top of her head. “It’s almost sunrise Shuri.”

“Which is why I would like some breakfast so I can go home and prepare for my day.”

“Baby, why don’t you stay here in bed with me. Or let me stay with you for once.” Shuri’s face morphed into a sneer, scoffing. “Get yourself together so you can prepare my breakfast. I suggest you move quickly.” And with that she was out of the room. A soft sigh left Riri’s mouth. She lifted her aching body and threw her legs over the edge of the bed. Bracing herself to stand to her feet. Three short rocks and a hop and she found her self on the ground her wobbly legs and sore core betraying her. “Fuck” She whispered.

This is how it had been since the day Riri found Shuri in a puddle of alcohol and tears on her living room floor and begged to take y/n’s place. Shuri was more toned, dressed to the nines, and most importantly. She was mean. That beautiful sweet personality that she’d fell in love with had teetered away. Something was wrong. Once Riri had realized she’d gotten Shuri but not the Shuri that she’d wanted she’d tried using the atoms to get the gentle affection she’d always desired from Shuri… But there was a problem. They didn’t work. She’d asked her Stark AI if they could be located but they were completely offline and undetectable.

Riri grabbed the side of the bed trying to stand to her feet once again. Legs still achy and wobbly she gathered the strength to walk to the bathroom and wash up quickly. She grabbed her robe and put on her slippers and headed into the living room. She was met with Shuri on the couch manspread, arm thrown over the back of the couch, once again enjoying a cocktail. “What would you like for breakfast Shuri?”

“Surprise me.” She said without looking in Riri’s direction. Riri decided on just making a simple turkey bacon avacado toast, With a fruit smoothie. Racking her brain trying to figure out what happened to her beloved invention. Could it be the amount of alcohol Shuri had been consuming? The training? Is it the reason for her recent behavior. God what happened!? A single tear ran down her face. She quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand. She wanted Shuri to love her more than ever before. She’d be lying if she said the turn Shuri had taken wasn’t a bit sexy. The sex was always amazing and she was well pleased. But what hurt was the lack of affection. She craved it.

Finishing up Shuri’s breakfast knowing that she wouldn’t stay to eat it, she packed it up and walked out of the kitchen to give it to her. “It’s finished. I’ve got it ready to go for you.” Riri’s voice was small and sorrowful. Shuri stood to her feet. Taking the food from Riri’s hands and preparing to leave. “Shuri. Wait.” Shuri stopped turning to look at Riri. Her brow arched in question. “What is this? W-what are we?” Shuri‘s facial expression never changed. She only slightly tilted her head to the side. “I’m only asking because we do this everyday. The sex is amazing and I enjoy your company. But I want more Shuri. I’m falling in love with you and I want you to love me too. You don’t hold me. Or take me on dates or anything and I just want to know where this is going?”

“Where does it feel like it’s going Rianna?” Shuri placed her food on the side table and stepped closer. “I don’t know Shuri. But I know where I want it to go. And I know you’re capable of it. I want you to love me the way you loved her. Why don’t you love me the way you loved her.” Riri’s voice broke, and again tears began to fall. But this time she allowed them. Shuri’s face turned concerned as she quickly stepped into Riri’s space holding her face hostage with her hands. To be sure Tiri couldn’t pull away. “Oh Sithandwa..” She pulled her face upwards making sure their eyes connect. Shuri began to speak while wiping Riri’s tears with her thumbs. “It’s so simple… I am still very much in love with my wife. And you are simply not her.” Riri’s eyes widened as Shuri gently kisses her on the forehead before whispering in her ear. “You got what you wanted right.” She let go of her face and looked her in the eyes. There it was again. That glint. Except this time Riri couldn’t miss it if she wanted.

Shuri grabbed her food once again and walked out of the door leaving Riri with her heart in her stomach and only one thing on her mind.

Did Shuri know?

Shuri walked into her home to the sound of someone in her living room. Her eyes rolled up into her head as she shut the door behind her. “Why are you here Tolu?” She said before she even rounded the corner. “I see you’re still fucking that manipulator?” Shuri plopped down on the couch next to her propping her feet up on the table infront of her. “You’re the one that told me to find something healthier to do?” She said nonchalantly opening the container with her breakfast and digging in. “As in train. Run your country. Invent some shit. Not continue fucking the very woman that your wife left you over. And you’re still drinking. I can smell it on you.”

“Well I’m doing all of the above. It’s called balance.”

“Maybe you should try to fit sleeping in their somewhere too. And if you mustn’t maybe you should try doing something that might actually help you get your wife back!”

“HA!” Shuri threw her head back with a mouth full of food. “And just how do you suggest I go about doing that Lu? She’s refused to talk to me! Left Wakanda to go Bast knows where for three fucking months! Still won’t tell me what the fuck I did! And is only returning today to DIVORCE ME!”

“EXACTLY SHURI!! She’ll be here! Do something for bast sake!”

“Maybe I don’t want to!” Shuri jumped up from the sofa and began to pace. “She just left me with no explanation Tolu! Maybe I’m fucking angry! Do I not have that right!”

“I told you she said she caught you fucking Ri.”

“But I didn’t!”

“You sure as hell are now! And how do plan to explain that to her?”

“I don’t! She didn’t feel the need to explain shit to me. So why would I owe her an explanation now? If anything she pushed me into her arms!” Tolu huffed in exasperation. “That’s bullshit and you know it. If you really didn’t do it you could’ve proved her wrong Shuri.” Shuri sat down again. Placing her head in her hands. “She’s returning to divorce you Shuri. Are you really going to allow her to be done?” Shuri released a quivering exhale. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to lose her. It terrifies me. I can’t even think straight. I just. I just wish it never happened. I want to snap my fingers and it all just goes back to normal. I miss her Lu.” Tolu scoots closer placing a hand on Shuri’s back as she breaks down.

“The whole Kingdom can see that Shuri. You’re not hiding it as well as you think. It’s time to stop swallowing your feelings, let go of the anger and put that energy into letting your wife know you’re not letting her go so easily. She fought for you. Now it’s your turn.” Tolu stood to her feet. “I’m going to make sure everything at the house is prepared for her arrival. Get yourself together Peach.”

Shuri leaned against the bookshelf inside of the meeting room at the lawyers office, staring out of the window in anticipation. Nerves getting the best of her. It felt like it’d been years since she’d seen your face. She wore a black oversized suit with a turtleneck and a black and gold embroidered vest. Her gold and silver chains shined in contrast to the black underneath. Her right ear decorated in a gold and silver ear cuff. Several bracelets decorated her wrist and rings decorated her beautiful fingers. The most important being her wedding ring. Her pointed toe chunky heeled boots decorated with gold at the tip tapped tirelessly against the floor, and her braids were now worn loose. Her woodsy vanilla scent lingered in the air. She looked impossibly delicious.

When a black Ashton Martin pulled up to the front of the building Shuri’s heart rate began to speed up. She watched as a woman about her height dressed in a grey sweat suit with a tan trench, NY fitted cap, with long locs flowing from underneath hopped out of one side of the car jogging to the otherside to open the door for you. A black stiletto boot delicately stepped outside of the car, as the woman reached in to grab your hand, pulling you out of the car and right into her arms. Your arms wrapped around her neck as your lips connected to hers.

Shuri’s jaw fell slack, surprise stealing the air from her lungs. She stood completely stunned for a moment before her hand came up to her chest subconsciously reminding her to breathe. That’s when she noticed the tear rolling down her cheek, and that you were no longer in her line of sight. Her eyes darted from side to side as she wiped at her tear. Quickly sniffing and blinking away anymore. She let out a quick puff of air to collect herself and allowed numbness to take over.

She took a seat at the long mahogany wood table, next to her lawyer. Her face now stoic, sitting low in her seat with her right foot crossed over left knee. She grabbed her shades from the table and placed them on her face, just in time for you to walk through the door. Her bottom lip settled inbetween her teeth almost like reflex to the sight of you. The first thing Shuri had noticed was that you’d gained a bit of weight. Your breast were a bit more swollen and your hips had spread. And fuuuck did it look good on you. Her body began to heat up. As she surveyed your curves in the extremly low cut black leather dress, as you removed the black trench that had sat on your shoulders. She watched you avoid the sight of her under your wide brimmed fedora hat that sat cocked over your right eye. Your locks tied in a tight bun underneath. How the fuck was she supposed to get through this? How was she supposed to let you go?

Fuck it. “I would like to have a word alone with my wife before we begin these proceedings.” Shuri speaks up from her seat. Your eyes finally land on her and your heart skipped a beat. She looked different. In all of the right ways. You never thought your wife could be anymore attractive. Her regal presence began to make you nervous, causing your stomach to flutter. Or was baby just acknowledging the presence of its mother. “No.” You say simply. Shuri let out a small chuckle a smirk curving the corner of her lips. “It wasn’t a request.” She stated calmly. You roll your eyes letting out an irritated sigh as everyone began to file out of the room. The last person left out closing the door behind them leaving you two completely alone for the first time in months. You stand awkwardly across from her as you feel her eyes burning through you.

Nervous that she may notice the growing life inside of you, you subconsciously place your arms infront of you and began playing with your fingers. “Ubonakala umhle nkosazana” (You look beautiful).

“What is it Shuri? I didn’t plan on being here for long. I just wanted to go over the stipulations of this divorce to see if we can do this amicably.” A scoff left Shuri’s mouth. “Amicably huh? Bold of you being that you brought your whore to my country. Hopefully she makes it out well.”

“Oh please! You wouldn’t dare touch her. Teyana is no threat to this nation. Only to your bruised ego.”

“Oh her name! Goody that’ll make it even easier.” Shuri sneered.

“You know what Shuri Fuck you!! Bold of you to care when you’re still traipsing around Wakanda with the bitch I left you over. I hear you’re not only a habitual cheater but a functioning alcholic!”

“The functioning part of that is what’s important though right?” You look at her in disgust before going to grab your coat. “I’m leaving. I’ll handle this on my own and send you the papers.”

“So that’s really why you left me?” You stopped mid stride. “You never told me what happened. You just left me y/n. How am I supposed to fix it if I don’t know.” Keeping your back turned you answer. “Maybe I didn’t want you to fix it. Maybe there should’ve never been anything done to fix.”

“I didn’t cheat on you again Sthandwa. I was honest about what happened with Ri and I and it never happened again.” You turn around and slam your fist on the desk. “LIAR!! I watched you! Inside of the lab! The bitch smiled at me over your shoulder as you rode her fucking fingers. I think I know my wife’s body and the way she sounds when she’s being fucked! So unless there’s a clone of the Queen coming around Wakanda only to fuck Riri! You can stop lying to my face! And the audacity of you to continue after I left is unfathomable to me!”

Shuri stood from her chair removing her glasses to reveal the tears brimming her eyes. “I just want to feel something!! Take my anger out somewhere! All the training staying busy!! It’s not working! So what else do I do? I might as well fuck her since I already lost you when I DIDNT DO IT!”

“Stop lying to me Shuri! I can’t do this!” Shuri rounded the table with urgency making her way towards you. She was charging forward and it didn’t seem like she would stop. You started backing up as she continued moving forward.

“I didn’t do it!”

“STOP!”

“I didn’t do it!”

“YOU’RE LYING!”

“I DIDN’T DO IT!”

She’d backed you into the table. Her face so close you could taste the mint on her breath. Both of your breathing heavy with the adrenaline of anger running through your veins. All of a sudden her lips were on yours and your arms were wrapping around her shoulders tight, like you never wanted to let her go. Your bodies melded into one anothers as you shared a slow, hungry, desperate, sloppy kiss. The scent of her, the feel of her back in your arms. Her arms wrapped around the small of your back felt like home. You started to feel faint it was too much. She took your breath away while simultaneously pouring life into you. She pulled away from you staring into your eyes.

