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unconventialsailormoon · 1 month ago

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Don’t Wait for Me

Pairing - Erik Killmonger x reader

Warnings - Slow burn, enemies to reluctant allies to almost lovers, soft angst, cultural healing, yearning, forbidden tenderness

Summary - You were just supposed to teach him Wakandan, language, history, tradition. Not fall in love with the prince who swore to burn it all down.

You meet him on the third day of your new post.

The first two are filled with whispered warnings in palace halls.

“Keep your head down.”

“Speak only when spoken to.”

“He doesn’t want to be here.”

“He’s dangerous.”

You expect a storm.

You get a man in gold and leather, eyes so sharp they cut into your quiet like a blade. He doesn’t knock when he enters the study room, just pushes the door open with the back of his hand, saunters in like he owns it.

(Technically, he does.)

“Where’s the tutor?” he asks, already unimpressed.

You glance up from your table, brush a speck of dust from the Xhosa scrolls. “You’re looking at them.”

He scoffs. “You?”

You lift an eyebrow. “Yes. Me.”

He stares. You stare back.

A beat. A breath. A challenge.

“Fine,” he mutters, dropping into a seat. “Let’s get this over with.”

⸻

You try to keep the lessons clinical. Neutral.

But he keeps bleeding into everything.

His presence is oil in water, loud, slick, unignorable.

He stretches in his chair like he’s bored. Answers questions with a smirk. Dares you to snap.

He calls your pronunciation “cute.”

You call his Wakandan rusty and full of bullet holes.

You think he might actually like that.

“You think you’re better than me, huh?” he says one day, after you correct him for the third time. “Because you grew up here?”

“I think I’m better at grammar,” you reply, deadpan. “That’s why I’m the one teaching.”

That earns you a laugh.

You hate that it sounds like honey.

⸻

Still, he keeps showing up.

Once, he brings his own pen.

Another time, he repeats a proverb back to you, perfect tone, perfect structure.

You don’t praise him. He notices.

“You got somethin’ against me?” he asks after a particularly long pause.

You don’t answer.

Not because you don’t have one, God knows you do.

But because the problem isn’t that you don’t like him.

It’s that you’re starting to.

And you don’t know what the hell to do about that.

⸻

One night, it rains.

Thick, silver sheets against the palace windows. You’re late to the lesson, soaked to the bone. You expect him to mock you.

He doesn’t.

Just looks up from the table and frowns.

“You walk here?” he asks.

You shrug. “I live off the edge of the grounds. It’s not far.”

He looks at you like it is. Like he knows what far feels like.

He tosses you a clean cloth from the back of a chair. “You’re drippin’ all over the scrolls, [Name]. Dry off.”

You blink. It’s the first time he’s ever said your name without sarcasm.

It lands different.

Soft. Sincere. Like maybe you’re not just a means to an end.

“…Thanks,” you murmur.

He doesn’t reply. Just goes back to writing.

But when you glance down at his page, your breath catches.

It’s a proverb about home.

“A person without knowledge of their past is like a tree without roots.”

⸻

You don’t say anything the next day.

But you bring a book he hasn’t read yet.

You leave it on the desk without a word.

He pretends not to care.

(But the next time you enter, it’s bookmarked and underlined.)

⸻

It becomes routine.

Lessons, smirks, long silences.

Your fingers brush when you pass him ink.

He holds your gaze a little too long when you correct his cadence.

His accent softens. So do your walls.

Once, he calls you “uThandwa lwami.”

You flinch.

“You know what that means?” he asks, almost teasing.

You meet his eyes. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, N’Jadaka.”

He stiffens at the name. No one uses it.

No one dares.

But you do.

And he doesn’t tell you not to.

⸻

Then comes the garden.

It’s late. Past curfew. But you can’t sleep.

You find him under the moon, shirtless and scarred, sitting beneath the shade of a flowering baobab.

You mean to leave.

But he says your name again, quiet, like a song with no audience.

“…You ever hate this place?” he asks, not looking up. “Even a little?”

You sit beside him. The air hums with something thick and unspoken.

“No,” you say truthfully. “But sometimes I hate the way it forgets people.”

He exhales hard. Like you punched the wind out of him.

“My mama used to tell me stories about this place,” he says. “Said it was made of gold. Said it was ours.” He leans back, bitter. “Then she died in a shitty apartment in Oakland while the king of Wakanda looked the other way.”

You don’t apologize. He’s not looking for pity.

“I don’t know how to forgive that,” he whispers.

You reach out. Touch his hand, slow and trembling.

“Then don’t,” you say. “But don’t let it take the rest of you.”

He looks at your hand. Doesn’t pull away.

Just stares. Like maybe this is the first time someone touched him without trying to take something.

“…You soft,” he murmurs.

“You’re not.”

He smirks. “Not yet.”

⸻

After that, things change.

He brings you fruit from the kitchen before lessons.

You correct his tenses without flinching.

You argue about history, about kings, about legacy.

One day, you say “You could be a good one, you know.”

He goes still.

“…A good what?”

You smile, sad and secret. “A good king.”

He looks away.

“You think they’d let me?”

You don’t answer.

But the silence says it all.

⸻

You’re not supposed to fall in love.

He’s not supposed to stay.

But he kisses you anyway, on the last night before he’s due to speak in the council chamber.

It’s soft. Brief. Like a promise wrapped in regret.

“Don’t wait for me,” he says, voice ragged against your skin.

“..I know ” you whisper back.

⸻

Then he leaves.

Not a word. Not a letter. Just echoes in the study room and an empty seat where he used to sit.

⸻

A month passes. Then two. You try not to look for him in every shadow.

You fail. Often.

But one night, you return to your quarters to find a single sheet of parchment on your bed.

It’s a proverb.

Written in imperfect, familiar handwriting.

“The tree remembers. The axe forgets.”

And at the bottom -

“I remember everything. - E”

#erik killmonger #micheal b jordan x black!reader #soft angst #black panther #king of wakanda #black reader #long reads

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blueberrypancakesworld · 10 days ago

Note

Anything of Erik Campbell with a neurodivergent gf pleasee

I'm here for you

Erik Campbell x neurodivergent!reader

warning : reader is described as you, fluff, hurt/comfort

info: Hi anon, I was a little unsure at first because I wasn't quite sure how to approach this. So I hope it turned out okay, enjoy reading ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

°No matter how your neurodivergence is showing, Erik couldn't care less. He's been through too much in his life for something like that to separate him from you. He's stared death in the face, lost his father, almost lost his entire family, and when you told him what you had, he couldn't help but laugh and pull you into a hug.

°No matter how your neurodivergence manifests itself, whether it was problems with numbers, letters that didn't make sense and ended in crooked words, one distraction after another, or simply that the world was too much, Erik was there for you.

°At first, he hardly noticed it. He thought that your frequent use of headphones was because of your favorite music, that you often looked up words in dictionaries to spell them correctly was a problem caused by school and not you. That writing down plans out of fear of not being able to follow them was a sign of neatness.

°But when he saw how you closed yourself off, how you turned away from him on some days, he knew something was wrong. During the time you were together, it was the first time you had ever been so open with him... and Erik, Erik just said “My perfect love, you are amazing” gave you a hug and immediately made tea for both of you before sitting down with you on the couch to talk about it.

°The more he knew and tried to remember everything, the more understandable he was. He asked what was okay and what wasn't. How far he could help you and when not to, and what he could do when it all became too much. With notes on his phone, it only took him a day after work to come back to your shared apartment and hold a bag.

°A bag with a note saying, Everything I remembered, especially for my heart and inside was a colorful calculator, a dictionary with additional pictures for explanations, and even a spelling book so they both could learn together. They were small things, things that might have seemed a little embarrassing, but Erik, Erik who looked at you with such love, knew that he would help his love in any way he could.

°It was the little things, like when they went shopping and made bets on who could read and write the product labels faster and better. Whoever got to the total amount faster at the end, on the way home with songs they both listened to, tried to remember things and processes better.

°Even on days when you lacked patience, when words made no sense, when frustration and shame became too much, Erik was there. He was there, took you gently in his arms, gave you a snack, tea or coffee, anything that made you feel better, before sitting down with you to tackle the problem. “We'll do this together,” he assured you, placing his hand on yours.

°Erik didn't look like it, but he had a big heart and would do anything for his loved ones and family. Appearances didn't always matter, and that also applied to his love. He never would have thought that your openness could make him love you even more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#final destination #final destination bloodlines #erik campbell #erik campbell x you

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holy-puckslibrary · 1 year ago

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— 𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬.

pairing(s) — dilf!ERIK JOHNSON x ex-nanny!wife!reader (established); REESE JOHNSON (oc) x ex-nanny!stepmom!reader (platonic / familial)

wc — 4.7k synopsis — family weekend forces reese’s worlds to collide. results are… mixed note — i just really love reese. that's it :) and how dilfy does mr johnson look in that gif good lord

the nanny (series masterlist) | main masterlist

content warnings under the cut.

cw — age gap relationship (erik and the reader, established), vulgar college boys with no respect, busy-bodies who cannot mind their own beeswax, possessive!erik, pregnant!reader (not discussed in detail), sweet bby reese in peril :(

REESE JOHNSON has a problem.

It’s the sort of anxiety-trodden predicament that could’ve been soothed into nothingness had he spoken up sooner. He didn’t because he couldn’t. That was part of the problem.

And now it’s too late—for solutions or comfort.

The teen, now a second-semester freshman at the University of Denver, had long since adjusted to the heightened scrutiny of his family in the early days of your relationship with his father. Everyone online had to throw in their two cents on the “illicit affair.” Even people who didn’t give a shit about hockey (evidenced by their inability to name a single team) felt they had a right to weasel their way in. While irritating and uncomfortable, the harsh reads didn’t bother him for too long because Reese knew the truth.

He also knew how unnecessarily ruthless people could be when they had a screen to hide behind. The son of a prominent figure in professional sports, Reese knew people stared at him through a very particular lens. It veered toward a rosy sheen every so often, but mostly it was smudged glass. Like a fish tank whose walls were muddy with the greasy impressions spectators left behind. Strangers offering commentary on his father’s life, and by extension his too, was part of the gig.

Frankly, the aftermath wasn’t much different than before. Only the subject matter changed. If it wasn’t thinly veiled insults about Erik’s waning career or his prior inability to keep a girlfriend, it was overly critical evaluations of Reese’s prowess or lack thereof and, unsurprisingly, comparisons between father and son. Without fail, the verbiage and tone implied competition, hinting that their healthy bond was only a bit of showmanship to hide the rocky resentment beneath.

This weekend is different. Sure, his teammates and friends had already gotten ample face-time with both of his parents, as well as his kid sister, but never all at once. Though they all did their best to coordinate, busy schedules rendered a revolving cheering section for Reese Johnson.

This weekend—family weekend—will change that. By some stroke of luck (or a cruel twist of fate, the jury's still out on that one), everyone would be here… together. And that’s not to say he isn’t grateful for their effort or that he isn’t excited because he is. Reese is thrilled to share this new slice of life with his loved ones. It’s just that…

Reese knows how it looks when they venture out into the world.

Not that his dad is exactly old or even old-looking. In the same way you aren’t questionably young. Still, the age difference is noticeable. Before you were more than a nanny to the Johnsons (if you were ever just a nanny to begin with), it was easier for on-lookers to assess the dynamic, and still, albeit seldomly, they would drum up gossip. Things got remarkably more awkward, though, after his father finally plucked up the courage to propose, and increased tenfold once Erik had a gold band to match. It was as if the wedding ushered in the open season on Johnsons.

More times than he cared to count, Reese found himself cupping Josie’s ears to keep his little sister from hearing jeering crowds calling their dad an old pervert and you a shameless gold-digger. No one’s had to explain what a “sugar daddy” is (or why it's the first thing that auto-populates when you plug ‘Erik Johnson’ into Google), but the burden would’ve fallen on Reese if he hadn’t left her in the car while he ran in to grab a takeout order last summer.

But Erik’s eldest isn’t just worried about his family existing outside the warmth and safety of their insulated bubble. His sleepless nights are filled with fear. Fear of the pain and sadness he’ll undoubtedly feel about it all now that he sees you less as his friend and more as a maternal figure.

Reese’s always been protective; it's led to many a fight with his own father and, sometimes, his own sister. He’s the first to rush to your aid and the strongest force in your defense. The habit, however, strengthened when his perspective shifted as swiftly as flipping a switch.

Suddenly, you weren’t just his dad’s girlfriend or the person who made him pancakes in the morning. Or the savior who dropped off his English paper because he was in such a hurry he left it on the printer. You were a confidant, someone he called for when he was in a bad spot or when he wanted to see the latest mind-numbingly bad action flick. When he asked his date to prom, it was you he wanted help from. When Reese was sick, your home remedies worked better than anything store-bought or concocted by his dad. When practice ran over, he could count on you to wait up with his dinner hot and ready, the rest of the house already fast asleep.

For the first time since he could remember, the Dad-shaped gap wasn’t devastating. It hurt like a bitch, but it was bearable because he had another adult—another parent—he could rely on. In every sense of the word, you were his mom.

And no one wants to hear disgusting lies about their mom.

However, Reese hasn’t called you that yet. At least, not to your face. In passing to his childhood friends or when referring to you with Josie, sure, and once or twice over the phone with Erik, but when he calls for you, he uses your first name like he's still your “nanny-kid.” But it's not for a lack of trying. It’s just that every time he thinks he’s worked up the nerve, the three letters catch in his throat like molasses, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop.

Moments like those are the rare few he wishes he were Josie instead of himself. His jovial spitfire of a sister never missed a chance. During her lunch block with classmates, on the phone with their extended family, to strangers at Avs games, or on the sidewalk, the moniker slipped off Josie Johnson’s tongue like water down a slide. Their dad liked to poke fun, warning her to be careful so as not to wear it out from overuse.

Maybe it was the sister snuggled in your stomach that tightened his throat. The baby that could and would call you “Mom” with little effort beyond mastering the string of sound. The baby that would grow up not knowing you as anything besides her mother. It was a shade of ownership Reese felt hesitant to touch. No matter how desperately he yearned to.

The closest he’s come is penning in the title beneath your name on the lanyard that’ll hang from your neck for upcoming festivities. It was a small gesture. Still, it felt like too much and not enough all at once.

Reese is caught between wanting to honor the bond and all you’ve done with the accurate label and the fear of explicitly acknowledging it stirs in his chest. At least in this limbo of sorts, as cumbersome as it's become, Reese can have what he’s always wanted and keep you in his life without risking capsizing the boat with an awkward declaration. It’s an uneasy compromise, but it's the devil he knows. At least he knows what and when to feed it.

Reese hates that he’s letting his worries dictate his life. It's just… hard. No one tells kids how to navigate gaining a new parent or any of the baggage that unique situation carries. No one tells kids how to trust the position’s new occupant not to follow in their predecessor’s footsteps. In his heart, Reese knows you won’t run. But knowing that doesn’t shut down the nagging voice in the back of his mind. The one that drones on like a broken record, telling him that the burden of the word, knotted with his expectations, will be his family’s unraveling.

He couldn’t do that to Josie. To his dad. Or to you and the little sister you’re carrying.

So, he’ll stomach it. For how long, Reese isn’t sure. But, for now, he’ll stand on the outskirts of the minefield, bidding time.

"Johnson! Your whole family's coming, right?" Kody, a junior defenseman from Fort Collins, yanks Reese from his downward spiral.

The last place he wants to be right now is out in the world. The last thing he needs is to cannonball himself back into the fishbowl. Even if the phantom audience never spoke to him, sometimes their heavy attention pushing into his back was enough to send Reese reeling.

But he made a promise to make more of an effort. To be more social, to have more fun—to take life a little less seriously.

In his mind, if he was at school to learn and play hockey, there was little room to wiggle. Sure, Reese has had his fair share of adolescent recklessness and could lean toward boyish immaturity at times, but at his core, he was a rule-follower. A responsibility fiend with a penchant for playing the white knight. A stickler for structure. When given the choice between a teenage dream and a full-grown reality, the freshman chose the latter nine times out of ten.

Reese Johnson’s moral compass weighs down his back pocket; he feels most at peace when things fit neatly into their proper boxes. Good and bad, black and white. One or the other, never both.

Stress and anxiety exacerbate his mental rigidity. And he’s been so fucking far from zen lately.

Reese would’ve broken the stupid promise if it’d been made to anyone besides you. So, when a few of the upperclassmen on the team appeared at his dorm with an invitation to get pizza, he begrudgingly accepted.