Looking into her eyes confusion begin to set in. You’d known Shuri a good portion of your life. And you couldn’t find the lie in her eyes. You lie your head on her shoulder your arms still wrapped tight around her. Her hands rested on your hips as she walked you backward sitting you down in a nearby chair. She crouched infront of you grabbing both of your hands in front of her. Placing her other over her heart. “Baby I didn’t do it. You have to believe me. W-we were getting our life back. Trying to make a family. I was loving every minute of it. I didn’t have the space in my head or in my heart for anyone else. You’re all I wanted. You’re still all I want. I wouldn’t have risked this. Loosing you. I- I can’t do it. I can’t do this baby. I don’t want to.” She went down to her knees her head falling into your lap. “Let me figure this out please. Let’s not rush into a divorce. Just let me figure it out.”

Placing your hands on her head you close your eyes as tears fall and your jaw trembles. Your chest shakes with your sobs. “I want to believe you Shuri I do. But I saw what I saw.” You could see her shoulders deflate as her head sunk deeper into your lap her hands squeezing a bit tighter. Staring up at the ceiling you release a wet exhale. “I wont file yet.” You whisper. Shuri’s head shot up from your lap eyes bloodshot and face stained with tears. Your right hand cups her chin as you lean closer to her. “Prove it Udaku”. With that you stand to your feet, place your hat back on your head and put your coat back on your shoulders. Leaving Shuri on her knees. She sits completely on the floor wiping at her tears, her heart finally filled with hope. A chime from Shuri’s Kimoyo beads interupted her moment.

“Panther the results of the analysis of the atoms have been finalalized and are ready for your review.”

Shuri’s eyes widened as she jumped to her feet grabbing her trench from her chair. She ran after you.

“Baby wait!” She yelled as she caught up with you. Once again you halt. Giving her your undivided attention. “I have something you might want to see.”

A/n: I hope you all enjoyed!! The next part will be the finale!!!

#letitia wright #letitiawright #shuri udaku #spotify #shuri x reader #shuri fanfiction #shuri x you #shuri fic #shuri angst #shuri smut #shuri imagine #shuri black panther #Spotify

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wheredostarsgowhenyoudie · 1 year

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Once upon a time when employees are being interviewed at SI:

Interviewer: So what is it like working for Iron Man?

Employee A: Oh! Easy question. I like that. It is an honor, you know. It's what I thought when I joined, and it still is now. But also, I did not expect that SI is a place where we are allowed to prioritize things like family. Like last time, I left my phone on silent at my desk cause I had to go to a meeting. My kid at home was having an emergency and I couldn't be reached. But apparently, Friday, Mr. Stark's AI, keeps track of phone vibrations so she made the report and someone came to notify me. I didn't even know there was a protocol for that. Turns out my daughter was having her period for the first time! And I'm a single father so I had no idea what to do and I was panicking. Next thing I know, an SI nurse came and apparently she was sent by Mr. Stark to walk me through how to help. Apparently, Fri also caught my panic rumblings and triggered 'YOU ARE NOT ALONE PROTOCOL' or something. (*laughing*) The next week, we received an official email introducing a new department called Human Care. They encourage everyone to reach out if we ever find ourselves out of our depths on non company emergency matters.

Interviewer: How long have you been working here?

Employee B: Eight years, two months, six days and counting.

Interviewer: What's the weirdest thing you've witnessed here?

Employee B: (blanks out)

Employee B (struggling to think): Ahm. Really? Just one? Er- That's a tough one. Maybe that one time they set up a room for everyone to try lifting Thor's hammer? Or wait, no, maybe that time there when flying roombas were everywhere following Mr. Stark and reminding him to eat? Or when a villain came via the vents but before he could come down, Hawkeye accidentally hit him with pepper spray? I don't know, man. Weird things happen a lot. We're used to it by now.

Interviewer: Do you feel safe working here?

Employee C: Yeah. The avengers live here. But to tell you the truth, I think Happy Hogan and his black tux team of agents scare all the potential bad guys away. I heard rumors that Black Widow personally trains them. Like, I know two of them. Jake, for instance. He's like a giant, and he is intimidating but I saw him crying one time and when I asked him why, he just said Mr. Hogan.

Interviewer: Which avenger have you met?

Employee D: Oh, I've met two of them. Captain America and Thor. It was odd but one time, they were in the cafeteria and carrying trays of food and I do not mean just one each. Nope. Like, a ton! Like they're feeding an army. But it makes sense. Can you imagine the workout? With bodies like theirs? And the battles they go to? Man, if I have to save the world from aliens, I'll probably need the same nutrition.

Interviewer: Which avenger is the kindest?

Employee E: Ahm...We all know they're all badass. But kindest, I think Spider-Man. Last Thursday, it was raining, and then Spidey suddenly came all wet and holding a box and I'm gonna quote him now. He said, "Friday, can you please ask Mr. Sam Wilson Falcon sir to come down? The shelter is close and I have a box of puppies and I really, really want to bring them up but Mr. Stark is gonna ban me from the lab again."

Interviewer: Aww. So what happened next? What did they do with the puppies?

Employee E (grinning): Falcon came down, alright. But he came with Iron Man who zoomed past everyone to drag Spidey to the penthouse. I am not sure what I heard but he was muttering about oven toasters and frozen spiderlings? In the end, aome employees volunteered to take care of them. But I believe two of them are at the avengers' floor. We saw Mr. Stark ranting about puppy paw paint marks on his armani.

Interviewer (gasps): Oh my. Was he mad?

Employee E (ends up laughing): Mad? Try grunting fondly? Peter really likes those puppies. Mr. Stark tried to act like he hates them but really, he adores everything about the kid, puppies included. He even had custom made collars with avengers logo made for them.

Interviewer: I'm sorry? The Winter Soldier was asking directions to where?

Employee F: The Lego Store.

Interviewer: How would you describe the workload? Do you still get work life balance?

Employee G: I guess it depends. I work in R&D and we're all nerds there. So like, we're typically busy but it's play for us. Some days, we're really cramped with work, mostly when deadlines are nearing or sometimes, we're just really in the zone, we do not want to stop. Peter activated 'NIGHT NIGHT PROTOCOL' for that. Had Fri lock us out of the lab and we had no choice but to go home or nap at the sleep wing. And would you believe? After the product launch, we got emails on mandatory vacation leaves with bonus to spend! Like, who does that? So yeah, it's cool working here.

And then, there was this:

Interviewer: How does it feel to be the heir of a multibillion dollar top green tech company?

Peter (stares quizzically, dumb-founded): Uhhh-....Look, sorry, I think I'm in the wrong room. I'm not- Maybe you got the wrong questionnaire? I'm just an intern-

Interviewer: Oh. Wait. Is it top secret then? Sorry, I was told of your identity as Mr. Stark's kid so I thought I could ask. But if you're not comfortable-

Peter: WHAT!?? Who said that? They're probably just joking.

Interviewer (chuckles nervously): Ms. Potts did actually.

Peter (freezes): Oh.

Suddenly the door opens and Tony walks in.

Tony: Hey kid, and Ms. Carrenland. How's the interview going? Thought I'd drop by for moral support, you know.

Peter (looks torn, but excuses himself to go to Tony): Uhm, Mr. Stark, can I talk to you for a second? Look, sir, ahm, I think there's been a misunderstanding. The interviewer asks me how it feels to be your heir. Like that's real. I don't-

Tony (has his brows rising to his hairline): Kid. Peter. Breathe.

Peter (groans and sighs embarrassingly): I just didn't want to lie! They mistook me for someone else. It was a misunderstanding!

Tony (smirking): It's really not.

Peter: What?

Tony: Kiddo, I was the one who gave Pep the approval to sign the questions. And really, you've been managing the R&D department and shadowing Pep at management for a year now. You never wondered why I make you do that?

Peter: Oh.

Tony: Yup. Genius child here.

Peter: I just wanted to help. You seem stressed out with the Avengers' work and dealing with the government. I thought I could lend a hand. I didn't- I don't expect you to- I'm not worth that, Mr. Stark.

Tony (scoffs): I beg to differ. Look, I'll be honest with you. Even if you aren't interested in the company, it's still gonna be yours. Look around you, kid. Do you think I let just anyone go around with a free pass at my tower? You have a room at my home. This place is your home, as where as everywhere else that I own. Plus, it's another motivation for you to take care of yourself when you go out as Spidey. Imagine all our employees. They need you, kiddo.

Peter (mumbling softly): I'm just Peter Parker.

Tony (smiles and pats his shoulder): And that is why I chose you.

#irondad #irondad & spiderson #ironfam #spiderson #spider-man #iron man #avengers #mcu #tony stark #peter parker & tony stark #peter parker tom holland #peter parker #stark industries #incorrect marvel #incorrect avengers #incorrect irondad and spiderson #fun fics

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avalon-of-babylon · 6 months

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Am I playing Fallout 3 wrong?

For the most part, I'm having fun, but the game feels weirdly empty to me. Just large expanses of nothing sprinkled with the occasional building and a surprising lack of quests compared to Fallout 4.

I have around 2000 hours put into Fallout 4. It's one of my favorite games because (weirdly) just like Stardew Valley, there's always something driving you in between quests and exploration, and the game is designed to encourage further exploration without you realizing it.

In Stardew, it's improving the farm, expanding your house, gathering ingredients and resources, improving your tools, or gaining hearts. You can do pretty well for yourself off fishing alone but the desire for more is there in the back of your mind. The game doesn't tell me to make Iridium sprinklers and find the best sprinkler to scarecrow formation for my farm layout, I choose to do that because I want a giant stack of bread and berries on me at all times and watering by hand bores me. Also I want Sebastian to love me, and in my experience, there's no faster way to get frozen tears than to lob bombs everywhere on floors 40+.

In Fallout 4, it's the settlements. As Preston says himself, there's always someone who needs help, and settlements are not only an investment but also a constant incentive for me. Half of all mods I have for the game are around settlements: removing the build limit, scrap dead bodies, adding balcony supports, creative clutter, expanding Jamaica Plain, making Coastal cottage less of a shit hole. Normal stuff. And when I'm out I am constantly on the lookout for scrap I can use to improve settlements and traiders I can get supply orders from.

Even when I'm not questing, I'm still on a mission the game gave me to leave or take.

But with Fallout 3, I can't find much to actually do, and worse, I can't find anyone to do it with. The only companion I've met in my ~70 hours so far has been Charon, and that's because I was lonely, saved up 2k caps, and went and got him. I haven't even met dogmeat yet despite him being like 15 minutes at the most into Fallout 4. Don't get me wrong I like Charon's grumpy ass always grumbling over shit but ultimately the man is just a very tall, overcooked hot pocket with a shot gun. He's not man's best friend or my best friends smoaking toaster oven, sarcastic lesbian Lois Lane or Mayor over cooked hot pocket with free molly.

I am genuinely struggling for things to do. I'm just heading in any direction, hoping a deathclaw isn't over there.

#fallout #fallout 3 #fallout 4 #charon fo3 #charon fallout #fallout charon #fallout companions #dogmeat #piper wright #john hancock #hancock fo4 #preston garvey #stardew valley #i wrote this instead of sleeping

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doumadono · 8 months

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EMERGENCY REQUEST

So I love your stuff and ofc take your time. Im really sorry to inconvenience you with this request but I'm just very stressed.