It isn’t so bad. Far from awful this far. Definitely not the worst way to spend an evening. His teammates were alright enough guys, and their girlfriends weren’t as callous as he’d expected. Reese just found it hard to connect with them, a situation that couldn’t be more different than his previous team experience.

With his childhood friends, it all clicked. Fell into place without much real effort from any of them. There was an awkward period, but it ended within the first month and, honestly, had more to do with prepubescent cringe than anything.

An entire semester came and went, and Reese still felt like an outsider. When he looked out onto the ice, he saw a sea of strangers. They had different interests, different priorities. Inside jokes he wasn’t in on. Ones he wasn’t sure he wanted to be in on. Even their sense of decorum was foreign. He was well-acquainted with profanity and vulgar jibes, but Reese’s neck still occasionally heats at their… colorful chirps.

But maybe this will be a good step, Reese thinks to himself as he clears the nerves from his throat, making room for an answer to Kody’s question.

“Uh, yeah. My parents and my little sister,” he nods. The blip of quiet that follows coaxes out further details. “They’re going to skip the mixer-campout thing tomorrow night because of the baby, but they’ll be at the student fair and our scrimmage the next day.”

It feels odd to talk about his family. The words, somehow both intensely personal and casual at the same time, taste funny on his tongue. Reese’s stomach clenches, suddenly too aware that he’s never really had to do this before, the small talk. Back home, everyone knows everyone. There’s little to talk about by way of mundane facts because there’s no need; it would be incredibly redundant. His friends from home wouldn’t think to ask if his family was coming, nor would they nudge him to share their schedule. They’d just know.

Reese is aware that this is a silly thing to get worked up over, or even care about at all. He knows it’s part of the process. Part of making new friends is letting them know you. Telling them about yourself and your life, and all the people in your life. Especially the ones you love. Offering up bits of yourself in exchange for bits of them. Still, it's unsettling. Like he’s inviting a group of strangers to pass judgment on his unconventional family.

No one’s said anything, but Reese already feels defensive.

And rightly so, he’d soon find.

"That was quick."

Lane, a senior forward from some beach town in California, draws first blood. The quip seems innocuous, but the shit-eating grin undermines any plausible deniability. Even without his smug expression, they probably would’ve understood the implication lurking below the surface anyway.

It isn’t the isolated comment that burns the tips of Reese’s ears. It’s the fact that he’s never spoken about the circumstances or the timeline of your relationship with his father. Reese hasn’t tried to hide anything, but he certainly hasn’t been forthcoming either. For all they knew, you could’ve been Josie’s biological mother. A long shot, but feasible enough if you didn't know any better.

But somehow, this kid from out of state knew. Knew that, by “traditional” standards, it was a little soon for his parents to be welcoming a new life.

"Can you blame him? Hot young thing at your beck and call?” Kent, a sophomore from outside of Toronto, cuts in before Reese can.

The lecherous glint in the winger’s tone makes his skin crawl. He doesn’t need to look up from his half-eaten slice of Hawaiian to know his mouth matches Lane’s.

“Fuck, dude. I would've knocked her up before she dragged me down the aisle. But, I've heard Viagra massacres your swimmers, so maybe that wasn’t in the cards for Ol’ Johnson.”

The group, crowded around a hodgepodge of tables, descends into a fit of snickers and profanity.

Reese contemplates leaving until a manicured hand gently squeezes his arm. Callahan Graham blinks up at him, a sweet smile tight on her rosy mouth. Callahan “Callie” Graham, Lane’s on-again-off-again girlfriend of three years. They’re “off” right now, if he’s remembering correctly. Not that it matters. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. Reese’s chin dips in gratitude.

From across the table, Callie’s roommate, Greer, pipes up over the commotion. “I hope I'm as cute as she is when I'm pregnant."

"Me too," Bree, one of the other girlfriends, sighs dreamily into her Diet Coke. "I couldn't believe how pretty she looked the last time she brought Josie to watch you play, Reese. If I was pregnant and holding down a two-kid fort by all by myself for most of the year, I know I'd look it. But I guess that’s just another perk of true love, isn’t it? Beauty in spite of it all.”

Kent snorts. “True love…right.”

Reese’s molars pinch together. Beneath the table, he picks at his nails. It hurts, but it's the distraction he needs right now.

"It's not like being a trophy wife is a real job anyway, so I'm sure that helps. Just lie back and spread those pretty—"

Reese’s fist finishes Lane’s sentence. As badly as he wants to put it through the douchebag’s face, he (thankfully) had the foresight to direct his anger downward. It was the succinct thwack! of his hand against the table that cut the lewd thought off prematurely.

Reese is a striking juxtaposition; hardened jaw, sharp eyes, pinched mouth—silent. Only his chest moves. Shallowly, the accent on the exhalations.

For a moment, everything is still. It’s nice. While it lasts.

Kody is the one to crack the ill-fated stalemate. Trepidation peeking through the tiny cracks in his smooth confidence, he approaches like a hunter would an agitated deer, “Loosen up, Reese. We're just having fun. And, if anything, it's a compliment."

Reese openly glares, unconvinced.

Kody persists, deadset on being the one to subdue the beast. “Come on, even you have to admit your dad's locked down a fuckin’ tenner. A real win for Team Geriatric, I’d say. You should be proud of him, kid.”

This isn’t the first time someone’s prodded Reese about your physical appearance. He wasn’t blind. He knew you were attractive, but you’d never entered that part of his brain before. Ever. It's as if his subconscious preemptively locked you away in the same box as his dad and kid sister, or any other family member. But they weren’t asking if he thought you were pretty, not really.

The omnipresent “They” wanted to know if he thought you were attractive the way he thought Pedro Pascal or Olivia Rodrigo was attractive. They wanted to know if he felt the way his dad felt about you. They’re probing for a twisted scandal, a sick taboo love triangle. As if they weren’t already gorging themselves on the age difference or the boss/employee origin story.

They wanted more. They always wanted more. They wanted to take one of the best parts about Reese’s life and fuck it up.

His teammates are proving themselves no different than the losers populating Twitter.

“She ever read to you a story before bed?” Lane again.

Then Kent, in quick succession. “Tuck you in nice and tight, and come running when you had a nightmare?”

There’s barely enough time between the two to squeeze in a meager answer. Though Reese surmises that’s by design.

Innuendos are funnier when they have a single target in the audience to fly over. At least, to people with cheap senses of humor. Easy laughs are no accomplishment when they weaponize the feelings of an innocent bystander. Even in his anger, Reese wouldn’t have humored them with a doe-eyed reply of feigned ignorance. It wasn't earned.

“If I got to spend all of high school being coddled by a rocket, I'd still be milking that shit. Maybe if you had, she would've fucked you instead of your dad."

Reese’s brow shrinks to a contemptuous pinch. It wouldn’t take much for him to be reacquainted with his dinner; it’s already halfway there.

As he looks over at Kody, he loses what little hope he had that he’d find a place in this friend group. He hasn’t found his people yet, on the team or in general, but Reese is certain they’re not sitting around him tonight.

"How far along's your mom?" Callie seizes the conversation knowingly.

Briefly, her pale eyes slice pointedly in the direction of her… whatever Lane is to her, and then back to Reese, warmth restored.

"Uh, almost seven months? But Josie and I were both late, so Dad thinks we'll have to wait until the end of summer until she's here. Maybe they’ll share a birthday.”

"She?" one of the freshman girls squeals, clutching her companion’s forearm in excitement.

"Yeah," Reese says bashfully, head dipping to conceal the grin tugging the corners of his mouth. The meat of his cheeks ache with joy. “Two sisters."

"I give Johnson Sr. six months before he puts the moves on Nanny 2.0,” Lane’s whisper pierces the lukewarm calm that settled the table at his… Callie’s hand.

She kicks his shin. Hard.

"You really think the old timer's game is that reliable?" Kent picks up the slack between open-mouth chews.

And Kody is not far behind, “He's decently famous and moderately rich. That was enough the first time, so why wouldn't it work for the second? Or, Junior, maybe this next one can be yours—if you pull your head out of your ass in time, that is."

Reese is done. Has met—no, exceeded his limit. He doesn’t have to sit here and take this. Yeah, it would be better for the locker-room culture if he stuck around, but a boost in morale wasn’t worth the decimation of his pride.

His goodbye is simple but effective. The deafening screeeeech! of his chair sliding back on the linoleum.

The sidewalk is blurry beneath his feet as he trudges back to safety. Whether it's the tears’ fault or how quickly he’s running, Reese can’t be sure. All he knows is that he needs to be as far away from them as possible.

He needs… he needs…

Reese’s fingers tremble defiantly while he fishes for his phone. He continues to fight with them, shoving his key into the door and pushing it open with the other as he scrolls through the call log. He slams the world out and hits the green icon.

“Reese? Are you okay?” your groggy, but no less sweet voice flits through his phone.

Only two rings.

Reese’s shoulders melt, comforted by the familiar warmth of what home sounds like. But his mouth remains frozen, stuck.

You allow a few beats of silence to lapse, giving him ample space to answer if he is able and wants to before speaking again. “Do we need to come up tonight?”

He blinks, attempting to wash away the salty film over his eyes to read the clock above his desk. 1:37 AM, the angry red letters read.

Guilt seeps into the mix of nasty emotions monopolizing his body. The acidic cocktail begins its ascent of his tender throat.

You shouldn’t be up right now. Not this late, not when his sister’s made you an insomniac for so much of your pregnancy. Not because someone was mean to him.

Reese feels like an asshole. An inconsiderate asshole bothering you with his problems in the middle of the night, knowing you’re already sacrificing your weekend for him.

“Fuck, I’m sorry for waking you and the baby, and probably Dad, too. I—It's nothing, really. It can wait. We can talk about it when it's not, y’know, the middle of the night.”

“Reese, no one sets off the alarm on my Bullshit Radar faster than you do. You wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t urgent. Talk to me, Reeses Pieces. You know I won’t be able to go back to sleep knowing you’re not alright.”

Reeses Pieces. The nickname, said with such casual affection, is like a magic wand.

“Uh— I-I, um… I had a, um, a r-really bad night… and I— and I just really needed to hear y-your voice, Mom.”

It slips out. Slips free. It just… slips into the mix with all the other words like it belongs there, too. And it does. It feels right. Reese feels a twinge of satisfaction. Regardless of the circumstances (and the night he’s had), it happened.

It finally happened.

The floor crumbles a little and gentle flames lick at Reese’s cheeks. His phone feels as though it's floating up and away from his clammy palm. He’s telling his fingers to tighten their grip, to hold on. They hesitate, and when they finally decide to obey, it only makes matters worse. He fumbles, nearly dropping his phone to the floor. The elephant easing down onto his chest is making it hard to focus, to think, to listen.

“Reese? Did I lose you, bub?”

He blinks himself out of the daze. “Hmm? No, I—I, sorry. I’m here.”

“Oh, Reesey. I was just saying I was glad you called then. I mean, I always love it when you call. Even when it’s to tell me you sent your Airpods through the washing machine. Again.”

Reese barks out a phlegmy laugh.

Note to self: the rice hack only works the first time you let your electronics go for a swim.

Second note to self: this reaction—this non-reaction is better than any teary blubbering or callous rejection. Normalcy doesn’t require a reaction.

“You can always, always call me. Especially when you’re having a rough time. Even when it's the middle of the night. My main priority in life is making sure you’re safe and happy, you and JoJo. And the peanut sitting on my bladder. And the 6’4 blanket-hog snoring like a hacksaw beside me.”

“Maybe we should get Dad a sleep study coupon for his birthday,” Reese teases.

He feels better now. You, and finally being courageous enough to be vulnerable, was the medicine. Reese feels lighter than he has since you dropped him off in September.

You snort. “I’ll gladly pay to see your dad covered in wires. But, as much as I love laughing at his expense when he’s none-the-wiser, that's not why you called. Spill it.”

He does. The spiel tumbles out like an overdue avalanche, and Reese hardly realizes how quickly he’d been talking until he finishes with burning lungs. You listened patiently, letting him get it all out without interruption. You were good about that, knowing when someone needed room to rant more than they needed interjections with guidance or commentary. Reese usually fell in the first category, tonight being no exception.

“…I just don’t get why they found it so funny. Or why they even thought to say it in the first place. It's so...gross.”

He listens to you sigh and knows you’re doing it through your teeth. You’re probably massaging the waves of frustration between your eyebrows, nose scrunched. Josie calls it your ‘Dragon Face’ because of the way frustration contorts your features, but Reese adopted the term into his own lexicon because it almost always appeared when someone threatened the safety of your family. Like him, you’re generous with your protection. Fierce without delay.

“Because you aren’t them, Reese. You’ve always had a strong sense of right and wrong, respectful and not. And you’re rarely swept up by group-think, if ever. Those things may feel like a curse right now, but I promise they’ll be superpowers one day.”

“I wish I could fast-forward to that day. This sucks,” he groans, tossing himself backward onto his twin bed.

“It does suck. Majorly. Still, even if you had time travel in your vast arsenal of powers, I’d tell you to stay put, Reese. Part of college is learning how to deal with immature people, building up a tolerance for their bullshit as you grow stronger and more confident in yourself.”

“But I’m not strong. I ran away crying like a little baby,” Reese croaks into his pillow. A warm saltiness tickles his eyelashes.

“You removed yourself from a bad situation, and you let yourself feel your feelings in the present tense. Those are both huge wins in my book,” you counter.

Your voice is louder now, stronger. Like coaxing Reese—coaxing your son out of a pit of self-pity breathed all the energy you lacked for the better part of a year back into you. The subtle shift whittles away some of his earlier guilt.

“It takes guts to do that, Reese. Most people spend years trying to learn what you did instinctively. Some people never learn to do it at all. And don’t tell anyone, but I’d put money on Kody, Lane, and Kent being some people.”

Reese snorts. “I know you’re right, but I think what’s actually bugging me is that you guys’ll be subjected to that shit this weekend. It’s one thing for them to say it to me, but it’s another to say it to you or in front of JoJo. I hate that people care so much about us and our business that they can’t keep their mouths shut. If you don’t feel comfortable coming now, I would totally understand. Fuck, if I were you, I’d never visit again. Maybe I could come home this weekend instead?”

“Reese, as sweet as that is, the only thing that’ll stop me from coming this weekend is early labor, not chauvinist pigs.”

“You shouldn’t even have to hear it, though. And besides, won’t smiting college kids stress the baby out?” Reese asks, worry tearing through his voice despite the lighter tone.

“Do you honestly think your dad will let them get more than a couple words out?” you ask through an airy chuckle.

For the second time tonight, someone else speaks before Reese can.

Erik’s voice is muffled and gravelly, but the protective bite—the very same one that took hold of Reese at dinner and you just moments ago—is loud, “They’ll keep their mouths shut if they want to keep whatever teeth they have left.”

💌 if you liked it, pls lmk! 💌

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multi-fandoms-posts · 10 months ago

Text

Logan, Charles and Erik proposing to you

X Men Masterlist

Logan:

Logan sits in the common room of the X-Men mansion, staring absentmindedly at the coffee cup in his hands as the sun sets outside. Jean Grey, who has just entered, immediately notices that something is wrong with him. She sits down across from him and studies him intently.

"Logan, is everything okay?" she asks gently, sensing his unusual nervousness.

He lifts his head and gives a slight growl, as he always does when he is unsure. "Yeah, everything’s fine," he mutters, taking a sip of his coffee.

Jean raises an eyebrow. "I don’t believe you. You’ve been looking pretty distracted lately. It’s not like you’re always in the clouds, but something... is different."

Logan sighs deeply and leans back. "It’s nothing. Really."

Jean knows he’s lying. She’s been reading his thoughts for a long time, but out of respect, she says nothing. Instead, she decides to try a different approach.

"Maybe I can help you," she suggests.

At that moment, Storm enters the room. She sees the conversation between the two and immediately senses that something is going on. "What’s happening here?" she asks curiously, casting a scrutinizing glance at Logan.

Jean responds without taking her eyes off Logan. "Logan has a problem. He just doesn’t want to admit it."

Logan rolls his eyes. "You two are impossible. It’s nothing, damn it."

Storm smiles slightly. "Logan, you’re not the type to worry about little things. If you’re this quiet, it must be something important."

For a moment, there is silence. Logan looks out the window, the rays of the setting sun reflecting in his eyes. Finally, he exhales heavily. "Okay, okay... I’m thinking about proposing to Y/N."

Jean and Storm immediately exchange glances, their eyes lighting up. "That’s wonderful!" Jean says enthusiastically. "Why are you so nervous?"