I recently moved into a new house with my family and we have been slowly moving things in for months. Apparently the landlord left the door unlocked after he came in to make some final repairs and someone broke in and stole some stuff. Nothing huge, some tools, a toaster oven, drill bits. We didn't think they stole anything else and my family didn't see a reason to make a report till I started looking for one of my boxes I moved previously and it was gone. It had all my cross country stuff in it and I know it's not important to anyone else but CC is my LIFE. I've been running for almost 5 years So all my medals, plaques, times, banners, numbers, memorabilia from courses are gone. And I don't know what anyone would want with any of it. None of it was worth any kind of money but all of it means so much to me emotionally. I SUCKED my first year and it took so much effort to EARN everything. I'm scared they are gonna start melting down my metals or try to pawn them. I know it sounds vain and maybe it is but I was so proud of everything I've accomplished in cross country. I had a mental break down for about 30 mins to an hour and idk what to do. CC helped motivate me to recover from my Annorexia and one of those metals I won right after I got out of the hospital. Im 4'10 (I am a senior in highschool) Im already at a disadvantage considering my legs are half the size of everyone else's. I had to work so hard to be where I am now and all my reward for my work it's just gone because someone was bored? Wanted to make some extra cash?

Do you think If/when you have time you could write MHA comforting someone who's going through this? Maybe Shoji or Amajiki? Or whoever you want and think would fit. Im sorry again I know it's vain to want all of it back but it just meant so much to me.

Shoji & Amajiki with a friend who lost their CC stuff

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

Shoji

Shoji, noticing your distress, approaches quietly, acknowledging the pain without pressing for words.

With his calm demeanor, he approaches the friend, his extra limbs extending to offer a gentle, reassuring touch.

He speaks gently, "I heard what happened. I can't imagine how hard this must be for you. Take your time, but if you want to talk, I'm here."

Shoji respects your initial silence, patiently waiting for you to open up when you're ready.

He remarks, "Your achievements in cross country are a part of who you are. Losing them is like losing a piece of yourself, I bet but you still have the memories."

Shoji invites the friend to a quiet spot in the school, away from prying eyes, where they can share their feelings without judgment. "Sometimes, finding solace in silence can be more comforting than words."

Shoji suggests, "Let's work on a plan together. We'll search for your items and, if needed, involve our friends for more support. Even if the physical items are gone, your achievements and the strength you gained through cross country remain."

Amajiki

Amajiki cautiously approaches, "I heard about what happened. It's okay if you don't want to talk, but I'm here for you."

Amajiki silently sits with you, understanding that words may not be enough to express the depth of your pain.

He softly says, "Your achievements are not just medals. They're a reflection of your strength and resilience. No one can take that away."

Amajiki's gentle demeanor encourages the distressed friend to open up slowly, sharing the pain and memories associated with the lost stuff.

Amajiki softly suggests involving the authorities, realizing the emotional value of the stolen items. "I think it's important to let the authorities know. They might be able to help recover your belongings, and it's okay to ask for help."

Amajiki spends quiet moments with the distressed friend, acknowledging that sometimes, silent companionship speaks louder than words.

#emergency request #mezo shoji #shoji x reader #shoji mezo #mha fluff #mha headcanons #tamaki amajiki #amajiki tamaki x reader #amajiki x reader #amajiki tamaki #bnha fluff

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lilypadlys · 10 months

Text

Domestic December Day 12 - Someone Set Off the Fire Alarm

In which Phantom discovers how toasters work. And what the smoke alarm is for…

Notes: Mention of wounds and blood but not too graphic. Don't worry, Phantom just has an accident and Aether quickly patches him up. Prompt list by comp-lady. See prompt list here

Midnight snacks and fire alarms below the cut or on AO3

Phantom wakes up at three in the morning, unable to get back to sleep. No matter how much he tosses and turns, sleep continues to elude him. Sighing, he decides to just get up. Maybe he’ll quietly watch a movie or something. He wanders into the common room, blankets in tow and begins to dig through the dvd collection when his stomach growls.

Phantom whimpers. Usually he sleeps in and the other ghouls have breakfast ready by the time he wakes up. Swiss or Cumulus or Rain also generally help him make food at other meals as well. Now though, he’s on his own. He pads into the attached kitchen and pokes through the cupboards and fridge. While there’s plenty of food, most of it is too intimidating for his novice cooking skills or temperamental stomach. His stomach growls loudly again.

His eyes settle on the bread basket. Toast would be good, he thinks. He pulls out a couple slices of bread and sets them in the toaster oven. He turns it on but he’s unsure what temperature to select or how long to leave the bread in there. He wants it done fast so he shrugs and cranks the temperature dial up to max. Then he starts digging around the fridge for the grape jam.

It takes a while, the jar having been moved from its usual spot. When he finally finds the grape jam, the jar is practically empty. Grumbling, Phantom tosses it aside and retrieves the strawberry jam instead. In his frustration, he forgets about the toast. He’s in the middle of trying to unscrew the sticky lid when an aggressive and ear piercing screeching noise begins. Phantom startles, dropping the glass jam jar. It shatters at his feet and one of the shards wedges itself in his bare foot.

Overwhelmed and in pain, Phantom drops to the ground and curls up with his eyes shut and hands pressed over his ears. Mercifully the noise stops and he hesitantly opens his eyes. Swiss is knelt next to him with a concerned look. Aether is holding the fire extinguisher and foam coats the inside of the toaster oven. Mountain is resetting the fire alarm. The rest of the pack sleepily wanders into the common room with confused expressions.

“Hey Bug.” Swiss murmurs. “You alright?”

Phantom manages a nod, too embarrassed and overwhelmed to verbally respond.

“Can Aether take a look at your foot?”

Another nod.

Aether comes over and kneels next to Swiss. “Hey Batling. Gonna see if I can help, okay?”

“Uh huh.”

Aether gently lifts Phantom’s injured foot. There’s blood but not too much. The shard of glass only nicked him. Cumulus comes over with the first aid kit and Aether takes it with a grateful smile.

“I’m gonna get you all patched up okay? Just need to remove the glass and use some antiseptic. Then I can heal the wound. I’m sorry, it might hurt a little.”

Phantom nods and grits his teeth. Swiss holds his hand while Aether works.

Aether counts him down. “Three, two, one.” He eases the glass shard out with tweezers. Phantom hisses and Swiss does his best to comfort him. Aether cleans the wound before healing it with quintessence. By the time he’s done there isn’t even a mark.

“There we go. All done.” Aether says. “Sorry about that.”

“You did so good Bug.” Swiss praises. “Feeling a little better?”

“Uh huh.” Phantom nods. His foot does feel better. Now though, with the issue of his foot resolved, he now notices the fatigue on everyone’s faces. “I-I’m sorry…”

“For what Batling? Accidents happen.” Aether soothes.

“But, I woke everyone up. I couldn’t sleep so I tried to make a snack but then…I just made a mess.” He starts to sniffle, words cut off by choked sobs.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Swiss purrs. “You didn’t mean too. Nobody is mad at you. It happens.”

“R-really?”

“Really. We’ll get the kitchen all cleaned up in the morning and everything will be fine.”

“O-okay.”

“What do you need now, Batling?” Aether rubs his head. “Still hungry or do you want to go back to bed?”

Phantom’s stomach rumbles even more institantly than before, answering for him. Phantom can’t help but giggle as Aether and Swiss chuff.

Aether smiles. “Toast coming right up.”

With the toaster oven temporarily out of commission, Aether gets Dew to toast some bread real quick. Swiss even tracks down grape jam from the communal kitchens. Stomach satiated, Phantom lets Aether and Swiss bring him back to bed. After all the excitement, he’s able to fall right back to sleep.

#the band ghost #ghost fanfiction #nameless ghouls #phantom ghoul #swiss ghoul #aether ghoul #phantom/swiss/aether #domestic december 2023 #lys writes

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ashwritesmonsters · 1 year

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The Thru-Hiker (part 2)

Female Reader x Male Mothperson (Desmond)

Prev: [Interlude] Next: [Part 3] Words: 2.9k Note: Yes, this story is alive! Don't mind me just editing things like 80 times 😭

As you wake gently to the sun shining through old lace curtains, you enjoy a delicious moment of not quite knowing where you are. Your body feels rested properly for the first time in ages, and the bed underneath you feels impossible to get up from. This all changes when you remember you're in Willow Grove, on the second floor of Evangeline's Bed & Breakfast, and running into Desmond again is a very real possibility. The town was a tiny one, after all, and Moths like Desmond literally stood head and shoulders above the humans, Selkies, and Lupines in town.

With the possibility of seeing him again giving you much needed motivation to get out of bed—you literally imagine yourself hugging him and nuzzling into his soft neck fuzz—you quickly freshen up with an indulgent hot shower and throw on some fresh clothes. You never realized how much you missed wearing things like leggings and sweaters until you wore nothing but purpose-made hiking gear for months.

The moment you step out of your cozy room, you're dragged by the nose downstairs towards the aroma of fresh croissants. As you step into the kitchen, Evangeline pulls a baking sheet with half a dozen of them out of the oven, her tail wagging with satisfaction.

"Good morning, dear," she greets you, moving with impressive speed to set out a plate and silverware for you in the breakfast nook. "How did you sleep?"

"Perfectly," you reply, playing hot potato with a fresh croissant as you sit at your plate.

"I've forgotten how nice it is to sleep in a real bed. I seriously considered never getting up."

"Well that just wouldn't do!" She smiles warmly, baring her sharp canines. "Otherwise, who would I share breakfast with?" She turns her back on you for a moment to reach for jugs on the counter. "Coffee, orange juice, water?" She offers.

"Coffee, please," you ask. You heft your camera off your shoulder strap and onto the table, where it's joined by a mug of steaming coffee. You don't have to be a coffee snob to tell by smell alone that this is better than the freeze-dried stuff you had with you on the trail.

"You're a photographer, I take it?" Evangeline asks, eyeing your toaster-sized camera.

"I am," you say between bites of warm croissant. She smiles as you enjoy her delicious handiwork.

"Is that what brings you to Willow Grove?"

You think while you chew. Yes, you could tell her that you're here because you hiked five months to find a Moth you hooked up with in the woods, whose full name and contact info you don't even know, and you're sorta hoping to just bump into him in town and...

"Pretty much," you lie. "I took lots of photos on the trail, and I guess I didn't want to go straight back to the big city. Willow Grove is a very pretty town." That last part is honest.

"Well you are in for a treat." Evangeline leans in, elbows on the counter. She's proud of her town and her tail wagging is proof. "If you're looking for something to do today, I'd love to help you with some recommendations of mine."

"That would be lovely." Just like that, your croissant is nothing but crumbs, so you sip your coffee.

"Well, I think you should start at our library." Evangeline reads your mind and grabs you another warm croissant. "I'm sure you would find the archival photos there interesting. There are some from nearly a hundred years ago on the microfiche."

"Wow. That's pretty good archiving." You start working on the second croissant. You're drawn in by the chance to see this town in photos a century old. The town already feels so steeped in history; you'd love being able to see it for real.

"For a town this size it's unheard of. The library really is the centerpiece of the town. It's the only building with three stories and it's a beauty, too. It's all red brick and stained glass on the outside, with stained wood and brass fittings on the inside. It's pretty enough to photograph on its own, now that I think of it."

"I'll have to do that, then," you chew. "Thank you for the recommendation, Evangeline. I'd be lost without your help."

"Of course, dear. Don't hesitate come by and chat with me again."

You nod eagerly and thank her again. Between Evangeline's generosity and the small town charm, Willow Grove was growing on you. Once you finish your coffee and croissant, your camera finds itself slung on your shoulder once again and you set off, stepping out into the crisp Autumn air.