Logan snorts. "Because I’m not the type to make proposals. I’m... well, I’m Logan. She deserves something special, and I have no idea how to make that happen."

Storm sits on the armrest of the couch next to Logan and puts a hand on his shoulder. "That’s nothing to worry about. We’ll help you."

Logan looks at them skeptically. "And how do you plan to do that?"

Jean leans forward, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "We’ll make a plan."

---

The next few days pass, and Logan becomes increasingly nervous. He trains harder than usual to relieve his tension, but it doesn’t help. Jean and Storm work behind the scenes on the details, dropping little hints to reassure Logan.

One afternoon, while Y/N is training outside with the other X-Men, Jean pulls Logan aside. "We’ve got everything prepared. Tonight is the perfect moment."

Logan turns pale. "Tonight?"

"Yes," Jean confirms with a smile. "You just need to ask her the question."

Storm joins in and nods in agreement. "We’ve chosen a lovely spot in the forest, right by the lake. It doesn’t get more romantic than this."

Logan takes a deep breath. "I don’t know if I can do this."

Jean places a hand on his arm. "Logan, you love her. That’s all that matters. Trust us."

He reluctantly nods and goes to the window, where he sees Y/N outside. She’s laughing and joking with the others, completely unaware. Logan feels a lump in his throat. What if he messes it up?

---

Evening falls, and Logan stands nervously at the edge of the forest while Jean and Storm arrange the final details. The spot by the lake is illuminated by soft lights reflecting on the water. It’s quiet, only the rustling of leaves and the gentle lapping of the water can be heard.

"Perfect," murmurs Storm as she checks the lights.

Logan is restless. "And what if she says no?"

Jean smiles reassuringly. "She won’t say no, Logan. She loves you. That’s obvious."

Suddenly, they hear footsteps, and Y/N appears. She looks puzzled as she takes in the lights and the romantic atmosphere. "Logan? What’s all this?"

Logan turns to face her. For a moment, he is breathless. She looks beautiful, as always, and he feels his courage almost slipping away.

But then he thinks about all the moments they’ve shared, about the love he feels for her. He takes a deep breath, walks up to her, and takes her hands.

"Y/N," he begins roughly, his voice trembling slightly. "I’m not good with words. I’m not the type for grand gestures, but... you know I love you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I... I want to spend my life with you."

Y/N stares at him in surprise, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Logan..."

He kneels down, pulls the ring from his pocket, and holds it out to her. "Will you... will you marry me?"

For a moment, there is silence. Then Y/N smiles brightly and nods vigorously. "Yes! Yes, Logan, of course I will!"

Logan stands up, and Y/N throws herself into his arms. They kiss as Jean and Storm quietly applaud in the background.

"See," Jean whispers with a smile to Storm. "It was perfect."

Storm nods in satisfaction. "Logan deserves to be happy. And so does Y/N."

Logan looks over at the two women and nods gratefully. "Thank you... both of you."

Jean smiles slyly. "That’s what friends are for."

Charles Xavier:

In the peaceful calm of the morning, Charles Xavier sits in his study at the X-Men. His gaze repeatedly drifts to the small box on his desk. Inside is the ring with which he plans to propose to his girlfriend, Y/N. He’s been planning this moment for weeks, but every time he thinks about it, he feels a twinge of uncertainty.

Charles stands up, takes a few steps, sits down again, and stares at the ring. Thoughts race through his mind.

"Why is this so hard for me?" he murmurs to himself. "It’s just a simple proposal. She loves me. I know she’ll say yes. Or...?"

His internal hesitation does not go unnoticed. Erik, who, as usual, has risen early, enters the study without knocking.

"Charles, what’s wrong with you?" Erik asks, leaning against the doorframe. "You’ve been so... distracted lately."

Charles flinches and looks guiltily at Erik. "What do you mean? I’m perfectly fine."

Erik shakes his head. "You can’t fool me. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re lying."

Charles sighs deeply and stands up to walk along the window. "It’s... complicated."

"Complicated?" Erik raises an eyebrow. "You’re Charles Xavier. Nothing is complicated for you."

Charles turns to him and reaches for the small box on the desk. He opens it and shows Erik the ring.

"Oh," Erik says, a playful smile crossing his face. "Now I understand. You want to propose to Y/N."

Charles nods. "Yes, that’s the plan... but I don’t know how to do it. I’ve thought of so many scenarios, but every time I imagine it, I seem unable to find the right words."

Erik sits in one of the armchairs and laughs softly. "You? The powerful telepath who can read minds, finds it hard to find the right words? That’s almost ironic."

"It’s not funny," murmurs Charles, sinking into the chair across from Erik. "I want it to be perfect. She’s so important to me, and I don’t want it to feel... impersonal."

At that moment, Raven, who has happened to pass by, enters the room. "What’s going on? I heard Erik laughing, which is rare enough to make me curious."

Erik points to the ring, and Raven approaches with wide eyes. "Oh wow! Is that... for Y/N? You want to propose to her?"

Charles nods. "Yes, but I don’t know how to go about it. I... am afraid it won’t be good enough."

Raven smiles and sits on the armrest of Charles’ chair. "Oh Charles, you’re overthinking it. Y/N loves you just the way you are. It doesn’t have to be perfect; it just has to be you."

"Exactly," Erik agrees. "You’re worrying too much. You’ve handled much more difficult situations. This will be a piece of cake in comparison."

"You say that so easily," grumbles Charles. "What if I say something stupid? Or if the moment isn’t right?"

Raven places a hand on his shoulder. "That’s the trick: There is no perfect moment. There’s only the moment you create. And you’ll do great because you love her, and she loves you."

Charles takes a deep breath. "But... how? How should I go about it? I can’t just say in the middle of training, ‘Oh, by the way, will you marry me?’"

Erik and Raven exchange a meaningful glance.

"What if we help you?" Raven suggests. "We could make sure everything is just right. The place, the atmosphere... everything."

Charles looks at them uncertainly. "What do you have in mind?"

Erik grins. "Leave that to us."

---

The next evening, after a long day of training, Raven leads Y/N to the large estate behind the mansion. She is skeptical about why Raven brought her here so suddenly, but curiosity prevails.

"What’s this about?" Y/N asks, looking around. The garden is beautifully illuminated with small lights, and in the center stands a table with candles and flowers.

"You’ll see soon," Raven says with a smile and quietly slips into the shadows.

Y/N turns around and sees Charles approaching her. He’s wearing an elegant suit, and his nervousness is evident.

"Charles?" she asks gently. "What’s going on?"

He stops in front of her and takes a deep breath. "Y/N, I... I wanted to bring you here because... because I need to say something very important."

Y/N looks at him, puzzled but lovingly. "You’re making me nervous, Charles."

He laughs briefly and rubs his hands. "I’m nervous. Very nervous."

He takes her hands in his and looks deeply into her eyes. "Since the day I met you, my life has changed for the better. You’ve given me joy, love, and hope in a way I never expected. And... I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Every single moment."

Y/N’s eyes widen as Charles sinks to one knee in front of her and opens the small box. The diamond ring sparkles in the soft light.

"Y/N," he says with a trembling voice, "will you marry me?"

For a moment, time seems to stand still. Y/N’s face lights up with joy, and tears well up in her eyes.

"Yes, Charles," she whispers. "Yes, I will."

Charles stands up, places the ring on her finger, and pulls her into a loving embrace. Their lips meet in a gentle kiss as the garden around them shines in the stillness of the moment.

In the background, hidden behind the trees, Erik and Raven watch the scene. Erik nods in satisfaction.

"See," he murmurs. "I knew he would make it."

Raven smiles. "It was beautiful, but we both know she would have said yes no matter how he asked."

"Of course," Erik says with a quiet laugh. "But sometimes even telepaths need a little help."

Erik Lehnsherr:

It’s a beautiful late summer day at the X-Men grounds. The sun is shining, and a gentle breeze rustles through the trees. Erik Lehnsherr sits on the porch, staring into the distance. His expression is serious, almost worried, and his hands fidget with a small metal ring lying in his palm.

Charles Xavier, Erik’s best friend, has been watching him for a while. He has never seen Erik so nervous, and that means something considering how many battles they’ve fought together. Finally, Charles decides to act.

Charles approaches Erik. "You seem distant, old friend. Is everything alright?" he asks cautiously, sitting down next to Erik on the porch.

Erik flinches slightly and quickly puts the ring into his pocket. "It’s nothing, Charles," he murmurs, not really looking at him.

Charles raises an eyebrow. "You know I know you better than that. You have that look. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?"

Erik sighs deeply and rests his elbows on his knees. "It’s just..." He hesitates, searching for the right words. "It’s complicated."

Charles places his hands on his knees and leans slightly forward. "If it’s complicated, then maybe it’s the right moment to talk about it."

Erik finally looks over at him, his eyes full of inner turmoil. "I... I want to propose to Y/N."

Charles smiles gently. "That’s wonderful, Erik! I know how much she means to you. So why are you hesitating?"

Erik furrows his brow and stands up abruptly. He walks a few steps, his hands buried in his pockets, before turning back to Charles. "I’m afraid, Charles. Afraid that I’m not good enough for her. My life... it’s complicated, full of darkness. She deserves someone better, someone who isn’t constantly fighting demons, inside and out."

Charles’ expression grows serious, but his warm smile doesn’t fade. "Erik, I understand that you have these fears. But don’t you think Y/N already knows all of that? She fell in love with you, not an idealized version of you. She knows your past and your struggles, and still, she loves you."

Erik stands still, his head bowed. "But what if I mess it up? What if I can’t give her what she deserves?"

Charles lets out a thoughtful sigh. "No one is perfect, Erik. Love isn’t about bringing perfect people together. It’s about bringing together two people who are willing to support each other and grow together despite their flaws. Do you love Y/N?"

Erik nods quietly. "More than anything else in the world."

"Then that’s all that matters," Charles says emphatically. "You’ll make mistakes, and she will too. But as long as you’re there for each other, you can overcome anything."

Erik slowly sits back down on the porch and takes a deep breath. "It’s just... I don’t know how to approach it. It should be perfect, you know? She deserves a moment that’s as incredible as she is."

Charles smiles slightly. "I think perfection is in the eye of the beholder. But... if you want, I can help you create the perfect moment."

Erik looks up at Charles, surprised. "Really?"

"Of course," Charles replies with a mischievous grin. "I’m a romantic, even if I don’t always show it."

---

The next day, everything is prepared. Erik stands nervously on the large lawn behind the X-Men. Little lanterns hang everywhere, organized by Charles and some of the other mutants. It’s a peaceful evening, the sun slowly setting and casting a golden light over the surroundings.

Y/N comes down the steps of the porch and stops in surprise when she sees the arrangement. "Erik... what’s this?" she asks, smiling with curious eyes.

Erik feels his heart racing. Charles’ words still echo in his ears: "It’s not about perfection, Erik. It’s about being honest."

He takes a deep breath and walks toward Y/N. "Y/N," he begins, his voice gentle but firm. "Since I met you, my life has changed. You’ve brought light into a darkness I thought would never end. You see me, with all my flaws, and still... you love me."

Y/N’s smile softens, and she takes a step closer to him.

Erik takes the ring out of his pocket and slowly kneels in front of her. "I’m not perfect, and I never will be. But I know that I want to spend my life with you, if you’ll let me. Y/N, will you be my wife?"

Tears of joy well up in Y/N’s eyes, and she nods eagerly. "Yes, Erik. Of course I will."

Erik stands up, his hands trembling slightly as he slips the ring onto her finger. She throws her arms around his neck, and he pulls her into a sweet, passionate kiss.

In the background, hidden behind a window, Charles watches the happy couple with a satisfied smile.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine #x men x reader #x men #charles xavier x reader #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #erik lehnsherr x reader

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gerec · 3 months ago

Note

I know you normally do Cherik recommendations, but do you happen to have any Hank McCoy fics you like? I'm not too particular about pairing, I just feel like reading about Hank

Hi Anon! Here are some Hank-centric fics that I hope you enjoy! (Not all of them are from Hank's POV but he's a central character!)

this is only now (where do we go from here) by thebodyeclectic (1st of a series)

From this prompt on the 1stclass_kink meme: Modern AU, where an older Alex (in his mid twenties?) somehow figures out/recieves the news that, no, his younger brother didn't die in the crash like he'd been told, and then sets out to find him. The catch is, Scott's been adopted and adores his 'dad', who is incidentally the adorkable Hank McCoy.

Note: My all time favourite Hank McCoy fic!!!

If You Liked The Book, You'll Hate The Movie by paperclipbitch

Modern-Day High School AU. It’s not until Hank realises half the class are glancing towards the back of the classroom with something like nerves and something like schadenfreude that he finds out Alex Summers is back.

Some Assembly Required by manic_intent

For the kmeme: "Alex and Hank were two teenagers who frequently fight in school. One fight got so bad that the principal called in their fathers (as both came from single-parent families)/ guardians for a conference. This was how Charles and Erik meet."

Interaction Termed Hostile by aduviri

Written for a prompt on xmen_firstkink: "Hank finds Alex's behavior towards him bewildering (calling him names one minute and then doing something almost sweet the next) so he decides to keep track of it in a journal in order to figure it all out. Bonus if Alex's behavior gets increasingly extreme out of frustration and one of the other mutants has to tell Hank he's an idiot and Alex wants to have his little mutant babies."

Fighting Acceptance by heeroluva

Not all of Hank's changes are so obvious, and he has problems adjusting. Alex finally gets through to him.

fathers and sons by M_Leigh

“I have an – interest – in Peter Maximoff,” Erik said, somewhat grudgingly, glaring. “A – familial – interest –”

Everybody stared at him.

“In that – mutantkind is one – large – family –” Erik said valiantly, if pathetically.

“Oh, shit,” Alex said. “No way. No way.”

Chocolate Chip Oatmeal Raisin Cookies and Mob Bosses by orphan_account

Leaning forward, Alex whispers, “Can I tell you a seeecret?” “Um. Sure. Why not?” “I’m gonna marry Hank McCoy.” He watches with a detached interest as the guy’s ears go pink, followed by his cheeks. “Oh, really? Why would you say that?” “He made me chocolate chip oatmeal raisin cookies. And they were the Best Ever.”

Hot for Teacher by arosynose

Alex needs to pass Pre-Calc if he doesn't want to flunk out of college. Unfortunately, his professor is a total dick.

My Heart Beats So Unruly by emperors_girl

Hank isn’t unintelligent. He knows he could be accused of having a particular preference in the type of person he finds attractive. He likes blondes with pretty eyes. Unfortunately, blondes with pretty eyes rarely like Hank back.

Or: Hank is enamored and a bit confused, and Alex is a lying liar who lies.

This Will Be by SpiritsFlame

Hank McCoy is in love with the perfect woman. One day, he's certain, they will fall in love and be married. It would be a grand plan if they'd ever met. When she falls into a coma, Hank tries to look after her and is thrown into the topsy-turvey world of her family. And he can't help but be drawn to her rude and infuriating foster brother Alex.

It started with a bong by Humphrey

The day the principal finds a bong in his locker, seriously changes Hank’s life.

His dads are divorcing, the school’s favorite bad boy is in detention with him and people are actually gossiping about him.

Like Yellow Does On Blue by emperors_girl

Hank doesn’t care about girls, but there are certain boys he wouldn’t turn down. But those boys apparently want someone cool, someone with experience. Not a virgin with a 4.0.

Sweater Weather by emperors_girl

Alex can’t stop noticing the piles of blue fur all over the damn apartment building. But what kind of animal would shed blue fur? And what does it have to do with H. McCoy, Super?

Bet Big and Take the House by Meddalarksen, victoriousscarf

Hank McCoy believes in going big or going home. Which is why the instant he's out of prison after a disastrous con gone wrong, his first plan is to steal from a Las Vegas casino. Not just any one casino o course, but the three belonging to one Sebastian Shaw. His long time partner-in-crime, Alex Summers, would really just prefer they don't die.

Which is how they end up with the biggest crew they'd ever worked with, including their two mad foster fathers who have never managed to stay together, one (or two) of Shaw's ex-lovers, a circus performer and other mismatched cons.

Thank god everyone is the best in their fields.

An Idiot's Guide to Matchmaking by ourgirlfriday

Hank McCoy was the first to admit that, for a certified super genius, he could be really, really stupid. But he knows that the Professor is lonely, and, well, it's up to him, Alex, and Darwin to fix that. What's the worst that could happen?

See What Remains by Echo

"We are neither of us who we remember ourselves to be, Hank."

After Cuba, Charles and Hank each find themselves dealing with the results of their life-altering physical changes. Over the years, these two people who lost almost everything make a life for themselves out of what remains. It may not be perfect, but it's better than the alternative.

Indelible by still_lycoris

Charles and Hank just want to put what happened in Cuba behind them. But some things can't just be wiped away, no matter how much you wish that they could and the mark on Charles's wrist that says he's Erik's soulmate is in many ways the simplest thing in their way ...

Don't Let a Soulmate Pass You By by still_lycoris

A lot can change in twenty-two years. When Hank wakes after an accident, believing that it's 1962, he quickly discovers that nobody is quite who he remembered them to be - most of all himself.

Burnout by bocje_ce_ustu

Since Logan had told him they would need to break Erik out of the Pentagon, Charles had known things would go to hell. He just hadn't expected them to go quite like this.

Out of Boredom by SlightWeasel

Hank and Charles slept together out of boredom as much as anything else, in those years, and they haven't done it again since they began working to reopen the school. When Hank finally goes to Charles again, boredom has nothing to do with it.

Six Hours by Gerec

Cuba, immediate aftermath of the Beach Divorce. Hank’s POV.

Note: Definitely check out still_lycoris for more Hank-centric fics!

#gerec rambles #gerec's fic rec #fic rec #hank mccoy #hank centric fics

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amailboxlemur · 1 year ago

Text

Simon thoughts for season 3

My poor poor baby 💔💔💔💔

I love Simon. So much. And this season… he’s really going through it. Like the Erik bombshell really took over in episode 5 but up until then I genuinely think Simon was even more of a main character than Wille. I’m so glad they brought him back to the forefront this season.

Right off the bat, Simon is uncomfortable this season. He wants the trial? Settlement? Legal process? To just be over with. He hates that his classmates are staring at him. He wishes Wille gave him a heads up before the speech so he could have prepared himself.

His family life is a mess. Linda has finally clocked what’s going on and doesn’t trust him. Like I get it, he did steal and sell drugs. But also, he’s not using and more than anything he just got himself into a messed up situation. And it feels unfair that she missed what was going on for so long but now that she knows she’s acting like Simon is CURRENTLY drug dealing. Seeing him breakdown to Linda was absolutely heart wrenching, I’ve been waiting for the Simon breakdown and Omar did not disappoint.

And he’s not speaking to Sara. After doing everything to protect her for years she’s betrayed him in the worst way. I also think it’s interesting that they really leaned into SARA hating Micke and Simon only cut him off for her sake. After she comes home crying when Micke disappoints yet again it seems they’re on the path to mending their relationship but we’re not there yet.

Then there’s the online hate. It’s so easy to fall prey to the endless stream of negativity. Wille doesn’t understand, it’s always been his life and he’s probably at least somewhat accustomed to tuning it out. So Simon feels so alone in this. I also think the “the ones that like me only like me because I’m with wille” comment is very telling. It probably feels so fake and shallow to him. There’s also the “typical Latino” comment which… ick. I can’t imagine that’s the only comment of the sort out there.

So what does Simon do? He tries to carve out some positivity. He posts his song and receives some good comments immediately. He meets a young child who looks up to him. And gets a call right away from Wille that kind of… deflates his good mood. Why is Wille being left to “handle” Simon. And I can understand Wille trying to be gentle about it, but Simon just doesn’t understand the “rules” of the Royal court. It’s just an all around mess.

And then it gets worse. He starts getting hate comments even on his song. The kids at school are making fun of him. He even says he doesn’t love singing anymore which breaks my heart because music has always defined Simon. He gets a rock thrown through his window!! And the police are saying “ah yes, probably just a prank”.

No wonder he deletes his social media, no wonder he’s deleting himself. Nothing he does is right. The moment he gives in and joins the hillerska protest is so heartbreaking. From now on, these are the only ideals he gets to stand up for.

But he’s still insecure about his place with Wille. When Wille is distant after finding out about Erik, Simon immediately thinks he’s the problem, that he’s asking too many questions about what to wear to Wille’s birthday.

I want wilmon endgame. I believe in wilmon endgame. But Simon absolutely needed to take that pause at the end of episode 5. I hope they can save what they have without breaking up first. I hope they can have a genuinely honest all cards on the table conversation. I hope Simon can really let himself be fully vulnerable. And I hope to god wille listens, hears him and moves heaven and earth to make the situation better for Simon. Because the way it’s been going isn’t working.

I also can’t post this without a massive WOW to Omar’s acting this season. The role of Simon has always been complex but subtle. This season he really brings it with the big emotions.

#young royals #yr s3 spoilers #simon eriksson #omar rudberg

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 2 years ago

Note

Headcannon:

Say Erik is in a relationship and reader is the toxic baby mama ( let’s switch it up a bit ) 🤣

“Erik your baby mama is calling your phone again.”

Erik turned his eyes away from the TV for the fifth time. He was spending some quality time with his new girlfriend when Y/N decided 10 pm was the perfect time to call. He dropped off their son hours earlier and got into a heated argument because Erik finally confessed to having a new special someone.

“Are you gonna answer it, E?”

“Aight,” Erik exhaled frustratingly, “I’ll be back.”

“Don’t take too long!”

“I won’t,” Erik stood up from the couch, bending forward to plant a kiss to his girlfriend’s cheek, “Refill my glass of wine for me, baby.”

Erik strolled away and into the kitchen, hoping that he was out of ear-shot enough to talk to Y/N. Sure enough, she called again and Erik slammed his thumb down on the green button to answer her call.

“What the fuck is it?” Erik questioned with an abrasive tone.

“Who are you talking to, Erik? Don’t talk to me like you ain’t got no sense!”

Erik shut his eyes to calm himself.

“Why do you keep blowing up my phone, girl? I told you I got company—”

“I don’t give a fuck about that bitch. I need you to send me some extra money so I can finish school shopping for Jr. I wanna get him some more shoes.”

“You know we could have had this conversation another time, right?”

“Erik, I don’t care about your little girl friend. If I feel like calling you at 10 pm about your son then that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Erik glanced over his shoulder to make sure his girl was decent. She was so patient with all of this. Any other girl would have gone running but she stuck beside him.

“Aight, Aight. I’ll send you more money. I gotta go.”

“Look at you tryna rush me off the phone. Whatever, Erik. I’ll come pick up the cash tomorrow.”

“Can’t I just send it to you,” Erik rolled his eyes.

“No. You know I prefer cash.”

No. You just wanna see me.

“Whatever. I’ll be here. Text me and let me know when you show up.”

Erik hung up before she could even say a word.

—————-//—————

Y/N approaches Erik’s door with their son’a hand in hers. She was looking sexy with her hair, nails, toes, and lashes. Y/N always looked bomb. She knocked on Erik’s door since she lost key privileges and Erik opened the door shirtless. He looked very annoyed with her being their until his eyes dropped to his son who he scooped up into his arms.

“What’s up boy?! I missed you! Is that a fresh cut?! Lookin’ all sharp like your dad!”

His son smiled with his missing two front teeth. Erik kisses his forehead before stepping aside to allow Y/N to enter…and enter she did. She had a purposeful switch in her hips that made that ass bounce. Erik stole a glance at what used to be his and could be at any given time.

“Where you goin?” Erik asked with an elevated brow.

“Nowhere. Where’s my money?”

Erik kissed his teeth, “On the table. Fuck is your problem?”

Y/N snatched up the money which was more than she needed. She’ll pocket the rest.

“Thank youuuu!” Y/N bat her lashes at Erik.

“Uh-huh,” Erik sat his son down, “we need to talk.”

“About?”

Y/N made herself comfortable next to their son with her meaty thighs crossed. She stroked the curls on top of his head while staring Erik up and down.

“Why do you keep messing with my girl? She said that she saw you in the nail shop earlier today and you cussed her out?”

“Oh,” Y/N examined her nails, “She kept giving me this look and I ain’t like that. So, I dug in her shit. She think she’s all that. You need to check her before I do and you know I’m good for it. I’ll wipe the floor with her fake ass.”

“No, you won’t. Don’t start no shit, Y/N. And what’s your obsession with her ass?”

“That ass is Miami bought.”

Erik chuckles despite his growing anger.

“I better not find out she been around my son, Erik. You better not be lying to me. I swear I’ll ring your neck.”

Erik mugged Y/N with his gold slugs on display.

“Fuck outta here. You got your money, why don’t you go ahead and shop while I spend time with my son.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, ignoring Erik completely and pulling out her phone.

“It’s not a request. I’m telling you to get your ass up—”

“Daddy! Language!”

His son looked up from his tablet at Erik.

“You’re right, little man, I’m sorry.”

Erik glanced at Y/N and motioned for her to get up.

“FINE. I won’t be long I know what I need.”

Y/N grabbed her purse and walked up to Erik. She folded her arms and stared up at him with amusement.

“How long you plan on entertaining this new hoe before you hit me up?” Y/N whispered.

Erik stared her down with low eyes. He wasn’t going to do it this time.

“We ain’t going there, ma.” Erik said with a voice that wasn’t so convincing.

“You miss this, I know you do. It’ll only take so long before you realize where you belong.”

Y/N stood on her tip toes and pressed her lips against Erik’s cheek. She pulled away and dragged her hand down his chest before walking away and out the door. Erik released a long breath before joining their son on the sofa.

“Wanna watch Encanto?”

————////—————

It happened like she said it would. Erik was single again. His new girl didn’t like the fact that Erik wouldn’t let her meet his son so soon. Despite what Y/N thinks, Erik was very careful not to introduce his son to any other women so early. It had only been a month. Erik sat in his apartment after a busy weekend with his son at the Kidz Park. He was put to sleep and it finally gave Erik some time to relax.

So he thought.

A knock to his apartment door had him up and out of his seat, he strolled to the door and peeked through to find his baby mama standing there with his favorite take out food and a bright smile. Erik pressed his forehead against the door and contemplated on if he should let her in.

“Erik! Open the door! Come onnnnnn.”

“Why should I? So you can get on my damn nerves?”

“I got your favorite! Come on, daddy!”

“Y/N,” Erik spoke with warning, “don’t you got better shit to do?”

“I could be doing you right now but you keep playing.”

Erik shakes his head. He straightens his back and opened the door. Y/N was wearing those tight black shorts he liked with a white cropped tee. She had her nails and toes matching with hot pink acrylic and she smelled amazing. She didn’t tear her eyes away from Erik in a pair of gray sweats and shirtless with that sculpted body.

“You tryna tell me something, baby daddy?”

“Are you coming in or not?”

She kissed her teeth, “move your strong ass out the way and maybe I will.”

Erik couldn’t keep the glare in his eyes off of Y/N. Everyday it’s a new issue with her. A week ago he had to check her about spreading lies to her peoples about them getting back together. Three days ago she cursed him out about having a new girlfriend. Today he didn’t know what to expect.

“You can leave the food and bounce.” Erik said.

“I’m staying the night. I want some dick.”

Despite Erik’s annoyance, he laughed.

“You laughing, I’m serious. Would you rather I fuck some other dude?”

Erik cut his eyes at Y/N. She smirked at him.

“I’m not doing this back and forth with you anymore. It’s toxic as fuck.” Erik replied.

Y/N scowled at Erik.

“All we do is argue, Erik. Who doesn’t argue?”

“I can’t move on without you having a problem with every girl I end up with!”

“stop yelling at me, Erik. Not my fault you can’t get over me.

Erik counted off on his fingers, “one chick you showed up to my family’s and fought, the other chick from a year ago you keyed her car, and now I’m single again.”

“…I’m a changed woman,” Y/N said with a smile.

“Everything is a game to you,” Erik brushed past her.

Y/N grabbed the back of his sweats and yanked, stopping Erik in his tracks.

“Listen, E, I’m sorry, okay? I know I can be too much. I love you and I hate that you can’t stand being around me.”

Y/N blinked away from Erik to stare down at her feet with a solemn expression. Erik stood there watching her with an expressionless face, waiting for the water works.

“…I want us to be a big happy family. Jr would love that. We could all be together—”

“While you fuck your side dude whenever we have problems?” Erik said.

“I’m done with that!”

“No, you’re not. You just wanna have your cake and eat it too. I bet that nigga still hitting.”

Erik gave Y/N one last look before leaving her standing in the kitchen. He walked up to his door and opened it for her to leave. He wasn’t going to allow himself to fall for her ways again. It’s a habit that he needed to break. Y/N approaches him with sad eyes and an adorable pout. Erik didn’t even look at her. He refused to do it.

“I’ll have Jr. ready tomorrow afternoon. I’ll drop him off after I take him to my moms. Is that cool wit’ you?”

Y/N pressed her body against Erik’s and rested her chin on his chest, looking up at him with her big brown eyes.

“C’mon, ma. Time to go.”

She pressed her face into his chest and slowly started lowering to her knees.

“Y/N…chill out. Get up. I’m serious.” Erik spoke with a monotone voice.

Y/N hooked her fingers into the waistband of his sweats and started slowly lowering them. Erik finally dropped his eyes down to meet hers and she could see clearly that his defense was weakening.

“Still want me to go?”

Erik clenched his jaw when she kissed his semi hard dick.

“Huh? Still wanna kick me out?”

She dipped her head and opened her mouth, lips secure around his tip before maneuvering his dick into her mouth with no hands. Air escaped Erik’s nose leisurely.

“I can’t fucking stand you,” Erik snatched up her hair in his fist tightly, “I swear I can’t stand you.”

Door wide open, Y/N on her knees, Erik once again fell for his baby mama’s trap. The moment won’t last long. As soon as she’s done sucking his dick and fucking him, she’ll only piss him off and Erik will regret ever getting caught up with her for the hundredth time.

#nahimjustfeelingit-writes #killmonger imagine #killmonger fanfiction #killmonger smut

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aftgsucks · 4 months ago

Text

NMFTG Ch 26

New Year New Me Still Dying

Neil actually explains things for once and tries to get Andrew to kill him again.

Ao3 Chapter under cut

“The pizzeria is run by a mob we know.”

“What?” Randy asked. The silence in the room was obnoxious. Well, maybe, just maybe, Neil had gotten a little too comfortable with saying whatever the fuck he wanted. Matt definitely hadn’t shared that aspect of exy with his very caring and worried mother.

“Haha,” Neil said out loud, releasing Matt and stepping back. “No, I’m fucking with you, it was closed though. Looked like a health code violation, you might want to not go back there.”

“A mob we know?” Randy asked. That would be the focal point, Matt lying to her.

“Yeah, sorry. That’s concerning to hear. Especially with,” Neil reached up and smeared the blood off his cheek. “Someone was throwing paint or something, at least I hope it was paint.” He made a grossed out noise. “No, I’ve just found the best way to deal with questions about, you know.” He gestured down to his torso. “Is to make up ridiculous stories, Matt got fixated on the mob one I told him.”

“Yeah mom,” Matt jumped in. “First he tried telling us it was an unbalanced diet.” Oddly helpful and steady, lying well by not lying at all.

“Before that he told us that he fought a bear,” Aaron said. They were almost there, the tension in her forehead smoothed out.

“Look it really could have been anything,” Neil shrugged. “It could just be a skin condition.”

Randy nodded, amused, her shoulders fully relaxing, air escaped in an ‘ah of course’ sort of way. She opened the pizza box and grabbed a slice.

It’s good to know he’s still got it.

Matt went to grab food too, shooting Neil a look that said he would be asking about this later.

“You little shit,” Aaron said in German. “What happened?” Apparently deciding to ask about it right then.

“Bad joke, don’t worry about it,” Neil lied in German. “Let me go wash this off.” He said in English.

“What happened?” Kevin asked in French.

Being multilingual was a mistake.

Neil ran a paper towel through the sink and scrubbed at his cheek, it came away dark red.

“Either I’ve solved half your problems or I’m dying next week or both, I don’t know.” Neil said in French as he tossed the paper towel into the trash.

“Stop being rude,” Nicky complained. “Neil still owes me a glass of champagne, we saved you one.”

“How did you even manage that?” Kevin asked in French.

Neil ignored him and went to immediately accept and down the plastic cup of champagne from Nicky, who cheered as he did so. Was Nicky helping on purpose? Or did he just want Neil to drink?

Neil pulled off his coat and shoes, he’d have to find a dry cleaner in Palmetto to get off the gunpowder residue, he wasn’t burning the coat Nicky gave him. He sat back down at the table and very pointedly asked Randy about new years resolutions.

She stayed up for another half hour before pleading old age and going off to her room. Matt raised the volume of the tv and then stared at Neil.