The walk to the library is a pleasant one, with the scent of fallen leaves and woodsmoke in the air. As you approach the building, you see what Evangeline meant when she said it was the town's centerpiece. The red brick exterior is adorned with intricate stained-glass windows depicting scenes of nature and the townspeople. Where the morning light shines on the exterior just right, you frame a shot and snap a photo.

Stepping inside, you're greeted by the rich, dark wood interior that oozes warmth and history. If you weren't drawn here by the lure of the archival photos (and didn't have a Mothman to find), you'd want nothing more than to curl up in a warm corner and finish a book in one sitting. Your eyes are drawn to the towering bookshelves that seem to reach for the heavens, each equipped with rolling ladders to access the highest volumes.

Following Evangeline's advice, you make your way to the microfiche room, eager to delve into the historical photographs she had mentioned. Upon entering, you find yourself alone under the dim lighting with only the sound of analogue machinery as various machines hum and click around you.

You take a seat at one of the microfiche machines, both eager and intimidated. You're no stranger to old tech, but you've never used one of these, and the machine's knobs and scroll wheels seem don't match anything you've used before. With determination, you begin to attempt operation, threading a nearby spool of delicate film through the machine and squinting at the projected images on the screen.

Despite your best efforts, the machine proves stubborn and uncooperative. The images refuse to focus properly, and the scroll wheel seems to have a mind of its own as it either moves too fast or not at all. Growing increasingly frustrated, you ball your hands into fists and fight the urge to smack the machine. You'd probably end up more damaged than the machine if you did.

"Ugh," you mutter under your breath, trying to channel your patience and remind yourself that it's just an old machine. "Why won't you cooperate?"

Taking a deep breath, you look around the dimly lit room, seeking solace in the quiet space. As your eyes adjust to the low light, you notice the intricate details of the machinery and the countless reels of microfiche waiting to be explored. Thinking about the long history of this town and the fact you're only one of many people determined to photograph it and record its charm calms you down a bit.

You refocus your attention on the stubborn machine, steeling yourself for another attempt at coaxing it into cooperation.

Just as you're about to touch the scroll wheel again, a gentle tap on your shoulder startles you. Your heart leaps into your throat as you spin around, only to find Desmond standing behind you with a warm smile on his face.

"Hey there," he says softly, his big red eyes sparkling with amusement. "Need a hand?"

"Desmond!" you exclaim, unable to contain your joy at seeing him again. With a mix of delight and relief, you sweep him into a tight hug, lifting his featherlight frame off the ground for a moment. His fluffy wings flutter against your back, and you can't help but smile even wider.

"Wow, someone got pretty swole on the trail," Desmond jokes awkwardly as you set him back down, his chitinous features accentuating his shy grin. "I'm glad to see you too."

"Sorry, I just got carried away," you apologize, cheeks burning a little. "It's been so long since we last saw each other."

"Yeah, it really has," he agrees, rubbing the back of his neck. "How have things been for you since we... parted ways?"

"Tiring, but good," you reply, trying to focus on the positive aspects of hiking and living like a caveman. "I actually finished the trail just a few days ago. You weren't kidding when you said the town was right near the trail's end."

"Well, welcome back to civilization. I don't need to reintegrate you to society do I?" He teases.

"Shut up," you land a playful shove against his shoulder. "What are you doing in the library, anyway? You haven't been stalking me since I got into town, have you?" You tease back.

"Actually, I work here. It's what I did before I hiked the trail and it's good to be back."

Desmond the Librarian just seems too fitting for him. "How's life as a librarian?" You ask.

"Quiet, mostly," Desmond admits with a chuckle. "But I like it. It gives me time to read and watch old movies, which is nice. Plus, I get to help people find what they're looking for, whether it's a book or a piece of microfiche."

"Speaking of which," you say, gesturing toward the stubborn machine, "any tips on how to make this damn thing work?"

"Of course," Desmond says, stepping closer to the microfiche machine. With a few deft movements of his slender fingers, he adjusts the knobs and scroll wheels, and the image on the screen comes into focus.

"Thanks," you say with relief. "I was about to give up on this thing."

"Anytime," he replies with a warm smile. Then, he glances around for a moment before leaning in slightly, voice hushed as if by instinct in the quiet library. "Hey, do you want to see something really cool?"

"Sure, what is it?" you ask, your curiosity piqued.

"Come with me," Desmond says, leading you out of the dimly lit microfiche room and toward a staircase tucked away in the back corner of the library. "There's a private office upstairs with an amazing view of the town. I think you'll like it."

As you ascend the stairs, you notice the atmosphere shifting from the cozy bustle of the library to a serene, quieter space. The dark wood paneling continues upwards, and the scent of old books melds with the faintest hint of dust.

Desmond opens the door to the private office, revealing a room filled with antique furniture and more floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A large, arched window dominates one wall, offering a stunning view of Willow Grove below.

"Wow, this place is incredible," you breathe, taking in the beauty of the room and the town beyond. Townspeople below mill about, getting ready for a lazy morning. You can see the cafes on the main street starting to fill up and people driving their cars on the winding roads to the neighboring towns.

"I thought you might like it," Desmond says, a hint of pride in his voice. "It's one of my favorite spots in the library."

You both step closer to the window, absorbing the breathtaking view and enjoying each other's company in the peaceful atmosphere of the office.

"You know, um..." Desmond starts, fidgeting with his neck fluff, "I'm happy to see you again. I'm glad decided to find me again."

"Me too." You sidle up to him, enjoying the warmth of one of his wings. "I worried you'd think I was crazy, or you'd have gotten over me, or..."

Desmond stops you. "No, not at all. "I'll admit, this would have been much easier if I just gave you my number," he chuckles, "but it just didn't feel right back then, you know? But now that some time has passed and I've gotten to be on my own for a bit... this feels right, having you with me."

"Thank you," you reply, touched by his words. Your heart swells, and the knowledge that Desmond is just as happy as you are to be here has your face filling with warmth. If Evangeline's croissants were a feeling, they'd be closest to the sensation of Desmond wrapping a soft, warm, fuzzy wing around you as you both watch Willow Grove come to life.

Just as you're about to stand on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on him somewhere, the door behind you swings open.

"Desmond, I need to talk to you about..." The voice, strong and low like dark chocolate, trails off as the Mothwoman enters the room and spots you. Immediately, an aura of coldness and intimidation emanates from her, making the air heavy with tension. She's taller even than Desmond, and her black wings, spiderwebbed with streaks of white, wrap around her like a cloak.

"Who is this?" she demands, her gaze fixed on you. The warmth in the room dissipates like a snuffed out candle.

"Mom, this is my friend," Desmond says, trying to defuse the situation. "We met on the Appalachian Trail a while back."

"Friend?" Samara narrows her eyes, suspicious of your presence. Her overprotectiveness of Desmond is palpable, making you feel like an intruder in their world.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs... um..." You stammer, offering your hand in a polite gesture.

"Samara," she replies icily, ignoring your extended hand. She turns her attention back to Desmond. "You never mentioned any new friends from your trip."

"Ah, well, we just recently got back in touch," Desmond explains, his voice wavering slightly under his mother's scrutiny.

"Is that so?" Samara regards you with a steely gaze, her tone accusatory. She begins asking terse, probing questions, attempting to assess you as if you were a threat. "How did you meet? Why are you here in Willow Grove?"

"Um, we met by chance on the trail," you respond, feeling uneasy under her intense stare. "As for the rest, I'm just here to take some photographs. It's a hobby of mine." You try to remain polite, but can't help being taken aback by her coldness.

"Photographs," she repeats skeptically, looking you up and down. There's something unspoken in her expression, a hint of distrust that you can't quite decipher.

"Mom, please," Desmond interjects, coming to your defense. "It's really not a big deal. We're just catching up."

"Fine," Samara relents, her tone still chilly. "But don't plan on spending all day with her. You're needed at the circulation desk soon." With that, she gives you one last lingering glare before turning and leaving the room as abruptly as she had entered.

You stand there in the wake of her departure, heart pounding, as the atmosphere slowly begins to return to near-normal.

"Sorry about that," Desmond says with an apologetic grimace. "My mom can be a bit... overprotective."

"Is she always like this?" you ask, still reeling from the encounter.

"Unfortunately, yes," he admits. "Especially lately, with the town's Founding Festival coming up. She's been under a lot of stress." He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly before continuing, "I guess I should let you know she's the mayor of Willow Grove, so the responsibility of overseeing the whole event falls on her."

"Your mom is the mayor?" Your jaw goes a bit slack. Having his mom dislike you is one thing, but when she runs the whole town? You try to shake off the lingering unease, focusing instead on the warmth of Desmond's wing as he returns to your side and rests his hand on your shoulder.

"Yeah," he chuckles nervously. "She's a bit of a local celebrity around here. I'm really sorry for how she acted towards you. I promise, it's not personal."

"Thanks," you say, managing a small smile. "I appreciate you sticking up for me."

"Of course," Desmond replies, his gentle eyes meeting yours. "You're important to me, and I don't want my mom's behavior to drive you away."

The sincerity in his voice makes your heart flutter, but there's also a pang of disappointment. When he had introduced you as "just a friend" earlier, it had stung a little, even though you understood why he did it. You wonder if that's all you can be to him when Samara is around – just a friend.

Desmond seems to sense your uncertainty, and hesitantly reaches out to take your hand. "Hey," he says softly, "if you're up for it, I'd love to take you on a real date soon. Somewhere outside of this dusty old library."

"Really?" The hopefulness in your chest flares up at his words.

"Absolutely," he confirms, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "I want to show you the town and get to know you even better."

"Then I'd love that," you reply, feeling a mix of emotions, but still hopeful. Willow Grove seems like a town just magical enough to make this work, no matter how much warming up Desmond's mom needs before she gives up the cold shoulder.

#ashwritesmonsters #monster x reader #monster x human #terato #exophilia #mothman #mothman x reader #monster romance #monster love #x reader

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ashlingiswriting · 11 months

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do i know you? chapter eight

[ chapter eight — 6.4k words ] [ masterlist ] [ prev chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven ] "well, now you know what to get me for christmas." richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn warning: drugs, insects

the next day, you wake to your customary darkness. outside your window light snow whispers against your window and thick clouds beyond promise there’s more where that came from. you pull a mini pizza from the freezer, crack an egg on top and put it in the toaster oven, call that protein. boil some water in your smallest pot. pull out your favorite chipped blue mug.

the dream did come last night, but its dread was dulled by early waking. you’re grateful for that. this is about as good as it gets, you think: tea on the way, a thick stillness enveloping your apartment, the city outside preparing to sleep while you keep watch.

but wait, the phone.

you go into your room and kneel by the bed.

michael’s small box is half-empty now that you’ve put his shirt in the wash, so the nokia is easy to find. when you flip it open, he’s there, waiting for you—one unread text—and in the sleepy silence, a bubble of incredulous unreality balloons and then bursts. it’s not michael.

they all blur into each other like drops of blood in water: you’re crushed to find that he’s still gone, relieved he’s still gone, guilty you were relieved, relieved that richie’s texted—no, happy—no, that’s embarrassing, but you can’t help it. it’s happiness and it’s something else. happiness is the warmth by your side and something else is the radiator.

the message turns out to be a single emoji, the one with the pink tongue sticking out. definitely richie. with no idea what that’s supposed to mean, you try to think of something equally silly. failing that, you pull up wikipedia on the phone and generate random wikipedia articles until you finally come across a fragment that strikes you as too beautiful to pass up. you weren’t looking for beautiful, but what the hell, it’s charmed you. copy, paste, and send.

> it was announced on january 30, 2023, that she will be writing an original poem dedicated to nasa's europa clipper. the europa clipper will launch in 2024, and by 2030, will be orbiting jupiter. limón's poem will be engraved into the craft.

not expecting an immediate reply, you replace the lid on the box and slide it back under your bed, only to hear the vibration of the phone against the wooden floorboards.

reading what he’s written makes you smile. proper punctuation and all, mimicking you. can’t tell if it’s meant to be snide or if he’s just matching what he thinks is your mood. you’ll take it either way.

> must be a bad motherfucker, that limon.

> must be.

> is she your favorite poet or something?

you feel a dissonant twinge of pride and shame. you once had a favorite poet, but that was a long time ago.

> i haven’t decided yet. are you getting better?

> i haven’t decided yet. i had three grape popsicles in bed for my breakfast, it’s kind of hard to argue with that.

> malingerer.

> i’m actually polish.

and so on.

when he finally says goodbye so he can go back to sleep, you’re still laughing a little to yourself, and you’ve been kneeling there beside the bed for so long that your knees ache.

in the days that follow, richie texts you at exactly the time he’d usually visit. you stand outside like he’s still there, have a couple cigarettes, and enjoy the nonsense even as your fingertips go numb in the cold. once, he sends a picture of a meme so italian that you don’t get it. you obviously weren’t meant to get it, either, so you respond by sending him the middle finger emoji, which he, nonsensically, hearts.

if he needs help, he’ll ask for it, you think. you hope. he seems to be on the mend. anyways, you no longer feel that fear except in dreams, and you stop wondering when he’s gonna text and start expecting it, and then, less than a week later, he shows up. you know this because he texts, where are you?

you open the window and stick your head out into an eddy of snow. sure, you’re glad to see him, but: it’s too fucking cold for this!

he waves.

man was feverish for literally days and here he is in mid december with a hoodie under his leather coat but no scarf, absolute idiot, and so you close the window, go down to meet him, and break the rule. standing there, holding the door open, you say, c’mon.

he’s surprisingly perceptive. he walks over, but he doesn’t cross the threshold, just pauses in front of you.

i don’t think we can smoke in there, he says.

we can’t, you say, moving back one more step, making even more room for him. or at least i can’t. i don't want to get evicted. my landlady will do it too.

yeah? he says, not moving. you're scared of her?

you shrug. you've moved back as far as you can, you're letting all the cold air in, and there's nothing you can do except say please.

you say, she's like four foot tall and a hundred years old, man. women that tiny that survive that long? you should be scared of them.

as if that was the final straw—though how could it be?—richie walks inside. without skipping a beat and for no reason you can figure out, richie walks inside.

learn my ways, sweetheart, he says, touching his chest and giving you his very best look of ridiculous condescension. old women love me.

as you close the door behind him, you fend off a stray, ridiculous burst of giddiness. it's just the lobby, pale linoleum floors and a single artificial plant by the elevators, but it feels radically different from the concrete outside. no cigarettes, no excuses. he’s only there for one reason.

old women do not love you, you say.

they do!

tina loves you. the rest of them, i don't know.

he snorts. you really don't want to be standing face to face with him for however long you’ve got him, so you lean on the wall instead, and he settles by your side the same way he always does.

when he looks over at you, there’s a hint of sly mischief in his eyes that makes you say, what?

wait for it, he says, and when you open your mouth, he holds up a finger.

you roll your eyes, but you hold your tongue with no idea what this is about, undisguised curiosity, and a readiness to be delighted.

you hear that? he finally says.

wind, maybe, or the distant rattle of a train? nothing special. you shake your head no.

that, richie says, is the sound of the sky not falling.

knowing he noticed, that’s the worst thing about being told that everything is gonna be okay. it’s also the best thing. you shove him with a bony, solid elbow. i should’ve let you freeze.

he catches himself before he can topple, his smile gone goofy and so pleased. fuckin drama queen.

full han solo style, block of ice.

it was carbonite, not ice. how do you not know star wars?

course i know star wars, you lie. how do you live in chicago and not own a hat?

i have hats. i just also have a car.

uh-huh. if he wants to trade accusations, you’ve got a doozy you’ve saved up till you could turn it on him in person. i noticed the other day that your place isn’t exactly in a location that makes my place ‘on the way home’ from the beef.

he’s caught, not sorry. grins. you noticed that, did you.

yeah, i might not be from around here, but i still know north from south, all that shit.

well okay, sherlock. you wanna charge me with a crime? the challenge in his eyes says it all; he knows you’re not unhappy to find he lied.

you still need to get a hat, you say.

well, now you know what to get me for christmas.

you’re getting jack shit.

you already know what you’re getting him for christmas.

kraft’s mac and cheese is a christmas tradition in a two-person slice of your family, and you’re one half of that slice, so mac and cheese is the first thing you think of when richie tells you he’ll be there for christmas eve.

after that, it’s on to donna’s on christmas day. then i’m gonna kidnap carmy for some ice fishing, he says.

you ever been ice fishing before? you say.

he splutters. do i not strike you as a, uh, an experienced-ass f—

no.

—fisherman and woodsman, and like—

nope.

—man of the… he gives up. whatever?

do you have a float suit?

richie exhales smoke and fixes you with a look, annoyed but curious.

i’m carmen fucking sandiego, you say, by way of explanation. of course you’ve been ice fishing, you’ve been all over the world.

sure you are, he says. he waves a dismissive hand. my buddy’s got all the stuff, we’ll be fine. it’s whatever, i just gotta get carmy out of the city so the only things he ends up killing are fish.

his first christmas since. you don’t have to finish the sentence.

yup, richie says.

it’s richie’s first christmas since, too, but there’s no call to say that.

lapsing into a companionable silence and shrinking a little closer to the building as the wind picks up, you decide that you’re definitely gonna make him kraft mac and cheese for christmas eve. he wouldn’t take it as a letdown, he'd laugh at the single spinach leaf on top. he’d get it.

on christmas eve, ten minutes before you’re expecting richie to show up, you get a text message.

> need u

it’s the wrong phone, though. it’s your work phone, and after everything those fuckers have done, they can’t possibly be calling you in on christmas eve. not now. your butter’s already cut, your colander’s in the sink, and you’re stirring the pot of boiling macaroni with a couple takeout chopsticks. they can’t—

the phone starts ringing. you pick up.

fuck off, you say.

no wait!

the voice is familiar; it’s kevin, a man so stupid that he once introduced himself to you out of anxious friendliness even though you’ve always made very clear that you don’t want to know anybody’s names. kevin must have you on speakerphone, because in the background, you can hear the telltale sounds of somebody else cursing in a continuous wretched stream. that piques your curiosity.

thirty seconds, you say. keep it clean. meaning, don’t give me names.

kevin says, we were doing a thing and some stuff happened.

that’s no use. he kept it a little too clean. you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers. you were doing a thing on christmas eve?

we thought…look, can you just come? aren’t you on call? isn’t this your job?

you tell me, you say. it’s been radio silence on my phone for three weeks and i haven’t gotten paid for almost a month now.

oh.

yeah, you say, knowing damn well that it’s not kevin’s fault, but more than happy to take this out on somebody. they fucking ghosted me.

sorry to hear that, man, he says awkwardly.

a thought occurs to you. likelihood of the carusos being involved in some shitbrained christmas eve scheme pulled by kevin? nil.

was this even a sanctioned thing? you say. like, did—

you know what, it’s fine, kevin says hurriedly. it’s basically a flesh wound.

the guy in the background howls, i got shot in the fucking foot!

shut up, howie, kevin hisses. you hang up.

there’s no reason for you to get involved. no orders, no blackmail, and probably no money; plus, your timer is counting down the last minute of macaroni boiling and richie will be on his way soon.

you pocket your phone, walk back to the stove, and resume stirring.

no reason for you to get involved. your timer rings out, so you dump out the pasta, put it back in the pot with the butter, add some water and the cheesy powder, stir with an eye for sauce thickness, wait for it to settle you. it doesn’t.

the thing is, there are so many small tricky bones in the foot, and you haven’t had a real surgery challenge in ages. ever since your bosses ghosted you, you’ve just been staying in your apartment, in limbo, seeing nobody except richie and occasionally a cashier. sleeping and waking neither on your old strict schedule nor on a normal daylight one. doing nothing, worth basically nothing.

so yeah, you text kevin.

> send me the address

then, as quick as you can so you don’t have time to overthink it, you text richie.

> work emergency, i have to cancel. sorry.

the response is immediate.

> text me when you get home.

you realize that you’re still stirring, and you turn off the stove. although you give him a couple minutes, richie doesn’t add anything. no joke to put spikes on the soft gesture, no expression of disappointment to make you feel guilty for canceling this late. nothing. text me when you get home, that’s all.

if you were that generous, you’d text back don’t stay up, let him get some extra sleep in preparation for tomorrow’s christmas hell. but you don’t. you want to think of him waiting for his phone to chime, staying awake for you, thinking of you, even worrying. so you react with a thumbs up to his message.

the next time your phone goes ping, it’s kevin sending you the address, and you head for the door.

you’re sitting on a coffee table beside the old sofa that holds your resting patient. lying on the coffee table beside you are half a dozen grape skittles, the remainder of your christmas eve meal. there’s literally baggies of cocaine sitting on the kitchen table, the tv is playing charlie and the chocolate factory, and everyone involved in this—including yourself—is so stupid that you’re all definitely going to jail. but you’re having one of your good nights.

only drugs compare to the state of pure focus that surgery grants you, and even though it’s always in shit circumstances done for shit people, you can’t help but feel like a serious machine doing all this ad hoc emergency shit. this has to be how athletes feel, after a game. it’s physical: your vision feels clearer, your hands are steady, your body’s slouched comfortable and sated. it was decent work you did, given the lack of fucking everything. you’re pretty sure howie won’t even have that bad of a limp.

kevin finishes counting your pay and hands it over. you begin to count it again, too—twenty, forty, sixty—and then look up at him.

what? he says.

you haul yourself up and walk over to the kitchen table, ignoring the cocaine in favor of the scale, on which you place a twenty. it comes up as 0.94 grams when it should be a single 1.0. so you throw your earnings in the sink, get out your lighter, and set it on fire.

the fire alarm! kevin rushes over to turn the tap on and put it out.

you can hear howie calling from the couch, what’s burning?

kev just tried to cheat me.

i did not, kevin says miserably, it was a misunderstanding.

he pulls his own wallet out of his back pocket and starts to count the money, but you take it from his hands, sit at the kitchen table, and begin counting money yourself, weighing each bill as you go. once you’ve taken a hundred and fifty, you stand up and call over to howie, night.

yo, howie says. is my, like. what are the chances they gotta amputate?

that gets you a little, despite everything. howie spent the past few hours thinking he was gonna lose an entire foot, and he was stubbornly proud enough that he almost made it without admitting the fear to anyone. in a way, you gotta give it to him. admiration’s too grand a word, but it’s something like that.

chances are super low, you say. as long as you follow instructions, keep an eye out for infection, and don’t get hooked on pills, you’re gonna be fine.

for a second, there’s silence. then: thanks, babygirl.

for that, you take another forty dollars from kevin’s wallet and point them at him. asshole tax, you say.

as soon as you’re out of the house, you can hear kevin locking the door behind you. then he says, goodnight!

i shoulda robbed you, you say. then you start down the sidewalk. it’s bitter cold and you’re not a hundred percent sure you’re headed in the right direction, but just then you feel invincible.

fuckin jagoffs, say to yourself.

on the train home, the peace and quiet is interrupted by a herd of college girls, twentysomethings all decked out in tinsel necklaces, clearly on their way to a different party, and hitting all the wrong notes in deck the halls.

most days, you’d hate this, but in your current state of satisfaction with yourself and the world in general, their effortless enjoyment doesn’t seem to completely shut you out. they’re so young, and one of them is sitting in another’s lap while a third drapes herself over her shoulder. they smell like spiced rum, they make it hard to be a bitter old crone.

one of the carolers makes direct eye contact with you, and instead of having the decency to keep herself to herself, she extends her hand to you and sings even louder, fa-la-la-la-ing like she’s god’s gift. for a second, you let yourself mouth along, fa-la-la-ing, but then she says, come on, i know you can do better than that! and nope, nope. fuck it.

you try to look away, she yells another, come on! and you give her the death glare. surprisingly, she keeps beckoning to you—they’re stubborn, kids these days—but eventually you win the way you knew you would.

she looks away and whispers in the ear of the lap-sitter. that girl, the tiniest of them all, gives you a look that could sear meat. you could break her in half with one hand tied behind her back, she really has the build of a hummingbird, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping her.

you roll your eyes, lean back with exaggerated deliberation, and get out your phone.