The champagne sadly hadn’t been enough to make the night less painful. He had just decided to start telling the truth a little more believably too. But now with a panel of expectant faces all wondering where the fuck he went that night and consequently what he’d meant by his little breakdown when he got back, the only thing in his head was the word escape.

He could maybe distract them long enough to avoid it. Neil glanced at Erik, the interloper, who raised an eyebrow in response.

“I assume this has to do with the mob bird team?” Erik asked. It was hard to say if he forgot the team was called the Ravens or was just trying to be funny.

“How much does he know?” Kevin asked Nicky.

“I tell him everything,” Nicky shrugged.

“You told him about the extremely sensitive and dangerous mob run exy team, the one that the mere knowledge of could result in all of us being killed?” Kevin’s face went pale.

“Yeah,” Nicky said. “Who says mere?”

Erik leaned over and pressed his lips to Nicky’s forehead, the movement easy and more intimate than any wild fantasy or incredibly detailed monologue about Neil’s ass that Nicky had ever spouted off. It left Neil more unsettled than the prospect of talking about his impromptu negotiations with the mob heir.

“How much incriminating evidence do you think Riko kept on his phone?” Neil redirected.

“Oh god what did you do?” Kevin asked.

Matt tapped his fingers along the table. “The Moriyama’s run my pizzeria?”

Neil shrugged. “Or they own whoever does. There was an execution going on when I walked in.”

They all froze, faces dropped from concern to panic. Except Kevin who put his head in his hands.

“What?” Neil asked.

“You walked in on them killing a guy?” Aaron asked.

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?” Matt asked.

“What do you mean?” Neil was fine, he was upright and alive for at least another week. He hadn’t even gotten injured.

“You saw someone die.” Matt said as if that were a huge deal.

Hm.

Oh right, yeah. Or no, actually. Because they dragged Simone away unconscious but still living so Neil didn’t see shit this time. He did shoot him though so there was a 50/50 chance he killed that guy. Something told Neil that wouldn’t exactly be the calming information to his audience that it was to him. And also it was sort of beside the point.

“Matt, Nicky, Erik maybe—I don’t know what your life is like. I need the three of you to brace yourselves.”

“Oh god,” Nicky said, his hands grabbed onto the edge of the table.

Matt’s eyes somehow got wider.

Erik just seemed puzzled.

“I have no idea how many people I’ve seen die, but let’s not worry about that right now.”

Aaron groaned. “Were you raised by serial killers?” He asked half-joking.

Kevin made a considering face and Neil threw his empty champagne cup at him.

“My weird childhood is besides the point,” Neil tried again. “Kevin, what would have been on that phone?”

“He’s not careful,” Kevin said. “I don’t know for sure, but it could be anything, everything, or nothing. What did you do?”

“I gave his SIM card to his brother and heavily implied that Riko was about to bring everything down with reckless abandon if someone didn’t put a leash on him.”

Kevin put his head down on the table, skipping his hands this time.

“I can’t tell how insane that is,” Matt said. “Are we screwed or is Riko?”

“The trouble is, I don’t really know. It could go either way.” The fact that Ichirou also called him insane wasn’t exactly inspiring confidence. But he said he would look into it which would hopefully reveal the obvious information that Riko was out of control.

“How many people would you have to see die to stop being able to keep count?” Nicky asked. “I feel like that’s a sight that stands out against time.”

Erik wrapped an arm around Nicky, who slumped against him like Erik was his center of gravity.

“Do you want to explain or elaborate?” Matt asked. “Just this once as a holiday treat.”

“Not really,” Neil admitted, the year was already too long and they were only an hour into it. And that was without getting into the melodrama of blood, knives, and bodies that were his earliest memories.

“You’re in worse trouble than Kevin aren’t you?” Aaron asked. What did he think Neil meant by assuring him he was going to die the other day? That it would be of old age in his sleep? Had Neil somehow deflected that too well?

“My trouble doesn’t matter right now.” Neil answered.

“But you are in trouble?” Matt asked.

“Depends on what you mean by trouble,” Neil wasn’t dealing with the dying conversation again. “My mom’s dead so in a very real sense I can’t get in trouble anymore.”

Matt threw his hands up.

“I’ve always been in trouble, I can handle it.” Neil waved it off. Being born, being alive, apparently not being with the Ravens. And now whatever Ichirou would do in a week.

“You’ve said that before,” Nicky said, bizarrely astute. “Or some variation. That’s why you’re not afraid of Andrew, right? Because you’ve dealt with worse your whole life?”

Nicky wasn’t wrong, but he also wasn’t quite right.

“Oh my god, don’t get him started on Andrew,” Aaron groaned.

“I’m not afraid of Andrew because he hasn’t given me a reason to be.”

“He drugged you for information and threatened you with a knife.” Nicky said.

“You, tweedle dipshit, and tweedle dumbass,” Neil pointed to Nicky, Kevin, and Aaron. “Were all there too and the three of you are about as scary as a pack of declawed kittens. He’s never actually cut me. I find him to be the most reasonable and straightforward of the lot of you. And you know what? To be honest? He drugged me to learn all my secrets and I know what those are, fair enough. It’s what I would have done. I could name like forty people who I’ve met personally that are worse and I’m only afraid of seven of them. Andrew is just some guy to me.”

Aaron flapped a hand at Neil in a ‘see what I mean,’ gesture.

“Should I be proud Andrew has a friend or disturbed that you think all of that was okay?” Nicky asked.

“My head hurts, you find it easier to talk to Andrew?” Matt asked. “Wait why am I surprised? You’re both equally difficult, terrifying, and unpredictable.”

“Correct, wrong but subjective, and just unfounded.” Neil said.

“Unfounded,” Matt repeated.

“Oh whatever,” Neil gave up, literally. He got up from the table and face planted into the couch.

“Neil!” Nicky complained.

“Neil is done for the day, check back tomorrow.”

They got to the airport early the day after. Randy went with them, distributing warm smiles and a reminder that she would love it if they came back again over the summer. She held on tight to Matt, squished his cheeks between her hands and told him to be good.

And then they marched in to check their bags and get through security.

Erik’s flight was first which meant a long twenty minute goodbye where Nicky clinged to his boyfriend and failed at not crying. Nicky’s knuckles were pale where he gripped onto Erik’s shirt, his face buried in Erik’s neck. Whatever the two of them said to each other was too soft for Neil to hear.

Erik went through his gate and Nicky sobbed, his hands clapped over his own mouth and then he visibly swallowed it all down. He looked unmoored.

Matt, Aaron, Kevin all were looking around the airport, avoiding the sight.

Andrew probably wouldn’t give a shit. Always more preoccupied with the physical safety of his group than their tears or frustration.

Neil found it uncomfortable, he wanted to look away and wait it out. But more than that he wanted Nicky to stop.

When Neil had still been small enough to command pity, a common enough tactic he and Mary had used was for him to cry. Distracting adults while Mary moved unwatched. When faced with crying children people often resorted to contact, a hug, a tethering arm on the shoulder, a pat on the back, soft words that meant nothing.

Neil reached out and put a hand on Nicky’s shoulder and Nicky turned and collapsed against him.

Okay, sure, hugging was fine.

Nicky was shaking in Neil’s arms as Neil tapped him on the back. “There, there,” Neil said in a simulacrum of comfort.

“Wow,” Aaron said.

Neil flipped him off behind Nicky’s back and let Nicky keep hugging him.

It wasn’t the worst. Maybe it was even nice. Casual and affection were two words Neil wasn’t even sure of the definitions of. Ever since joining the Foxes the number of times he’d been touched without violence or pretense had gone up almost ridiculously.

He didn’t think he was anywhere near getting used to it, to not being startled by contact. He thought maybe that benchmark was a little too far away for him to ever experience, he’d be dead long before then. But at the very least he’d been around the Foxes long enough to think it wasn’t horrible.

Nicky stepped back, rubbed the tears from his eyes and gave Neil a soft “thanks.”

Neil nodded and gestured on to where their gate was waiting.

They touched back down in Palmetto and Neil experienced retrieving a suitcase from the revolving conveyor belt of other people’s shit for the first time in his life.

Matt had left his truck in long term parking before they left for New York, so after they retrieved their bags they just climbed in and Matt drove them back to campus.

It felt as though several life times had eclipsed between the week and a half they had been gone. Neil had a second bag, several healing knife wounds, and maybe a week to live. Clearly it had been a productive trip.

Matt pulled into Fox Tower and Andrew was already there leaning against his car. A cigarette hanging from his mouth, a long line of smoke trailing up into the air as he stared impassively.

“I thought we were getting you today?” Nicky asked as he climbed out of the truck.

That had been the plan as far as Neil knew. They all climbed out after Nicky.

“Hey man, how’s sobriety?” Matt asked.

Andrew’s gaze passed over them all without a word.

He had been so expressive before, now his face was still and his eyes seemed void of any emotion.

“Right cool, good talk dude,” Matt said before moving to get his bag out of the trunk.

Was this it? Andrew sober? Or was he still recovering? Was it the same formless apathy that overtook Neil most days. Dread left hanging so long it melts into nothing, carving out bones until standing takes too much effort. Everything just rubber and sinew.

Neil pulled his suitcase and duffle out of Matt’s truck and stacked one on top of the other. He pulled out his keys, separated the one for Andrew’s car from the rest and tossed it over.

Andrew caught it in a smooth motion.

“You,” Andrew pointed to Nicky, his voice low and steady. “Stay. The rest go.”

And Neil picked up his bags and started for the doors. “Let’s go,” he urged the other three over his shoulder.

“God forbid he give us an answer,” Aaron grumbled as he followed Neil.

“Did you want some attention, Aaron?” Neil asked. “I can tell you how I’m doing.”

“Asshole.”

“Is that what he was like before?” Matt asked as he hit the elevator button.

“Yeah, pretty much. Ignoring everyone and making grand demands and unilateral decisions without consulting anyone.” Aaron answered. “So different from the medication.”

They got on the elevator.

“Well, he used to smile more,” Matt blanched. “Well, Dan would smack me for saying that.”

“This is better than the laughing,” Neil said, thinking of how Andrew had sounded after Drake left the parking lot. “Much better.”

“He’ll be more focused now,” Kevin said, almost pleading.

“Good luck with that.”

Neil had unpacked, a row of poorly wrapped Christmas presents set out on his dresser, by the time Nicky shuffled into the room.

“How is he?” Matt asked.

“I really can’t tell,” Nicky admitted. “He wants to talk to you.” He said to Neil.

Neil nodded and grabbed the present for Andrew. “How much did you tell him?” Neil asked.

“As much as I know about, I guess. Renee’s trial, championships, New York, Riko. I had no idea how to explain New Years, so I didn’t even try.”

Fair enough.

Neil left his dorm and found Andrew waiting in the stairwell. Andrew turned and went up without a word.

“I gotta say the silence might be more dramatic than the evil laughter, you’ve really upgraded.” Neil said as they went up. “I’m quaking in my shitty sneakers.”

Andrew shoved open the roof access door and stepped out into the cold sunlight.

“How’d you get back?” Neil asked.

“Bee picked me up,” Andrew said, calm, even, mellow. Hinged even. He turned to Neil and studied his appearance.

Neil had, admittedly, changed quite a bit since Andrew saw him last. His eyes were blue, his hair was bright orange, he still had the remnants of two black eyes from Kevin punching him and a healing cut on his hairline from where Riko had thrown him into a wall.

He had on his new black coat from Nicky, the collar of his fluorescent yellow and green button up peaked out from the zipper. And to top it all off was the orange knit hat Katelyn had made him with little white foxes and racquets all around it.

Andrew’s eyes narrowed, he reached up and pulled the hat off Neil’s head.

“Isn’t there enough orange?” Andrew asked.

“You don’t have to look at me.” Neil reached for his hat. “That was a gift. Speaking of here.” Neil handed Andrew the little wrapped cylinder and pulled his hat back on his head.

Andrew looked down at it for a long moment before peeling off the wrapping paper. It was a metal canister of fancy hot cocoa mix. Neil had no taste for sweets so he had simply made Kevin try the free samples and bought the one that made him angriest.

“It was time to do my roots and I thought I might as well make it a color I actually like,” Neil finally answered. “Do you not give Nicky Christmas presents, he almost cried when Kevin and I did.”

“Kevin?” Andrew asked, still staring at the can.

“I made him buy everyone presents, I think he got you a book about haunted buildings in New York. So, you have that to look forward to.”

Andrew put the can down on the top of one the vents that lived on top of the building. He turned to Neil.

“Did you get this keeping your word?” Andrew moved on, reaching up to press his thumb in a line from the cut to the bruises around Neil’s eyes.

“Yeah, I was valiantly defending Kevin’s fist from the dangerous air behind my head.” Andrew’s hand was colder than the air, maybe Neil should have gotten him gloves.

Andrew pressed down harder.

“Riko tried to get me to go to Evermore, said if I didn’t a doctor at Easthaven would hurt you. I called bullshit and Kevin thought I was killing you.”

“I don’t need or want anyone’s protection,” Andrew said, dropping his hand.

“I thought you didn’t like repeating yourself? What’s with the rerun? I didn’t ask, neither did Kevin. Or the rest of the team as we all argued about what crimes to commit to get you out of there. Or Wymack and Dobson as they actually did it.”

“Maybe I think if I say it enough it’ll finally get through your thick skull. I can handle myself.”

“You don’t have to,” Neil said. “If you’re jumping in front of every issue for everyone else shouldn’t at least one other person be watching your back?”

“Hypocrite.”

“My issues will get everyone killed. So far yours have just gotten me lightly maimed.”

Andrew’s hand reached and then stalled about two inches from the hem of Neil’s jacket.

“Nicky said you got stabbed.” He pulled out and lit a cigarette.

“Nicky overexhaggerated, slightly.” Neil said. “I’m not taking my shirt off out here so you can see if I flinch. It was shallow cuts but even if Riko had stabbed me I would still be fine. And it would still be worth it. Your life is worth it.”

“I hate you,” Andrew warned. “I’ll kill you.”

“I’ll even tell you how to get away with it.” Right then, in a week, or a month, or whenever his father finally caught up to him. All that would change is the person doing it.

“I already know how to do that.”

“You know how to cause a car accident,” Neil dismissed. “But you’re not gonna leave my death up to machines. You’re gonna kill me with your hands. That’s a whole different game.”

Andrew put his free hand up in a mocking choke. “Don’t tempt me.” He said with a drag of his cigarette.

Neil reached up and snagged Andrew’s sleeve, pulled his hand right to Neil’s neck.

“Do it,” Neil urged, a good death was all he wanted. “You could leave me up here until nightfall and then drag me down to the car and out to Columbia. I’m sure you know a nice deserted corner to leave me in. I’ll tell you where to cut me apart after, you’d do a good job. I know you would, with a little direction.”

Andrew’s hand didn’t move, he didn’t squeeze it shut or pull away. But the cigarette in his other hand snapped in half. “Or I could just throw you off this roof and tell everyone you jumped,” he said.

“Come now, Andrew, I already told you this isn’t high enough to kill me and I’d just drag you down too.”

“You were supposed to be a side effect of the drugs.” Andrew swayed forward and then stepped back, pulled his sleeve out of Neil’s grip. Well, it was worth a shot.

“That’s a nice thought, isn’t it?” Neil mused. “I wish you were just hallucinating me, that would be a better existence. If you’re not killing me today, next week someone from the Moriyama main branch is coming here to maybe do that.” Might as well warn him while they were doing the winter updates.

“Explain,” Andrew lit another cigarette and looked away. Turned his gaze out over the campus.

“When Riko pulled his New York stunt I stole the SIM card from his phone. I hadn’t decided what to do with it when I happened upon a Moriyama execution. I’d run into the guy before actually, he’d bragged about stealing money from his boss to hit on my mother and then sold us out and almost got us both killed, years ago.” It was amazing how long Simone had managed to live.

“He still remembered me, I still remembered him. Caused a bit of a scene.” Neil debated elaborating. “Anyway Ichirou Moriyama was the one presiding over it. So I took the opportunity to hand over the SIM card and suggest he muzzle Riko. He said he’d get back to me in a week. They might kill me, they might fire Riko out of some sort of cannon, it’s hard to say.”

“Your insistence on goading everyone you meet into killing you is getting old.”

“Well if someone would just get it over with I wouldn’t have to keep trying.” Neil stole Andrew’s cigarette to make him look at Neil again. “This part is serious, if I tell you they’re here you need to keep away until it’s over and make sure everyone else does. I only told Kevin about the week deadline but he was drunk.”

“Like you’ve stayed away from everyone else’s problems?” Andrew asked.

Neil pointed at himself, “dying regardless,” he pointed at Andrew, “long life full of monologues and chocolate so long as you don’t involve yourself in my execution.”

Andrew looked away again. “Get out of my sight.” He said.

Neil held out the cigarette where Andrew could see it and waited for him to take it. “I’m glad you're back,” Neil told him before going back inside.

#aftg #no more fucks to give #fanfiction #nmftg

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seducemefanficsandheadcanons · 1 year ago

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As long as you want me here (Sam x Aron)

So, Aron is an OC I made, but she's really just me with a different name and some versions of her have a magical twist on her background. Here, she's me. I found out I likely have another condition, and after struggling with health for years, it's still hard. Each new problem, especially in a world designed for able bodied people, feels like an extra burden to carry. I'm grateful that I've been able to find out as early as I did, but that doesn't make it easy. I honestly wrote this to cope.

Set as if Aron didn't say I love him when Diana came. I plan to make many of these until Aron or Sam actually confess that they love each other, because the servant ending gives me the ick.

Trigger warning for angst related to health issues.

Aron sat in the passenger seat, her arms crossed and slouched over as she stared out of the window absentmindedly. She’d just been to the doctor and had just received another life altering diagnosis. She couldn’t catch a break, one issue after another. Would she ever just be healthy?

“You alright?” Sam asked, glancing at her. “You haven’t said anything since the appointment. Did something happen?”

Aron shrugged. “Nothing unusual.” she said. She wasn’t entirely lying. Developing new issues had become a regular occurrence for her, and it was at least once a year that she was seeking out a new specialist. Why had that become her normal?

The car ride was silent, but she could feel Sam’s gaze on her. She knew he was concerned, but his pity wouldn’t fix anything. She looked over and smiled at him. “Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem.” he said, shrugging as we pulled into the front yard. “Are you sure everythings alright?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Aron nodded and smiled. “Yeah, I’m good.”

They got inside and Aron immediately went to her room. Thankfully Damien was with Erik at work, so he wouldn’t hear her. She didn’t want to give him a headache from the volume of her thoughts. She changed into some dark blue spandex shorts and a large gray hoodie. She walked over to her full length mirror and frowned at her reflection, which looked like a ghost of herself.

Her stomach was bloated, accompanied with deep eyebags from the lack of sleep she was getting thanks to cramping and insomnia. Her dark purple hair was oily, but she didn’t have the energy to shower tonight. She groaned and climbed in her bed, pulling her fluffy blanket over her as she curled over herself and played some music on her phone.

She wasn’t sure when she’d started crying, but before she knew it she was shoving her face into her pillow, trying to muffle her sobs. Why couldn’t she have been normal? Why does her body always have to hurt? She wanted to make a life for herself, wanted to build a career, but now she couldn’t even bring herself to get out of bed.

Every part of her ached, and it wasn’t only because of the countless health problems she’d been diagnosed with.

A knock on her door caught her attention, and immediately she wiped her face and held back anymore sobs. She tried to be quiet, hoping to give the illusion she’d fallen asleep with music played.

“Doofus, can I come in?” Sam asked, his tone concerned and hesitant.

Aron didn’t answer at first, but she knew his presence would comfort her. She turned on her phone and paused the music before walking to the door. She wiped her face in an attempt to hide that she’d been crying, but her pale skin was bright pink and her eyes were puffy and wet with tears. Anyone who looked at her would know that she wasn’t okay.

Still, when she opened the door to Sam, she smiled softly at him. “What’s up?” She asked, feeling her chin wobble.

Sam’s eyebrows were furrowed and his shoulders were stiff. But as he took in her appearance, his gaze softened. “Hey…” he said, his tone gentle. “You wanna talk about it?”

Aron’s immediate thought was, if I wanted to talk about it, I wouldn’t be hiding in my room. But Sam was trying to be helpful, and he didn’t do anything to her to deserve an attitude. Instead she shrugged. “I’ll be fine, it’s just…” she tried to speak, but her voice began to break.

Sam gently placed a hand on her shoulder, and the pressure was light enough to bring her into his arms. She immediately sobbed against his chest, gripping his vest with her hands tightly. Sam stared down at her, his frown deepening as he wrapped his arms around her.

Slowly, he led them to her bed. He sat against her headboard, letting her cry against him. When she finally began to calm down, she looked up at him and frowned. “I’m sorry.” she said, rubbing her eyes aggressively.

He lightly squeezed the arm around her waist. “Don’t apologize…” he said, his voice soft and gentle. “Do I need to go beat someone's ass?” he asked in utmost seriousness.

She giggled, making Sam smile. Her frown returned quickly though. “It’s just a lot right now.” she started, sitting up to curl over herself as she spoke.

“The doctor said I have a hormonal disorder, because apparently the shit that’s already wrong with me wasn’t enough.” she said, her tone more defeated than angry.

He frowned as he looked at her. “Is there anything they can use to treat it?”

Aron merely shrugged. “Yeah, but it isn’t gonna go away.”

She looked at him and smiled, but her eyes held exhaustion. “It’s fine, I mean, crying isn’t going to fix it either.” she said, wiping her face.

Sam nodded. “Do you want me to run you a bath or something?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I’m good…do you wanna watch a movie with me?” she asked, picking up the remote from her nightstand.

“Um…sure,” he said, shooting her that goofy grin that always made her heart flip in her chest.

Eventually, they watched the movie and cuddled up together. Aron could feel the pull of exhaustion, but she fought it to spend a bit more time with Sam. “Hey…thanks for coming to check on me. I appreciate it.”

He lightly squeezed his arms around her. “No problem…” he said, blushing. “Let me know if there's anything we can do to help, alright? Even if we can’t fix it, you shouldn’t have to be in pain or whatever. I’m sure that even if we can’t fix it, we can help the pain. Maybe the treatment will help too.” he mused.

She snuggled closer to him, sighing. “Maybe…thanks.”

He smiled softly. “I said it’s no problem, Doofus.”

She grinned up at him, blushing. “I know, but…you being here helped.”

Sam turned bright red, but grinned back at her. He kissed her forehead and pulled her closer, pressing her head under his chin. “Then I’ll stay as long as you want me here.”

She yawned, her eyes growing heavy and the sleepiness being too strong to ignore. She felt Sam pull a blanket over them before whispering softly. “Goodnight, Doofus.”

“Night. Sam.” she said before drifting to sleep.

#seduce me the otome #seducemeotome #seducemetheotome #smto #fanfiction #seduceme #seduce me fanfiction #seduce me otome #seduce me sam #cross posted on ao3

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joshriku · 2 years ago

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prompt: 'can you write erik struggling to bake and frost a cake for someone he cares about? i think it'd be hilarious like magneto girl dinner (or girl desert?'

yes i can. vaguely au-ish. what if they were slightly normal during the brotherhood. loosely based on kworei's series re: magneto and the twins except this one is a lot more ridiculous

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

“We are not buying a cake,” Magneto says.

“But it’s our birthday!” Pietro exclaims. He waves his hand around. “It’s a whole thing, you know? I don’t expect you to know what happens at a birthday party, but usually, there’s cake.”

Magneto arches an eyebrow at him. Pietro meets it readily. “I know the details of a birthday party, Quicksilver.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s totally a normal thing to say,” Pietro mumbles very fast. Magneto begins saying what? so Pietro pushes on, “Yeah, well, anyway, if we’re not buying it then we’re baking it.”

“I think your free use of we is rather preposterous, Pietro,” Magneto puts down the newspaper he’s reading at last. A glance at it tells Pietro he gave up on the crossword for the day. “Happy birthday to you and your sister. I am not involving myself in your plans. If you want to bake, you are responsible for whatever happens.”

“So you’re leaving me? In a kitchen? By myself?” Pietro points behind him. “What if I set the kitchen on fire?”

“It’d be your problem.”

“Oh, so you’d let me burn down your operations base? What if I poison Toad? What if, I don’t know, Mastermind walks in and an egg lands on his head? Surely that would cause some in-fighting in the Brotherhood. Not as if we don’t do that already, but—”

“Fine,” Magneto snaps. He stands up, cape dramatically flowing as he does. “Get yourself to that kitchen. I will do it with you. Do not make me regret it.”

“You’ll regret this day for the rest of your life,” Pietro announces proudly. “But it’s fine because it’s going to make Wanda happy, and we like Wanda.”

Magneto stares at him, pointedly doesn’t say anything, and keeps walking evenly to the kitchen.

“Where is your recipe, Quicksilver?” Magneto begins as soon as they arrive. “You cannot come to the battlefield without a plan of attack.”

“You’re so weird,” Pietro mumbles again. He does have a recipe written down—he asked a shopkeeper to tell him the recipe, and he’s been safe-keeping it for the past two months. Wanda was going to be so thrilled. “It’s sponge cake. So, um, pre-heat the oven to 180 degrees—” Pietro hears the oven turning on. “Oh, can your magnetism do that?”

“Yes.”

Pietro holds back the compliment. But it is kind of cool. Regardless—

“Okay, so, we have to butter up the—” the pan already flows to the kitchen table. “See, this is kind of cool, but you’re ruining my process.”

“You asked me to be here.”

“I guess I did,” Pietro speeds off to grab the butter, at least, so Magneto doesn’t get to flex and be all cool with his powers the whole time. “We need, um, sugar…? Eggs. More butter. Vanilla extract. Self-raising flour.”

“I presume you got all of this already?”

“More like stole it, but yes,” Pietro opens the cabinet. He takes it all out, and before Magneto gets to do anything, he’s already done—the sugar and butter are already whisked, he’s cracking the eggs and beating them as they come, in the next second he’s already adding the vanilla, the flour, and just a dash of milk. Not like anyone else drinks milk here. “Okay, so, that’s that.”

Magneto frowns at him, but perhaps he’s a little impressed at how fast he is. “Why exactly did you call me, Pietro?”

“Honestly?” Pietro leans on the counter for a second before he pours the mix in the pan and puts it inside the oven, all before blinking. He comes back to Magneto again and continues leaning on it. “I’m terrified of the piping part. I’m not delicate. I just want to write ‘Happy birthday Wanda’ on it.”

“And you think of me as delicate.”

“Not really, but like, the tips are made of metal, so I assumed you’d have more accuracy and neater handwriting than me,” Pietro explains. “I think so, at least.”

Magneto makes a sound—a chuckle? Something somewhat positive. “Such a task is nothing for the Master of Magnetism.”

“Sure, sure. I guess we just… wait…?” Pietro hates this part. Why can’t time move fast? “So… saw how much you sucked at the crossword today—”

“We can wait in silence,” Magneto says, leaving no room for argument. Pietro isn’t even offended—hey, he isn’t the one being bad at the newspaper.

Longest hour of his fucking life.

“We’re not decorating on a hot cake, Pietro, have you no sense of anything?”

“But waiting sucks so muuuuuuuuch—”

“Okay, here,” Pietro says, taking out the frosting from the fridge. He loads it on the little bag and adjusts the tip before handing it to Magneto. “Remember, just: ‘Happy birthday Wanda’.”

“Are you not writing your name?”

“Nah, it’s for her. So, Happy birthday Wanda—”

“I heard you the first time, Pietro,” Magneto says as the pipe floats to him. “Now, if you may be quiet—”

“And after you add the letters maybe you can do the rest of the decorating around the border—”

“Boy, that is not what we agreed—”

“Well! To be fair, you did not agree to this either, you—”

Uh-oh. Pietro hears a splat, and next thing he knows, the entire decoration is one huge pile on top of the cake, and of course Wanda is back from her day off just then.

She stands at the doorway, looking torn between laughing at them and being horrified. “...I’m back?”

“Happy birthday?” Pietro tries. “We baked you a cake.”

“And got in a fight with the piping bag?” Wanda asks as she steps closer, scooping it up with her finger. “This is very…”

She looks at Magneto, then at Pietro, then at the cake. “It’s very ugly.”

“If you are going to be ungrateful—” Magneto begins, but he’s cut off by Wanda.

“But it tastes fine!” she gives Pietro a hug, and he easily returns it, proud. Magneto watches them interact, and if Pietro didn’t know any better, he’d say he’s embarrassed of his decoration accident. “Thank you both.”

“Next time,” Magneto says, floating a knife to him, cutting the cake, “Next time, I am just letting Quicksilver buy a cake.”

#writing #is this.. what the kids call.. dadneto..#erik lehnsherr #pietro maximoff #wanda maximoff

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hyperpsychomaniac · 1 year ago

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You Can Do Better - Chapter 5

First chapter

Summary: After Erik lets slip he started the war with the Trolls on purpose, Gerda forces him to make things up by doing all the dirty jobs around Safety Patrol. But Erik won't take it lying down.

***

Erik continued to do the chores Gerda asked of him. He still bought donuts to work occasionally; but he would leave them in the lunchroom - there was no chance of interrupting the briefing there and Gerda could not get mad at him. Now though, he realised it would be no quick fix. Still, it seemed something he should keep doing. Like cleaning the Safety Patrol vehicles. Gerda hadn’t asked him to do so, but they were always covered in a fine dust. If he took each of them home, that meant he could wash them and Safety Patrol’s transport would at least look somewhat respectable. Gerda must have noticed their cleanliness improving, as focused on details as she was, but she said not a word. Erik simply assumed this meant she didn’t mind him driving them home.

This morning, Erik drove in the vehicle he'd cleaned the evening before and stopped on the way to grab donuts from the bakery.

On arrival, he booted open the door to Safety Patrol’s reception area.

“You are getting far too comfortable,” said Delores. “You're in danger of breaking that door again.”

“I wouldn't do that!” said Erik. “Then I'd have to fix it.”

He took the donuts and dumped them in the lunchroom, then turned to the kitchen. The Bell Keeper was standing, leaning against the counter, a mug in his hand, smirking.

“Well, I see you're early.”

“Got to get in before you murder my coffee,” the Bell Keeper said. “Speaking of which...” He handed the mug to Ahlberg.

“What? What’s this?” It wasn't the Bell Keeper's usual mug, with the ring of coffee stain around the top.

“Try it. That's how you make coffee - properly.”

Erik raised an eyebrow, sensing some kind of trap. Still, he could think of no response where he could save face, save for taking a cautious sip. He spluttered. “Good lord. This is how you like it? It tastes like motor oil!”

“It's not about the taste - it’s about the kick.”

“If you want a kick, why are you drinking instant?”

“Because I like the taste.” He slapped Ahlberg on the shoulder and sauntered out with his own mug.

Erik stared after him, then his lip slowly twitched upwards. That seemed like a point to him. The guy had made him a cup of... well... coffee. He tipped the rest down the sink and headed to the janitor’s closet. Collecting the cart, he headed down the hallway. Gerda was walking towards him. And she wasn't alone. Okay, here went nothing. He should do this. It was the right thing to do, the polite thing to do. Gerda would approve.

“Chief Officer Gerda, good morning!” Erik gave her a wink.

She raised an eyebrow. He'd probably confused her, using her rank... and winking. Okay, that had been a tad much. “Good morning, Erik,” she said, cautiously.

He stepped aside until she had just moved past him, then added. “Good morning, Deputy Chief Elven-liaison Officer Alfur.” Gods, now that was a mouthful, but he'd been sure to get it right.

The little elf on Gerda's shoulder turned and raised an eyebrow, almost in unison, with Gerda doing the same.

“You can see me?” he said.

“Of course. That's why I said good morning.”

“You signed the paperwork,” said Gerda.

“Delores had a copy on file for new officers. I figured it wouldn't be a problem.”

Gerda stared at him, squinting a little. “It's not...”

“Did he though?” said Alfur, narrowing his eyes, and again mirroring Gerda’s expression. “It is very involved.”

Erik scowled. “I can do paperwork, involved or not. And if I can't see you, why am I looking right at you?”

“Hmm... hang on for a minute.” Alfur ran up Gerda's shoulder and grabbed onto her earlobe.

“Ow! Alfur... what are you doing?”

“Shh!” he said, rather loudly, right in her ear.

Gerda winced. Alfur swung onto her ponytail. Gerda glanced to either side and seemed to have misplaced him. She sighed, glared at Erik, then stood still.

How was this little guy’s antics his fault? Erik frowned, glaring back at Gerda. Alfur appeared on the edge of her hat. Erik turned his glare onto him, following him with his eyes as he scampered across the brim, then used the yellow band to hoist himself up to the top, then on towards the feather stuck in Gerda's hat. Erik wondered if he should tell her that wasn't technically part of the Chief's uniform.

“Don't climb on that,” he said, just as Alfur reached the feather. “You'll break it.”