> i’m home.

you want somebody of your own, you want richie’s reply. but none comes.

he’s not waiting for you outside your apartment building, either, so there goes that mad hope.

when you get inside your apartment, you kneel to untie your boots and spot a flicker of movement on the floor. it’s a black ant scurrying towards your countertop. with a rising sense of horror, you straighten up and see a swarm of ants, dozens and dozens, maybe a hundred busily moving little black dots, crawling to and from the pot of macaroni and cheese on your stove. your stomach turns, and if you’d had a real dinner, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from throwing it up. as it is, you just gag. it feels like a violation, an invasion, and you’re more outraged about these fucking ants in your apartment—your fucking apartment—than you ever were about getting not paid or cheated or maybe even blackmailed.

you go into the kitchenette and get the ant spray out from under the sink, then you stand back and spray everything in sight. the whole fucking counter, even though, yes, you cook your food on that, and the stove, and the floor for good measure. fuck them all.

you should’ve known better than to leave food uncovered in this apartment. you’ve lived here for three years and this always fucking happens. you’d think the novelty would’ve worn off, but nope. it’s still as disgusting as it was the first time you woke up to see last night’s plate covered in black.

today, the spray isn’t working fast enough for you, so you get out a trash bag, put the pot in it, and head out for the dumpster.

out there in the cold, waiting for the ant spray to do its work inside the trash bag, you remember that you left your lighter in kevin’s house. you tip your head back and look up at the sky. it’s so thickly smothered in clouds, there’s barely a glow of moon.

yeah, you say.

after a while, you untie the bag, shake the dead ants off your pot, and throw the bag away. you’d stomp on the ants for spite, but that would necessitate looking at them, and you’ve had more than enough of that. you just head back for home.

you almost make it to the front door, and then you smell it, the smoke.

well? richie says from around the corner. he must have heard your footsteps. you coming or what?

you walk the last few steps and there, just around the corner, there he is. he has the navy hood pulled up over his head, both his hands shoved deep in his pockets, a cigarette between both lips. he looks at your pot with interest.

after a second, you say, you’re late.

something tickles the inside of your wrist and you flinch. one last ant has crawled up the handle of the pot and onto your arm; you drop the pot in the snow and shake the ant off you. it lands by richie, and he stomps it dead matter-of-factly.

it takes everything you’ve got not to start swearing like howie with a shot foot.

merry christmas? richie says after a second.

merry fuckin christmas. you reach out and take the cigarette from his lips. long drag. you needed that.

settling beside him so both of you can look out into the night, you hand the cigarette back. and that’s how it is for a while, sharing. the wind thins out, the streetlight across the way reflects in the glass of another apartment building's door.

when your body’s finally calmed down, you look over at him. i got you something.

aw, you didn’t have to, he say, a little curious and not particularly surprised. he probably thinks it’s a joke.

you hold your right hand palm up, and he takes his right hand out of its warm jacket pocket to mirror the gesture. then you reach into your hoodie and unclasp his gift from your neck.

the chain is gold. thick, but not so thick that it comes across comical. incongruous with you and with him, the weight of it and the shine, how new it is. when you lay it in his hand, it looks like a golden snake, intricate and flawless.

after a second, he gives you his cigarette like he can’t both smoke and think about it. then he speaks.

this is fake, yeah, he says.

hundred percent fake.

actually, it’s regifted. it was originally one of your boss’s christmas bonus gifts, and given that you pawned all the other christmas bonus gifts to pay rent, you’re pretty sure that the chain is solid gold. it’s for the best that he doesn’t know it, though.

as you watch, he puts it on, fumbling a little with the clasp. looks at it for a second, tucks it back inside his coat. there goes the last

yeah? you say, after a second.

yeah. think i like this sugar baby shit. keep ‘em coming, he says.

you laugh, real, so relieved that he didn’t take it weird, so relieved that you got lucky tonight and he got it the way he sometimes can, acceptance without explanation.

he lets you laugh, and then he says, mine’s better, though.

diamonds?

it’s back at my place, he says. i can drive?

you want that so bad, and you didn't even think to want it just seconds before.

yeah, you say, dropping the cigarette and stomping it out right beside the dead ant, unbothered.

you want to take the pot up?

you shrug, crouch down, and cover it with some snow; you’re not gonna leave him down here waiting for you, and you’re not gonna take him up to the horrorshow of dead ants either.

it’s still pretty obvious, richie says.

it’s christmas eve, who’s gonna bother digging in dirty snow to steal a pot?

this is chicago.

this is idle argument as companionship and you know that, but you're impatient. are you taking me home or what? yes, you can hear the double entendre. no, you don't fucking care.

there’s a slight pause before richie says, car’s this way.

in the car, there’s crumbs but not much mess; a coupon for personal pizzas in the cupholder, and that’s it. he must have cleaned.

when he starts the engine, you say, wait, and make an elaborate show of putting on your seatbelt. then you say, okay, now i’m ready.

fuck you, he says, and he’s still smiling when he starts to drive.

the radio is playing carols dimly in the background, and you don’t hate it.

you doing anything for christmas day? richie says.

i’m working christmas, you lie.

seriously? tell your boss he’s fucking barbaric.

would if you could; you’ve already tried to say as much in your many texts, but it is what it is.

yeah, you say. bunch of fuckin jackoffs, right?

jagoffs, he says, over-enunciating, frustration immediate. he really is too easy and he knows it. you’re—

jackoffs, that’s what i said, that’s what you told me—

if you can’t do it right, don’t do it at all. he has to drive with his right hand so he can make chopping motions for emphasis with his left hand, because of course he does.

you say, jackoffs.

you’re killing me.

and yet you go on surviving. you relent. got everything you need for ice fishing?

richie scoffs in disgust. yeah, but now carmy is trying to bail on me.

if he’s not gonna say, typical, then neither are you.

he wants to work on the twenty-sixth, he says.

oof.

yeah. like a full planning session, go over the rest of the rollout schedule with the entire staff and like… he rubs his forehead. i don’t know. like we haven’t even gone to christmas yet and he’s already, fucking. i don’t know!

i mean.

he glances over at you briefly.

carmy wants to make the staff come in on the twenty-sixth just to go over the renovation schedule again?

he’s out of his fucking mind.

you already know what you want to say, but you have to double-check it in your own head to make sure you’re not overstepping. you don’t actually know these people.

but also, fuck it.

you know, you say, you could tell him if he acts like this, syd’s gonna quit again.

he whistles. julie with the big guns.

how i’m built, you say.

yeah, i noticed, he says affectionately. it’s okay. i’ll figure it out.

i know you will. it’s kindness, and you mean it, and you don’t take it back.

thanks, he says.

you lean your forehead against the cold glass of the car door and watch chicago going by, all gold and black and white.

after a few minutes, he parks the car in an underground garage.

you ready for this? this is gonna rock your world, he says.

diamonds and rubies? you say, unbuckling your seat belt.

you’re gonna be fuckin crying.

diamonds and rubies and pearls?

at the door to his apartment, he says, close your eyes, hold out your hands, and wait here, so you do. when the door opens, you can smell whatever it was he made for his christmas eve dinner with eva. it smells like everything christmas eve should be, rich and homey. you could wait here for, say, half an hour. you could stretch this moment out. you wouldn’t mind.

okay, richie says. here.

when the gift touches your palm, you instinctively pull back. richie swears and catches it.

it’s hot! you say as you open your eyes.

it’s soup, he says. you want it cold?

you look down. yeah, that’s definitely french onion soup, with a big white and brown patch of melted cheese and toast on top. it’s an echo of what you made him when he was sick. it’s him showing off his work in comparison to your two-ingredient version. it’s unfortunately perfect. there’s no way he knew that you haven’t had anything for dinner except skittles.

it smells like home.

here. you hand the bowl back to richie, but only so you can take off your coat and your shoes.

there’s only one hook on the back of his door, so you hang your coat overtop his. as you move through his apartment, you take stock: the walls are still orange, but things are a little tidier and there are new drawings magnet-pinned to the fridge. eva’s going through a cat era, clearly. the kitchen lamp is as warm as before, and the cactus by the window has a small red ribbon on it, probably a nod to christmas.

you sit down at the kitchen table on one of the foldable stools, and richie sets your spoon and bowl in front of you. there’s a half-empty bottle of coors on the countertop behind you, and you take a sip of that. he sits down on the chair to your left, so he’s in your peripheral. he’s next to you.

you can feel it coming.

um, you say.

he glances over, and you can feel that too. what’s up.

don’t be a dick, okay. you say it very low and very flat, not even angry, because angry wouldn’t cut it.

the pause is too long, but at least he finally says, okay.

you pick up your spoon and take the first sip.

the bit of melted cheese hits first, warm and gooey and salty then the sweet savory richness of the broth, and yeah, okay. it’s happening. your eyes are wet.

you can feel him not saying anything about it, but before it can build up to torture, his phone rings.

sorry, he says, getting up. it’s tiff.

he must know from the ringtone alone, but you’re not even mad at it, you’re relieved. saved by the bell, another bit of good luck. maybe christmas is real.

uh-huh, you can hear him saying. yeah. that’s— he laughs, and you know from that laugh alone it’s something about eva. yeah, put her on. a beat, then. hey, honey. no. no, she’s right. listen, santa won’t come if you spy on him. the guy likes his privacy, okay? he’s not in it for the applause, he’s not in it for the publicity. pause. well, that’s what the cookies are for. i am being serious, that’s what they’re for. okay. who—okay. he snorts. okay, you got me. don’t tell your mother, though, okay? she really enjoys it. pause. it’s up to you. okay, i gotta go. i love you. hey. i love you.

that’s more than enough time for you to wipe your eyes on your sleeve, get all fucked up again listening to him, and wipe your eyes a second time. by the time richie sits back down, you’re basically normal.

that sounded like some saga, you say.

this jewish kid at school told all the christians that santa wasn’t real, he explains. and now she’s going around busting all the lying adults one by one.

you laugh.

they’re starting young, he says. when i was in school, they always used to make us wait until at least sixth grade before we could go around busting myths.

you’re jewish?

he shrugs. kinda sorta.

you see the opportunity to make another joke about him being zero percent italian, and you ignore it. did eva like the doll? you say instead.

yeah. i mean, it was a huge hassle, it’s so expensive i had to go halves with tiff, and i nearly had a heart attack when eva said something about kirsten cause i thought i’d got the wrong one— he starts eating again, eating soup and talking, and you don't hate it. which by the way, swedes? have the most boring american history of them all, i don’t know why they’d make a doll about that, but anyways, yeah. she loved it. he reaches across you and takes his beer back so he can drink the last dregs of it. ever since the divorce, we don’t even call it christmas eve, we just call it christmas one and christmas two. as is tradition.

he says the last three words kind of weird.

as is tradition? you repeat.

tiff and i, we don’t have a bunch of traditions from our parents, so it’s like. we make up a lot of stuff and then we say ‘as is tradition.’ cause it’s not.

i mean, you got two generations involved, so that counts.

eh, he says, drawing it out dubiously.

i got two-generations traditions, you say.

you didn’t intend to talk about your family, you weren’t thinking about that at all, you were just thinking about richie. but now you gotta sit in the silence as he decides whether or not follow up about your parents.

finally, richie says, you got a kid? he’s doing his best to be cool about it, but his voice goes up a little crazy on the last word.

no, i mean—you’re laughing. i meant me and my dad.

oh, he says, maybe a bit relieved, definitely a bit something, you can’t quite place it. oh.

i used to make us mac and cheese for christmas. with a leaf on top, like lettuce or spinach or something. cause, you know, that makes it salad.

that’s cool, he says flatly. after a second, he adds, less flat, i don’t have any traditions with my dad. i mean, he’s dead, but like before then, we never. so i think that’s cool.

you hate his dad. it’s a split-second decision, but you feel pretty confident about it.

two generations is all you need, you say. and you got eva. so it’s a tradition.

heard, he says.

when you glance over, you see the chain catching the light, gold over his dark shirt. he looks at you. you both keep eating.

eventually, you finish off two bowls of soup and a hot chocolate too, courtesy of eva’s swiss miss unicorn package. you feel a bit subdued by the ordeal of being human, but relaxed.

best christmas ever, you say.

really? richie says, like he believes it and feels bad for you.

god no, do you think i came out a dickens?

what the fuck is a dickens?

you’re illiterate, it’s okay. you look at him. you know that your eyes are a little red, but thankfully you can also see, reflected in his eyes, that he knows you're all right.

thank you, richie, you say. it’s all wrong, you shouldn’t be saying his name and you shouldn’t be saying thank you either, it’s thanks or nothing, but something about the formality feels a little heavier and therefore suited to the day. it’s getting late.

i’ll drive you? he says, and there’s a little extra question in it that you can’t bring yourself to consider.

you shake your head and get up from the table heavily, feeling a thousand years old. i’m good.

he gets up, follows you, stands there with his hands in shoved his pockets as you crouch to put on your shoes.

i wasn’t suggesting a sleepover, he says.

no, of course not, you say, and you congratulate yourself on not making it sound bitter.

unless, richie says.

you look up at him.

i have so many condoms, he says, deadpan. just. so fucking many. some of them are citrus flavored.

there he goes, saved it.

it’s not just tonight, is it? it’s not just tonight, it’s not just luck, it’s not just christmas; somehow, richie’s become…he’s figured it out, how to be with you. when to show up and when to let you go. not always, but more than enough, and he just. he wakes up and he struggles and he breaks shit and he irritates you and he calls eva and he watches youtube and he goes to bed and he wakes up and he struggles and he learns and you love him.

what a fucking time to find out. you look down and begin tying your shoes again.

you got pineapple flavor? you say.

in what world is pineapple citrus? richie says.

well, tough luck. you back up and turn around to put on your coat. for me, it’s pineapple condoms or nothing.

you’re a real high-maintenance fuck.

you laugh. michael used to like that about you, just how easy you were, or how easy you made yourself. buddy, you got no idea.

it’s been such a long day for both of you, apart and together. of course you’re getting messy, of course it’s time to go. you zip up your coat, run your hand through your hair.

let me drive you, he says again.

you wave him off. no, i need to walk. clear my head.

it’s december in chicago, fuckin pitch black—

i’ll be fine.

it’s christmas eve, are you really gonna punish me for a fucking joke? he says, and you look up, startled; you didn’t know he was upset. in retrospect, you were just focusing on avoiding his eyes, so what did you expect?

i’m not punishing you for anything, you were great. richie. you look at him straight on and steady, so he understands. a little gentle, as gentle as you feel you can get away with. you truly have to go, and there’s no resentment in it. i just need to clear my head. i’ll be fine, i’m always fine.

you never… richie trails off, eyes you, decides against finishing the sentence. you’re stubborn.

always. you give him a small smile. thanks for the soup.

goodnight.

that should be the end, but it feels unfinished. his blue eyes are alive to the possibilities when you reach out, but you just touch the chain with a fingertip where it rests over his collarbone. his right hand moves a little and you draw back, your other hand on the doorknob at once, already leaving.

two days later, the cops issue a warrant for your arrest.

[ next chapter ] [ masterlist ]

@garbinge, @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @beingalive1, @eternallyvenus, @cerial-junkie, @jackierose902109, @shinebright2000, @scorpiolystoned — if anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know.

#richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #the bear fanfic #mine #readerfic #do i know you?#the bear imagine #diky #guess who's still at it? ME!!! guess who's not giving up? ME!!!!!!

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j-nope-not-today · 2 years

Note

OKAY SO I HAVE THE BEST IDEA EVER, SO LIKE WHAT IF YOU WROTE JUST LIKE QUOTES WITH LIL ITTY BITTY SCENARIOS FOR THE BAY!BOYS JUST FUNNY AND CUTE LIL ONES IN THE SAME WAY PPL WRITE HEAD CANNONS BUT INSTEAD, ITS QUOTES?!

TMNT quotes!!

A/N: Love this!! Thanks for requesting! I hope you like it!!

These are all quotes I'm sure the guys would say (But it's just my opinion). All credit to the original people who said the quotes btw.

Raphael

"One day..I'm gonna make the onions cry." Raph mutters while cooking.

"Some things are better left unsaid. Which I generally realize right after I've said them." -Raph after an argument

"Hi I don't care, thanks." Glares at Leo

"I never said most of the things I said." Raph after every argument with Leonardo.

"If you haven't got anything nice to say to anybody come sit next to me."

"Were all born mad. Some remain so." "Take back what you said."

"Well if I called the wrong number then why did you answer the phone?" "Because I thought you needed something!"

"I have had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it." Looks at his arguing brothers.

Leonardo

"Friends are god's way of apologizing to us for our families." Leo sighs lovingly looking at his brothers.

"When we ask for advice we're usually looking for an accomplice." Motions to Mikey and Raph sneaking out.

"Before I refuse to take your questions, I have an opening statement." Leo announces to Master Splinter as they all sneak back into the lair.

"There cannot be a crisis next week my schedule is full." "Leo their still gonna rob the bank Friday!"

"I'm sorry, if you were right I would agree with you." "But I am right!"

"Don't talk about yourself. It will be done when you leave." Glares at Raph

"It's always funny until someone gets hurt. Then it's just hilarious." "Just help me up.."

Donatello

"Sometimes I wonder if this is all happening, because I didn't forward that email to ten people.." Donnie mutters to himself as he looks at his brothers.

"Before you marry a person you should make them use a computer with slow internet first to see who they really are." Donnie smiled at Mikey. Patting his shoulder.

"I just asked if you wanted to go to the arcade.."

"It's okay if you don't like me..not everyone has good taste." Cue Donnie flipping imaginary hair, striking a pose.

"People who think they know everything are a great annoyance to those of us who do." Glares at everyone in his vicinity.

"The problem with having an open mind, of course, is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it." Donnie anytime his brothers suggest something to him.

Michelangelo

"I never make the same mistake twice..I make it three or four times just to be sure!"

"This is why we can't have nice things!"

"Some days I have it together and other days I find toast I made three days ago still sitting in the toaster oven." "That was you?!"

"All right everybody line up alphabetically according to your height!" "I swear I didn't push him that hard!"

"Laugh and the world laughs with you..snore and you sleep alone." Glares at his brothers.

"The weather forecast for the night: dark." "Why did we leave him in charge of the flashlights?"

"Never fight an inanimate object." Looks down at the broken vase

"Food is an important part of a balanced diet." Proceeds to eat another slice of pizza.

#teenage mutant ninja turtles x reader #tmnt 2014 #tmnt bayverse #tmnt imagine #tmnt x reader #tmnt donatello #tmnt mikey #tmnt leonardo #tmnt ralph

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credince--writes · 2 years

Text

Tabasco

AO3

Something Jitters noticed, albeit slowly, was that it seemed Ghost never seemed to leave.

Unless it was on a mission of course.

Sometimes she would forget that he was there, only to have the life scared out of her when he rounded a corner and almost bumped into her.

A lot of the time it made sense.

The first time, Gaz, Price, and Soap would be going somewhere to do something to the tone of undercover work.

It's hard to be undercover with a skull mask on your face.

So, it left the two of them alone in the base.

The first day, she avoided him. Maybe not intentionally, but she had no real way to know how to feel about him. He was, in essence, a big scary fucker with a skull mask who killed people for his occupation.

She would still be providing some very basic assistance to the team from afar, making sure nothing had come in through the enemy communications that would signal for the mission being compromised.

Usually, it starts out with little things.

Additional punctuation in messages can signal for something is wrong.

She didn't know how- but Gaz had managed to pick up a bag of bagels. Even told her to eat as many as she wanted while he was gone, no use in letting them get moldy was his reasoning.

So she happily obliged, while yea, she was hesitant at first, she decided to take him up on his offer. Cutting the bread and then placing it in the toaster oven she quickly returned to her office corner and keep checking up on the communications.

A particular snippet of a phone call caught her attention, and she began to slip down the rabbit hole of analyzing the messages around it.

By the time she had looked up from the screen, a plate with a bagel was set at the end of her desk. She looked around, not realizing Ghost must've brought it in when she was working.

Heat crept up onto her face, he must think she was an idiot- or at least reaffirm the premise of it being so. Forgetting it in the toaster oven, walking off, and getting busy.

At least it didn't catch fire.

But, she couldn't help but notice the butter carefully spread across the surface of each piece.

She should remember to thank him later.

...

Wandering through the halls, she stopped to find herself walking into the training room to hunt down the source of noise- hopefully assuming it to be Ghost and not an intruder.

To which, she was grateful for him being the large but familiar man even if he was brooding in the corner.

"Hey." She spoke, trying to catch his attention.

He stopped beating on a punching bag (the poor object) to turn and look at her, still wearing the skull-clad mask. However, instead of the normal long sleeve and gear he wore, he wore a simple black T-shirt.

Didn't know he had any tattoos.

She assumed his eye contact was the only kind of acknowledgment or greeting she would get.

"Thanks for saving the bagel, earlier." She started. His lack of verbal acknowledgment only added to the awkwardness of her conversation.

"Didn't want to have to deal with a fire, now would we?" He responded.

A hint of something twirled around in his voice,

amusement maybe.

"Yea..." She laughed a little, feeling the heat rise back up to her face. She reached her arm back to rub the back of her neck. "I got kinda caught up. You know?"

He nodded simply.

"So..." She tried to continue.

"Do you need something, Jitters?" He asks.

"No." She sighs. Faltering slightly, "Sorry." Before turning and leaving him alone in the training room.

She'd never been left alone with him for a full day if it could even be called being left with him.

But, she would admit the man was full of surprises.

She wasn't expecting to walk into the kitchen after finishing work for dinner to be finished and out on the table, even if it was just a singular serving for her.

He was nowhere to be seen, but it started a game of sorts to catch the man in the act of doing something so domestic.

He seemed to have a routine, wake up, lumber around for a while before going to the shooting range, coming back, finding a bagel in the toaster oven that Jitters forgot, and then when she would come to apologize (again) about her forgetfulness he would be doing something in the training room.

"Apologies don't count when you make a habit of it." He simply said to her.