“Huh. He can see me.”

Gerda sighed. “Are you both satisfied?”

“I was just trying to say good morning,” said Erik with a huff. Not a word about the cars. And now she was mad about this? He wondered why he was even bothering. But he just didn’t really like doing a half-ass job. As much as to stick it to Gerda, doing a shoddy job would just make him feel more depressed. He didn’t need that right now.

Alfur let out a little sigh. “My apologies. It's just... well, some of the things Hilda has told me...”

Erik sucked in his gut. Crap. This elf knew Hilda?

“But it seems we must work together. And I am prepared to be civil. Good morning... what's his job title?” He hissed at Gerda.

“Er... I didn’t give him one.”

“I thought we talked about this and agreed it was… safer to make him an employee?”

“He is. He just doesn’t have a job title.”

Erik cleared his throat. “Erik is fine.”

“Good morning... Erik. I,” and Alfur gave a small smile. “I do appreciate you putting in the effort to sign the paperwork. And... at least from what I have heard around the office... perhaps you have been putting in the effort otherwise as well in your new... role. So, thankyou.”

Erik faltered. “You're... you're welcome.” Hell, his expression was hard to read, he was so small, but it seemed genuine.

Alfur grinned wider. No mistaking it now. “I... I take it, as you are getting more involved, you'll be at the...”

“Okay, that's enough pleasantries,” said Gerda curtly. “We both have work to do.” And she turned so brusquely, the poor little elf lost his footing and grabbed onto the hat's feather for dear life.

Erik's shoulders sagged a little, then he bolstered himself and continued with his cleaning.

***

“You didn't tell him about Friday karaoke. In fact, you cut me off.”

Gerda put her pen down on her desk with a sigh and pressed her hands against her eyes. She had hoped the elf wouldn’t notice. “I'm sorry, Alfur.”

“It's fine. I'm just not sure I understand why.”

The door to her office was open, as she'd got into the habit of doing, unless she needed privacy. It was easier to see everyone in the open layout of the rest of the office, and it made her seem more approachable. Right now, Erik was out there, cleaning out bins. He had stopped and was talking to Deputy Officer Selby. Selby was her official deputy, although he shared the role with Alfur, who was technically the liaison officer for the elves. Gerda had wanted to give Alfur the deputy rank, so he’d have some authority, and everyone knew she expected him to be taken seriously. Something that would help when you were on the… shorter side. ‘Sharing’ the rank didn’t seem to bother Selby one bit. After initially being a little skittish around her, probably expecting her to treat him like Ahlberg had, he'd eventually become quite relaxed. In fact, he seemed relaxed talking to Ahlberg now.

“Inviting him seemed premature. I do not want to make my officers uncomfortable.”

Alfur had his own little desk, perched on the corner of hers. He followed her gaze out into the office. “Look,” said Alfur. “I don't like the man. At all. After how he treated Hilda, and this city, and, I assume, you as well...”

“I know. I know what he did.” Gerda’s hand tightened on the edge of her desk.

“But he does not seem to make any of your officers uncomfortable. Not now, at the least.”

“You think I'm being too harsh?”

“Not at all. I think it’s what he deserves… to be left out.”

Gerda winced. “When you put it like that... I am not leaving him out. That is not my intention.”

“What I'm trying to say, it isn't about Ahlberg. It wouldn't bother me if he were there, though I don't think he’s earned it. But... well... I think you know he is no longer making people around here uncomfortable. So, I think that, perhaps, that is not the real reason. And you are not being entirely honest with him. Or me.”

Ooff. Gerda smiled faintly. “I knew it was the right move, making you my deputy.”

“Yes, but you are changing the subject.”

Double oof. “I’m not even sure I know what the reason is, exactly. I too would not be bothered if he was there. At least, I shouldn’t be. And yet…”

Alfur moved from behind his little desk until he stood next to her hand. “Look, I get you feel betrayed. I understand you two were close.”

Gerda's cheeks grew warm. “Close... Alfur, please, do not listen to the rumours around here. We never DID anything.”

Alfur flushed. “That's... that's not what I meant. I meant like a close... working relationship.”

“Oh. Right.”

And maybe that was it. Maybe she felt betrayed. Outside the office, Erik was being so loud. Hell, he was asking about Selby's wife like he was actually interested.

“I... I'm really mad at him. And he deserves... something needs to happen to him because of what he did. That’s why I brought him in to clean up, but... well, I'm also a little worried about him.” A little? She'd damn near broken down his door a few weeks ago, just because he hadn't shown up, and she'd thought... No wonder he'd been so angry at her, bursting in like that. Talk about an overreaction. But it hadn’t felt like an overreaction at the time. She had imagined the worse. “Imagine if you'd done what he did. Imagine if you realised... what you almost allowed to happen. Imagine how you'd feel.”

Alfur thought for a moment. “Well, I can tell you one thing - I certainly wouldn't have accepted a medal for it.”

“Yes, but you're not Erik Ahlberg. And for all his bluster, if something was wrong, he would not be so direct about it… as you have been with me now. And, so…”

“You’re worried about him,” Alfur finished for her.

“He is still my friend.”

“Which is probably why you’re mad at him. Believe me, my friends? They can sometimes be quite frustrating. But just because he is not being direct, that does not mean you cannot be. It will be far easier to be direct with him, rather than just… giving him chores. Otherwise, you’ll just be worrying about him needlessly, and not even able to have a civil conversation in the hallway.”

“You’re right.” And perhaps inviting him to the work socials was an easy enough place to start.

***

Erik finished moping the halls. It was Friday, and everyone had left a little early. He pretended not to notice. It had been awkward avoiding the question: 'are you coming this evening?' Worse, everyone had changed the subject quickly when they realised he was uncomfortable, as if they knew exactly why he hadn’t been invited. At least they felt bad about it.

And at least they were starting to be friendly. Hell, even the Bell Keeper had made him a coffee. But Gerda? She had mellowed a little, but she was still standoffish, cold. But whenever she rushed off on him, distracted, or busy, he thought of the morning she’d come to his house, thought of her taking care of him. It made it really difficult to be angry with her.

It was just... awkward. Like it had been in the hall when he'd introduced himself to Alfur. They should have been able to laugh or just connect over how silly the little guy was being. Except when the elf had brought up the night's activities, Gerda had all too obviously changed the subject. She’d straight up bolted.

No, Erik was pretty sure Gerda did not want him at whatever the hell Safety Patrol was doing for fun, but he could no longer work up the emotion to be mad about it. He and Gerda may no longer be furious at each other, but nothing had replaced it, and that seemed worse.

Maybe, Erik thought, scrubbing the mop at a coffee stain on the floor all the harder, he'd just wear his Hawaiian shirt next Friday, and declare it tropical Friday. No one else could join in, as they had to wear uniform, but, well, then at least he'd have something he couldn't invite them to.

“Erik.” Gerda stood outside her office, handbag over her shoulder. “You don't need to finish mopping that all now.”

“Oh... right.” Erik stopped, and she stared at him. Bloody hell, this was even more awkward. “Got plans for tongi-” Erik flushed and bit down on his tongue. Why the had he said that?

Gerda took a breath. “Yes, karaoke.”

So that’s what they were doing. “Oh... yeah, I'd... I'd heard.” Erik drew a breath of his own, holding onto it, and puffing out his chest. “I wasn't sure I was invited to a Safety Patrol function.”

“A… function?” Gerda raised an eyebrow, and then her lip twitched up ever so slightly. “Erik, no. I've told everyone, no uniforms. I'm going home to change myself. It's karaoke. I mean, if I am going to make a fool of myself, I can hardly do it in the chief's uniform. That would be inappropriate.”

“Wait, you're going to sing?”

“You don't think I arranged a work thing for everyone to let off steam that I wouldn't enjoy, did you?”

“Well, yes, but...” Gerda enjoyed singing? Why had he not known this? The answer came quickly. When he'd been so focused on the trolls, had he even cared? “I mean, CAN you sing.”

Gerda blinked at him. “Can I sing?”

“Er, I mean...”

She stepped up closer to him. Erik snapped up his mop and tugged it in tight against his shoulder, almost hiding behind it.

“I think,” said Gerda. “The question is: can YOU sing?”

“What? Of course I can sing! I'll have you know my mother spent quite a bit of money on lessons when I was training.. for the...” Oh hell, why was he telling her this? Erik Ahlberg, hero of Trolberg, did not want anyone to know that... “when I... wanted to be an actor…” he mumbled into the head of the mop.

“You wanted to be an actor?”

“Just in the theatre!” he said quickly, flushing.

“Well, singing shouldn't be a problem for you, then.”

“So I… I am invited?” Erik winced. That had sounded far too desperate.

Gerda rubbed a hand on her arm, lowering her gaze. “Of course. And I’m... sorry. I should have invited you, clearly, earlier. But... Erik Ahlberg… in the theatre. I supposed that tracks.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

She smiled at him. “You were always so good at speeches. I think the only thing I beat you there in is brevity. But the question is… do you think you can make a bigger fool than me at karaoke? If you're game.”

“Of course I’m… well.. I'll come. If I... I mean, I have other offers, but I'll think about it...”

What the heck was going on? Was she just teasing him? Or was this some other half-baked plan of hers to embarrass or punish him?

“It would be nice to see you there,” Gerda said.

Erik still wasn’t sure if she meant it sincerely, but he desperately wanted it to be.

***

As Gerda walked out into the parking lot, Alfur climbed out of her handbag and clambered up to her shoulder.

“There,” said Gerda. “I was nice to him. I invited him. I did not... well, I think you were right. It wasn't fair to leave him out, and being direct with him... well, it feels better.”

Alfur caught her eye and raised an eyebrow. “I said I thought you should have been more direct. I didn't think you were going to flirt with him.”

Gerda flushed. “That was NOT flirting!”

***

Erik paced his living room. “I ... I can't go. I have plans!” He'd intended to watch a movie, and be in a huff about how he had not been invited. And now? Gerda had ruined that. But could he go? Would the rest of Safety Patrol even want to see him there? Did Gerda, really, or was she just being polite?

But no, she wasn't just being polite. “I mean, she didn't just invite me. She… she challenged me! I mean, to think she thinks I can't sing? I dread to think what she sounds like! Screeching orders is hardly the same as singing.”

She’d issued him a challenge. Did she think she had him so scared of he wouldn't take her up on it? If he didn't show...

“If I don't go, she wins. Damn it!” Erik stormed into his bedroom and pulled out his Hawaiian shirt. So, Friday night at the pub it was. He'd show her. She may intend to stir him up, but he wouldn't take it lying down. Erik put on the clean shirt, shrugged on his jacket, and then headed out.

#finally got around to posting this urgh #hilda #hilda fanfic #hilda fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #hilda netflix #erik ahlberg #gerda gustav #hilda bell keeper #hilda alfur #you can do better fanfic

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yasminsqueendom · 2 years ago

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4. Re-up

WC: 4914

TW/CW: SMUT! followed by cute shit, followed by a small argument, that is all (18+)

“Fuck.” Micky always liked the way he moaned when he slid inside of her. Almost as much as she liked the way it hurt a little. It had been months, and she needed the distraction. She threw herself into sex with Erik with reckless abandon, momentarily shocking him with her enthusiasm. She considered how they ended up here.

“Damn, babygirl. You been waiting for Daddy.” She kissed him as soon as he walked through her door. He didn’t have time to put the food down. He pushed her away a little, looking her up and down with a mixture of excitement and confusion.

“I’ve had a long day, and I need this. If you can’t do it, please leave.” She’d said it so bluntly. He looked a little startled.

“Listen, babygirl. You know I got no problems laying pipe. I just don’t know if you really want it, or you just mad about something else.”

“What difference do it make? You still gon’ fuck, right?”

And so he did. He’d stared at her for a moment before he finally moved toward her, pressing his mouth to hers. And now, only a few minutes later, he was finally inside her. At least I still have this. The futon was laid flat, and her sheet was thrown over it.

His stroke was slow and deep at first. She felt the exact moment he hit the bottom of her pussy.

“Mhm.” She moaned into the sheet. He had her in his favorite position: face down, ass up. He slid out to the tip of his dick, and slowly pushed back into her.

“You so fucking tight. Oh my god.” He slid out again, but this time he slammed into her. Her body was immediately overwhelmed.

"Fuck, Erik." SMACK. "Oh!" He pumped into her hard and fast until she was nearly screaming. She relished the sting of his hand spanking her ass.

"That's not what you call me, babygirl." Erik was in beast mode now. His voice even sounded deeper while he was stroking her good. All she could do was moan, but he wanted words. He gripped a handful of her hair and pulled until she was nearly looking up at the ceiling. "What's my muhfucking name?" He growled low in her ear.

"Daddy! Please, fuck. I can't." His strokes got deeper. She bit into the sheet to keep from getting too loud.

"Nah, babygirl keep that same energy." He pulled her head up again. The sound of their bodies slapping together was music to her ears. The feeling of his balls slapping her clit had her trembling. The way her wet pussy stretched to fit him, and the way he used one hand on her lower back to guide her had her weak.

"Daddy please. Please…" SMACK. "Oh god please. I can't take it."

"Can't take what? Hm?" SMACK. "Tell me, right now." He sped up his strokes, making it impossible for Micky to form coherent thoughts.

"Daa-aad-dee-eeee.." Her moans were in time with the rhythm of his hips. SMACK. "Oh fuck."

"Uh-uh. Tell me what you can't take." SMACK. Micky could feel her pussy starting to clench around him. She was so close to cumming. But then he stopped.

"Nope. You not done yet. I let too much time go by since I knocked these walls in. You forgot who the fuck own this pussy." He pulled out and let her body fall to the futon. She thought he was giving up, until he gripped her ankles and flipped her over.

Now, Micky knew she was pushing 200 pounds in her 5 foot 6 inch frame, and more than a few parts of her jiggled when she moved. This was no small feat in her mind, but she enjoyed the thrill of being tossed around like she weighed nothing. Erik was the only man she knew who never balked at her body. In fact, he seemed to like throwing her around just to ride the wave of her body moving against his. She allowed herself to momentarily get wrapped up in her thoughts. That was a mistake. Erik never lost his focus when he had a goal.

"What...the fuck…can't you...take?" The threat in his voice was real. His eyes were almost completely black, the pupils were so dilated. "Speak."

It was so simple. She didn't need to be the hero here. She could let go. Let him do the work.

He raised an eyebrow. "You deaf now, babygirl?"

"No, Daddy." She knew better than to make him wait too long.

"Then, tell me what I wanna know. What can't you take?" He said it so softly, but the way his grip tightened on her ankles as he lifted them over his shoulders got the point across easily.

"That dick."

"What was that?" He needed something more.

"I can't take that dick, Daddy."

"This dick right here?" He lined his hard shaft up with her slickness.

"Oh shit." His dimples popped at the shakiness in her voice. Micky wasn't a punk, but Erik was a powerful man. His sessions could be long if he wanted them to.

"Speak up." A smile pulled his lips further apart. For the first time in two months, Micky saw those damn gold slugs. LordT.

"Yes, Daddy. That dick right there." It felt so heavy sitting on her sex the way it was.

"I think you can take all this dick." He sounded so convincing.

"Yes, Daddy." He slid it in just a little. The thick head popped into her. "Ooooh."

"Yeah. I think you can, babygirl." He slid it the rest of the way into her, not stopping until it could go no further.

"Mmmm." She couldn't hold in the moan. He was so big, and felt so good inside her.

"Yeah? Tell me how it feel now." He started to stroke her slowly. Micky whimpered every time his hips met her ass. "Speak."

"Oh, Daddy. It feels good." He let go of one of her ankles, sliding his hand around her throat. He squeezed the sides of her throat gently until he saw her wince a little. He eased off until she smiled up at him. "You know me so well, Daddy. Mmmm."

"You want Daddy to choke you while I tear this tight pussy up?" His stroke got faster. Micky was losing focus again. He squeezed her neck firmly once to get her back on track. "Huh?"

"Fuck! Yes, Daddy. Please. Oh my god."

"Yeah?" He slowed his strokes down again, torturing her starved sex.

"Daddy please don't tease me. I need you so bad right now. Please!" Please fuck me.

He bent to kiss her lips. It was soft at first. Then, a low growl sounded deep in his chest. The time for softness was over. She wanted it bad, and he would give it to her. He pulled his hips back until his dick nearly slipped out, and immediately rolled back into her.

Micky cried out in surprise and desire. She felt so full with him. No one else came close. She'd tried with a few, but not a single one could make her submit. She cherished her hard won independence from her shitty family, and she never gave in easily. But Erik. Oh, Erik. He could bend her will without trying. And at the moment, he was doing just that.