"Sorry." She sighed, looking at her shoes. "So, do you always work out. Every day?" She asks.

"When I am not injured or on a mission, yes." He said bluntly, continuing to do pullups on a bar.

"You ever get bored?"

"No."

"I'd get bored."

"Hm."

"It ever get hard to breathe in that thing?" She asked.

"No."

"Am I testing your patience?"

"How'd you know?" He sighed out, dropping from the bar and turning to her. "Are you bored?" He asked.

"Incredibly." Jittered sighed, shrugging her shoulders. "Nothing interesting is coming through the comms."

"I am not your babysitter." He said plainly.

"Never said you were." She shot back.

"Bit defensive are we?" He questions, moving across the room to put away a weight he had been using earlier.

She grumbled a little, crossing her arms. "I didn't mean to. I just am starting to dislike being regarded as a baby."

He turned, looking at her. "Then do something about it."

She groaned. "Like what?"

"Don't know, I'm not a baby."

"God, you're an ass."

"Hm."

He moved about, and she found herself sitting against a wall in his company.

"Didn't know you had tattoos." She comments.

"Is that what they are?" He sarcastically asks.

"I thought you'd be more of the guy to get a tribal tattoo and nipple piercings, personally." She jokes.

"This was just the cover-up, you missed those." He held up his arm, keeping his back to her as she moved about.

She stood, making her way as quietly as she could up behind him, getting about ten feet away from him before he lifted his head.

"You're shit at sneaking around." He comments without turning his head.

She groans, before crumbling to the ground. "How?"

"You're not as quiet as you think."

"I think you got shark mirrors in that damn mask." She grumbles.

He stands, turning before walking up to her and poking her with the tip of his boot. "Get up."

She stands, begrudgingly, before following him to the center of the room onto a mat.

"Hit me." He stated.

A look of shock momentarily took over her features.

"Huh?"

"You heard me." He says.

She stands up straighter, adjusting her shoulders before throwing a punch into his chest.

As soon as she throws the punch his hand jerks out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her body forward, kicking her legs out from under her, sending her topping onto the mat below him.

Jitters groaned, looking up at him as he slightly leaned forward to look at her.

"What'd you do wrong?"

"Walked into the fuckin' room." She grumbles.

"Wrong."

"Threw a punch at the man literally named Ghost."

"Yes, and no. What did you do wrong with your punch?"

"I leaned too far forward so I was already off balance. Not that would've mattered with you manhandling me."

He nodded a bit. "So what should you do next time?"

"Bring a gun." She grumbled, rolling over onto her hands and knees to stand.

He let out a huff, something close to a laugh she could only assume.

"You and Johnny have been practicing, have you not?" He asked.

"No." She sighed, finally standing back up. "We've been dickin' around with the containers."

As soon as she stood, he stuck an arm out against her shoulders throwing her chest backward, leg swinging out and filing her back at the knees, sending her toppling back to the floor.

"Oh my God." She groaned, rolling over again. "No fair."

"You left yourself open." He responded back simply.

"Cold hard bastard." She laughs a little. Springing up suddenly she lunged forward, trying to grab hold of his waist and push him back.

Except it was like coming into contact with a wall.

"That's not going to work." He stated.

"Fuck this." She huffs, turning around. "No fair, no fun."

"Life isn't fair." Ghost shoots back at her.

As soon as he said that, she was running at him, leaping into the air and trying again, wrapping her arms and legs around his torso in another attempt to knock him off balance.

They were met in awkward silence, safe for Jitters huffing for breath under him. "This was gonna work better in my head."

"I can see that." He bluntly responds.

His body began to shift, before he completely toppled forward on top of her, dead weighting on her.

Thats when she really began to scramble about like a cat, wheezing out

'can't'

'bre-'

'heeathe...'

'hnnng'

'help'

'hunnnnng-

'unlc'

'uncle' she wheezes out.

With that, he stiffens his body back up, standing quickly and looking down at her.

She lay on her back gasping for breath.

....

A few days later, she finally caught him in the act.

Peeking her head in through the doorway, she watched as he cut an onion on the cutting board, potatoes boiling behind him.

His head didn't even lift before he called into the room. "Staring is rude."

She nearly fell dead on the floor at that moment, awkwardly standing and walking into the room with a face plastered with the look of 'shameful, but only because I was caught'

"It's just weird." She says, walking up and sitting down at one of the chairs at the dining table.

"What." He states.

"To see you cooking?" She asks aloud. "Just never saw you for someone to do that."

"Hm."

"Not that, like, you can't cook. All of the dinners, and food, in general, have been great." She adds quickly.

He doesn't respond, just continuing to cut.

"It's just weird to see you doing something so domestic?" She asks again. "But it's nice. You know."

"I don't." He replies.

"It's just a reminder that the big bad Ghost is human." She jokes, shooting him a grin. "Don't worry, I won't tell the others you're a better cook than Soap. Secret's safe with me." She laughs a little.

He remained silent, still.

"Do you need any help?" She asked.

"No." He responded.

She sighed, crossed her arms, and sat back in the chair.

By the time he had finished cooking, he stood with his plate, aiming to walk to whoever he enjoyed his meals in peace.

Leaving her alone at the dinner table once again.

...

The second time they were left alone together was only for a day, following up on previous leads had left the two together, she didn't even know he was in the building until she had stepped out to look at the sky and saw the man leaning up against the building, mask pulled up over his chin and to his nose smoking a cigarette.

"You know those are bad for you." She comments.

"So is getting shot." He mumbled, putting his light back in his pocket.

Maybe it was a threat?

She didn't want to find out necessarily.

The team ended up calling in, they'd be back in the morning, the weather had gotten nasty rather quickly and Price said he'd rather not be in another heli crash.

Ghosts word resonated with her to a degree, 'do something about it'

She might not be able to beat Ghost in a fight, but she could still take care of her body- to which she realized she hadn't been doing that well of a job as of late.

She had walked into the training room, finding it empty.

Call her a wimp, but she didn't directly see the appeal of lifting weights. They also didn't have weights that would work in the 'Jitters' category. Unless she felt like dragging around a fifty-pound kettlebell for the 'gains' there wasn't much there in the room for her.

The body stores trauma in physical ways.

So, she found herself on the mat in the center of the room stretching her legs, back, arms, anything she could remember from the old yoga poses she'd do in the kitchy classes she took in college.

The familiar feeling of the burning stretch in her legs, and in her back. All providing some relief. It felt as if she was physically releasing tension from her body as she did it. Taking deep breaths in and allowing the pain to flow out while she exhaled.

She'd be cackling at herself if she wasn't desperately trying to combat the pit in the bottom of her gut eating away at her.

She was homesick.

But not of her home,

she missed her old life.

She missed her bed.

Her hometown's weather.

Birds.

The look of the grass.

Nothing was the same here.

Maybe if she closed her eyes sometimes, like when she was in the shower with her head pressed up against the tile she could act as if she was home.

Maybe even a hotel.

Anywhere that wasn't a military base.

When she approached the kitchen she saw Ghost, in a semi-familiar position of cooking at the stove. A picture of muddled domesticity.

It worked roughly the same, this time him finishing up, making his plate and turning to leave.

"Ghost." She asked.

He stopped, and turned to look at her.

"Could you..." She grasped at the sleeve of her shirt. "Could you eat with me?" She asks him, shooting him a near-desperate glance.

He didn't respond at first. Almost mulling it over.

"I... I don't wanna eat alone." She explains.

He made his way over to the table, setting the plate down, and leaving, returning a short bit later with a single bottle of tabasco sauce, and a glass with an amber liquid inside of it. Sitting it down on the table, he pulled his mask up and ate with her in a comfortable silence.

She watched as he grabbed the bottle, splashing it onto his food for what seemed to be the fifth time.

"You like that stuff?" She asks.

He gives her a simple nod.

She laughs a little, "You just have one in your room?"

"Johnny would drink it if he found it." He says in between bites.

"The hot sauce or whatever is in your glass?"

"Both."

"What's in the glass?" She asks.

"Bourbon."

She nods and continues to eat.

...

The third time, the team had been released for a week. Return home, do as you like, visit the wife, the likes.

So, she had opted to sleep in- true teenager style. By the time she crawled out of bed, it was already two in the afternoon. And boy, did she feel great.

She wandered the building, not like she had a home to return to.

But Jitters soon noticed, she wasn't alone. the scent of a freshly smoked cigarette hung in the air. The ding of the toaster when she was in another room, the faucet dripping after being used.

But she couldn't corner him.

She tried, she really did, he really was living up to his name, he was a Ghost.

So, she assumed he didn't want to be bothered, so she went along with it.

And it stayed that way, for a few days.

She'd find dinner, she'd eat alone, and she'd continue on with her night.

She lay in bed that night, staring blankly at the wall before sighing and getting up. Pulling a jacket on over her shirt, she left her room and wandered around the base. Walking out to the garage and up a flight of the metal stairs to reach the access door to the roof.

When she reached the top of the building, she walked across the roof for a moment before settling at a spot that looked near perfect for a seat.

The sky was clear, but these weren't the stars she had grown up looking at.

She sniffled a bit, staring up at the sky feeling the cold prickle her nose.

Tears slipped down her cheek as she sat there, not paying attention to the time passing as she stared up at the sky.

Catching the sound of the door quietly opening and shutting her eyes snapped out over to see Ghost's large figure walking across the rooftop in the darkness. He stopped, eyes settling on her for a moment. He looked back at the door, almost contemplating on if he should leave or not.

However, he didn't decide to leave, rather walking forward and leaning up against the wall next to her.

"You're in my spot." He says, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

He wasn't wearing the skull mask, however. It was a simple black mask. The bridge of his nose was exposed, eyes showing through more. He lacked the black paint smudged around his eyes emphasizing the void his graze would drag you into.

It was Jitter's turn to give silence as a response.

"Why aren't you home?" Jitters asks, exhaling and watching her breath appear as steam and dissipate into the sky.

"I assume the same reason you aren't there either." He responds, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

They come to a silent agreement. It was as if they had seen eye to eye on something, they had a bit more in common than they'd like to agree.

This place was their home, like it or not.

"You're missing your face." Jitters says, shooting him a glance.

"Thought I was having a smoke, the kind where I'm alone." He replies. There was no dig in his response, just as if it was an explanation.

They sit together, a while longer looking up at the sky.

"You ever think about gettin' old?" She looks at him, watching as he takes a drag on his cig, exhaling it out into the cold night air.

"Sometimes." He adds after a moment.

She pulls her knees to her chest, resting her chin on the tops of her knees.

"It's weird to think about." She mumbles.

He doesn't respond.

"This place feels like my coffin, in a way." She glances up at him, meeting his gaze. "That I'll never get the opportunity to be anything else than just, Jitters."

"Hm."

"It's just, rather lonely I suppose."

She couldn't help but feel the searing feeling on the side of her head from his eyes.

"Do you ever get scared, you know, of dying?" She asked.

"No." He responds, flicking his cigarette down onto the metal roof.

"Only the good die young." He adds.

"That's not comforting." She sighs. "I want to be good."

"Who are you to judge the difference between good and evil?" He asks her.

She didn't know what to expect from the conversation.

But not that.

Who are you to judge the difference between good and evil?

"Do you ever miss it?" She asks.

He looks at her and nods a bit before flicking the ash off of the end of his cigarette.

"Sometimes." He finally responds.

"Would you ever go back to it?"

"There's nothing left to go back to." He says.

Home.

"I guess that's something we have in common." She mumbles.

#Jitters Au #john soap mactavish #john price #soap x reader #cod mwii #Simon Riley #simon ghost riley #gaz garrick x reader #gaz garrick

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