"Fuck, oh. Oh my fucking god. Whyy-yyyy-yyy." She felt heat building in her stomach and spreading down her legs, curling her toes on either side of his head. "Aahhh-aaa-aaaah." His strokes were so strong, her moans were like lyrics to the beat he played against her tender flesh. He picked up the speed again. "Daddy, I'ma cum. Oh my...oh my god." Her legs shook against him. The lightheaded feeling from his hand around her neck sent her to another place. She felt like she was leaving her body. "AAAHH-AAAHH. FUCK! UGH!" With a final shake her body went limp beneath him.

"You all done?" Erik didn't sound done at all. "My babygirl tired?" He was teasing her. "Nah, I don't think so." He pushed both of her legs apart, off his shoulders and around his waist. He leaned down until his weight rested just on her. It wasn't overwhelming. He was careful about not smothering her.

Micky looked into his eyes as he brought his lips down to meet hers. Some of the edge was gone, but he still looked wild and slightly unhinged. She kissed him back with as much energy as he gave her. She knew the morning would bring sore muscles and stiffness. None of that mattered right now. The way he looked at her right now erased all her memories of him leaving and coming back with no notice. It erased her frustration with her family. His tenderness in this moment erased her overbearing supervisor at work. His weight on her grounded her. She felt solid for the first time in two days.

"I think you can go some more, babygirl. What you think?" I think I can do anything if you keep looking at me like that. "Speak."

"I can take it, Daddy." And he delivered all the dick she could take, and then some. He buried his face in her shoulder while his hips pumped into her steadily. "Mmm. Yes, Daddy. I love it. Give me all that dick."

"Mhm." He was panting in her ear, telling her how good a girl she was. "You feel so fucking good, babygirl. This pussy so tight and so wet."

She loved the way he talked to her. Slaps and caresses. That's how it felt. Sometimes he would be rough but she knew the tenderness would come when he needed to finish. She moaned in response to his whispered compliments. Micky could feel his stroke stuttering a little as he got closer to climaxing. His muscles flexed against her. He reached one arm down to hook her thigh over his forearm. His other arm was braced beside her head. She leaned over to kiss that arm, making him moan deep in his chest. She ran her hands down his back, enjoying the smoothness of it. She touched his forearms, counting the small keloids that he wore there.

"Babygirl. Oh baby-" he grunted as his stroke got sloppy and he filled her with hot nut. "Oh fuck." He sat at the bottom of her pussy for a few moments while the last bit of his cum spilled into her. He left messy kisses on her forehead, cheeks, and eventually her lips. She giggled underneath him.

"Thank you, Daddy." And thank modern medicine for birth control. She meant that shit, too. This was what she needed. No more "super-bitch." That shit was played out. Let Daddy deal with it all. "Mmmm." She felt him sigh over her.

"You happy now? Spoiled ass." He looked down at her. His eyes were their normal brown. Mild and warm. "Hm?" He landed a soft slap to her ass.

"Yes. That was perfect." She smiled into another kiss. Then she heard a creak and a bang. The whole futon shifted beneath them, bringing one side up as the other dropped down. Rufus yowled and practically levitated into the bathroom.

They rolled onto the floor together. There was a moment of silent shock, followed almost immediately by wheezing laughter. Neither of them could get control of themselves for several minutes. Tears streamed down their faces as they literally rolled on the floor laughing. Micky didn't want this moment to be over.

"We did it again." Erik said when they both finally quieted down enough to breathe. "We broke another one. I'll make sure the next one is sturdier." That was all it took. They laughed for several more minutes until they finally got it all out.

"Damn, E. Only you could come in here and have me acting a damn fool like this."

"Oh yeah?" He looked so smug. Micky wanted to pop him on his forehead.

"Don't get a big head about it, nigga. Like I said, today was a long ass day."

"I see. You jumped me before I could get my ass in the door." He looked over at her. A slight frown on his face. He still wanted to know what was wrong.

"Don't ask. After yesterday with that asshole. And then going over my mom's today. And just everything. I barely slept last night. I think I got disowned. I’m probably gonna be written up, too. I don't fucking know." She let too much slip. He never missed details.

"Your family disowned you? Why they do that?" He sat up on one elbow. The room was comfortable so the cool floor wasn't too much on their bare skin. Micky kept her apartment warm so neither of them felt the need to put on clothes.

"I...don't know how to answer that." She was being honest.

"Start at the beginning."

So she did. She told him everything. Micky spilled her deepest fears on him. Erik just listened intently and let her speak.

When she was finished, he swiped a hand down his face in frustration.

"That nigga did what?"

"He's been acting crazy lately. But that's not unusual to me. He gets like this sometimes. He gets really angry. I usually let him talk until it burns off. Then he's fine again." It felt good to have someone else know what was going on. Erik looked as baffled by much of it as she felt.

" I can't believe your moms would put hands on you like that. Like you a damn animal. That shit ain't cool." His eyes were dark again. This time with anger. "Don't go back over there without me." And what exactly are you gonna do?

"But that's my mom."

"I don't give a fuck if she was the white man's Jesus. She shouldn't be touching you like that." He was really angry for her. Micky wasn't used to people caring that much. It wasn't a great feeling. She didn't want him mad like this. Not at her mother.

"She was wrong, but I was, too."

"Nah, babygirl. They needed to hear that shit. They needed to know they couldn't use you up to do their dirty work. That's on them." She wanted to kiss the wrinkle in his brow. She didn't like seeing how mad he was. Even though none of it was directed at her, Micky was still uncomfortable. "Look at me."

She did. It was impossible not to. Her eyes were tearing up again. I thought I was done with all this damn crying. He reached over to wipe tears from her eyes.

"I need to say this, and I need you to receive it. Really take this shit in if you don't take anything else from me." He paused until she nodded at him. "Don't ever let another motherfucker control you like that. You are your only master."

"But you control me when we fuck." She sniffed.

"That's different. We been at it for a while. I would never push you further than you're willing to go. You know that right?"

"I mean, yeah. I mean…. I felt like you would stop if I wanted you to. I never felt like I was really in any danger." It was true.

"Is that how it felt with your family? Like you would be okay? Did they make you feel like you could stop at any point?"

Micky hesitated. "No. I never feel like I have a choice with them." Also a fact.

"Don't get me wrong, ma. I'm not saying you should hate them, or even walk away from them forever. But you gotta get a spine for yourself. You need to make it clear that there's some shit that just won't fly with you. Think about how you felt inside when you told your mom never to hit you again. She didn't back off verbally, but she knew she better not put her hands on you again. Right?"

He was right. Her mom had broken the glass instead. She had seen something different in Micky in that moment. Micky had drawn a line, and her mother had decided that crossing it wouldn't be a good thing.

Erik watched her think for a moment. He never interrupted her when she was figuring something out. He always let her catch up at her own pace. His babygirl was smart, but her feelings got too intense sometimes. Let that shit go. Draw a line in the sand, and dare those motherfuckers to cross it.

"Hey." She looked over at him. "You good?" She smiled at him.

"Yeah, E. I'm always good. It just takes a minute sometimes." He watched her take a deep breath to settle herself. Erik loved moments like this. Loved watching her anxiety fade, and her spirit relax. She almost never relaxed fully, so these moments were precious.

Naturally, this precious moment was destined to be interrupted by a certain annoying ass little cousin.

Buzzzzzz. Buzzzzzz. Micky looked around, for the sound. Erik got up to go find the exact source. It was his phone. When he looked at the screen, he almost dropped it back in his pile of clothes. But that would only make things worse. He answered. "Yes."

"Is that how you speak to your favorite cousin?" Shuri's voice poured out of his phone. Erik kept his volume low out of habit, so he knew Micky couldn't hear the other half of the conversation.

"Now isn't a good time. I told you to stop playing on my phone, little girl." He put steel in his voice. It never worked, but he hoped this time would.

"No, cousin. I do not play. I noticed you are back at the apartment complex close to yours. Are you visiting your girlfriend?" He wanted so badly to hang up, but instinct told him now wasn't the time. She would only hack his phone again.

"Erik, who's that?" Fuck. "Lemme see. You know I love getting rid of telemarketers."

He dodged Micky's hand as she reached for the phone. "I got it. It's my annoying ass little cousin." Micky scowled at that. Erik turned his attention back to the phone. "And you need to go ya ass to bed. It's either way too late, or way too early for you to be up right now. Especially where you live."

"I'm going to tell my mother that you are cursing at me. She will not like that."

"She would probably praise me for putting you in your place. Now, get off my phone, little girl."

"Okay." And just like that she hung up. Erik was immediately suspicious. When he heard Micky's phone vibrate, his stomach sank to his knees.

"Don't answer that." But Micky was already picking her phone up off the counter.

"Hello?" Micky didn't keep her call volume quiet, so Erik heard everything.

"Yes, hello? My name is Shuri. Do you know Erik?"

"Shuri? As in 'Shuri-cakes' Shuri?" Micky looked very confused. She glanced over at Erik, down at her phone screen, and then back at him. She muted her phone as her confused look slowly turned into a glare. "You gave this person my number?"

He shook his head negative. "She has a way with technology. My little cousin is the smartest person I know." By far.

"Hello? I cannot hear you, but I know you have not hung up. Do you know my cousin, or not?"

Micky unmuted the phone. "Yes, I know him quite well. You are his cousin?"

"Yes….I am. Why did he tell you to call me that nickname? I hate that so much. Please refrain from using it always."

"I'm….sorry?" Micky was at a loss. "How did you get my number?"

"I didn't. I simply used Erik's bluetooth to find the nearest device, and yours was it. The next was 'soundbar: Micky' and that didn't seem quite right."

"So….you got into my phone from Erik's?"

Fuck. He'd had his bluetooth on from the drive over. He always listened to music in his car. He didn’t have time to turn it off since Micky immediately jumped him when he came in.

"Yes. I used his phone to call yours. I searched his contacts and you were the most recent after me. I made the connection. It turned out I was right."

"This is all a little too 'Matrix' for me right now. Where are you?" Micky was captivated by the strange girl on the other side of the phone. Shuri had that effect on people.

"In Wakanda, of course."

Erik immediately resolved to notify his aunt of Shuri's activities the moment he got to work the next day. This little girl was getting way too bold. He snatched the phone out of Micky's hand.

"Ok, listen up. Leave my girl alone."

"Oh, so she is your girlfriend?"

"I'm telling your mom. You need to stop minding grown folks' business." There was a pause.

"Ewwwwwww."

Erik rolled his eyes. "Bye, Shuri. Don't call me again tonight." He hesitated. "Unless it's a real emergency. Otherwise, go ya ass to bed and be good." This time he did hang up.

"She really is your little cousin." Micky watched him with interest. She rarely heard him talk about his family. "You know, I vaguely remember you mentioning a sharp little cousin of yours. You said she had taken apart your whole sound system when you were still living back home. She was what? 8 years old?" She looked so fascinated. Erik felt miserable inside. The last thing I needed was for these two to link up.

"She's a brat. A pain in my damn ass." He meant every word.

Micky, on the other hand, looked more interested. "But she is a genius to be able to do that shit. She has to be fucking brilliant."

"She is. But she bad as hell. Never knowing when to stop playing." He swore up and down, he would never beat a child, but his cousin sorely tempted him on occasion. Now was one of those occasions. Her older brother was always out being a king and a hero, so Shuri clung to Erik. He was easier to reach than T'Challa. He understood her neediness, but it drove him crazy.

"Yeah. She sounds like a handful, but she also sounds like an adventure. I have to meet her one of these days." She looked so excited now. Micky loved travelling. Her family had gone many places in the world when she was growing up, but after her father died, all that stopped. "I went to Ghana once. Never Wakanda, though. Where is it exactly?"

"It don't matter. We ain't going. The last thing I need is my woman, and my bad ass little cousin becoming besties."

Micky froze in place. Erik was slightly confused about what made her react that way. He hadn't said anything…..oh.

"So, we fuck one time and I'm your woman?" She looked suspicious.

"No. That's not….I mean-" Fuck.

Micky frowned. "So I'm not your woman?"

"First of all, we've been fucking for two years. Second of all, I never wanted you to stop being mine. I just be moving a lot, and I didn't want to make you wait for me." There it was.

"Okay…..you just up and left me. You could have said this two years ago. Or you could have never claimed me at all." Micky looked pissed again.

"I hoped I could make this shit work. Then, I got called away. I broke up with you because I know that's always gonna be my life. It's what I do. I always come back if I can. But I live a dangerous life. I might be dead, and you wouldn't ever find out. I'm not comfortable with that possibility." Shit. Might as well spill it all. "That's it, babygirl. That's all of it."

Micky seemed to be considering his words carefully. "That's not what you said when you abandoned me. You said 'it can't work because we're too different.' You said I wasn't gonna fit with your life." She was definitely pissed at him again. "Why couldn't you just say that shit from the beginning?"

"Would you have accepted that?" He had to know. He always felt bad about that. Every time he came back to her, he remembered how fucking terrible he fucked up the first time. It served him right that she would resent him for that.

"I accepted that you have a genius computer wiz for a little cousin that calls my phone because she hacked it out of yours. I accepted that you claim to bust trafficking rings and drug operations. I've accepted YOU back every damn time. Even when I kept telling myself to cut you off for good." She looked empty. The day had drained so much out of her, and he was taking even more.

"You wanted to cut me off?" He never knew this. He'd gotten so used to the game they played with each other that it never occurred to him she wouldn't want to play anymore.

"Yes. I delete your messages every time you disappear again. I never save you in my phone."

He held her phone in his hand. He could easily verify this himself. So, he did. And there was the proof. Their texts were there, but he wasn't a contact in her phone. Just a number. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. Still, though, she'd asked him to see her. Her behavior wasn't matching her words.

"Let's be real. You wanted me here. You wanted to fuck . You weren't lying about me being the only nigga to have you open like this." She wasn't innocent in this situation. He did her wrong before. That was a fact. She never stopped taking him back, though. Maybe that's where things went bad. Nah. You created the circumstances, nigga. Own that shit.

"Yeah I want to fuck you. I mean all that shit. But I don't know…..how I feel about you as a person. And I only know when you come back in town because you keep telling me." She had him there. Yeah, she would always respond, but he always initiated contact.

He had to think about this for a moment. Micky waited silently, lost in her own thoughts.

"Okay, then. We have a few options here." She looked up attentively. "If you want to, we can try again, knowing what you know about me." He watched her face. She stayed neutral. "Or, if you never want to see me again, I can go and not bother you anymore." Her face still hadn't changed. "Or, we could keep doing this. We could have a sexual relationship, or just be friends with each other."

“And you’re just gonna let me choose?” She was being cautious. He knew Micky wasn’t used to having a say in how things went. He wasn’t going to choose for her.

“I would like to keep you in my life. I really do like you. I think about you when I’m out there. I always wanna come back to you.” She looked away from him. “But, I have to be realistic. I’m not gonna ask you to commit to me. This life ain’t stable. I come and go a lot. My hands are far from clean with my line of work.”

“I can’t accept only half of you. I would rather have it all or nothing.” She still wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I understand. I can walk away.” He felt hollowed out inside. He didn’t want to leave for good.

“I don’t really want that either, though.”

“You aren’t really making sense right now.” He needed her to be decisive in this.

“We can try this friend thing, I guess. I don’t want to cut you out of my life. Not really. I just hate that you disappear, and don’t say anything.” He could tell she was uncomfortable. Talking about her feelings was hard for her. She liked solving other people’s problems, not dealing with her own. All the shit with her family was showing her how empty her life was now that she couldn’t focus on fixing anyone else.

“Aiight. I can do that. We can be friends.” At least she would still be in his life.

“And….I mean…..if we also have sex sometimes that’s cool, too.” She finally met his gaze again. Erik was certain she didn’t know the power she had over him. When she looked at him like that, his heart melted. Even with her hair half untwisted, and her lips slightly swollen from all his kisses, she could tell him anything and he would agree. Damn.

“Yeah?” He could feel himself getting hard again. He couldn’t take her standing there all beautiful. He needed to kiss her brown skin, right there on her shoulder. “Tell me something, babygirl.”

He watched as she caught onto his vibe. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Think you can take some more of this? You know, since we friends and all.” He smiled his most charming smile. He knew she wouldn't be able to resist. Things were so much better between them now. There wasn’t any underlying tension anymore.

“Yes, Daddy. I can take it.” That was all he needed to hear.

Next Chapter

#black women in fiction #black fiction #erik killmonger #black fic #black panther

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