#(i wouldn't recommend locking him in a box though)

[certifiedcoffeeaddict]

[bigbadripley]

Chapter 21 - Coughing Up Smoke

Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockley x Female!OC

Summary: Marc never expected to see his childhood friend Simone ever again. To Simone, Marc may as well have been dead. However, when Simone met Steven 15 years after Marc disappeared, she couldn’t help but notice how familiar he was.

18+ | 3.6k Words | Third-person omniscient | Darkfic/Fluff? | AU/AT |

Warnings: Heavy language, OC with religious trauma, childhood trauma, sexual trauma, the effects of this in adulthood, smut mention, death mention, missing persons, maybe some typos, marc cries awe, smoking, kidnapping, torture, violence.

Tagging for the loves: @ahookedheroespureheart

A/N: I update warnings with each chapter. Only proceed if you can handle the themes included in the warnings. I wrote this entirely as a trauma dump.

Minors DNI, DL;DR, if I miss a warning, please let me know.

Chapter list 

"Woke up from my dreams and I don't see you next to me I held you next to me Lately the absence vexin' me Testin' the waters with you My feelings' ain't been corrected I'm lost Wanderin' down your street, I'm like a dog without a leash Fuck" -"Coughing Up Smoke" by 99 Neighbors

"Hey, Tracy. I wanted to get a hold of you and let you know that I'm stepping away for a bit. I have all your files to send to whoever you want to speak to in my absence. I recommend Dr. Dooley from my office, though. Let me know what you plan to do. I apologize for the inconvenience." Simone said into her phone. 

"If you want to replay this message, press 1 or hang up if you are finished." The electronic voice on the other end said. It was only the second voicemail box Simone's gotten since deciding to make these calls this morning, but she did well in sticking to the script with even the patients she spoke to directly. 

It hurt to speak to them. They all had questions Simone couldn't answer, and some even cried. She wished she could explain everything, tell them she had to cut her association with them for their own good, but there was nothing she could say to make it right. She knew it was for the best until they found and put Walton back behind bars. 

As for her own safety, she was convinced it was only a matter of time before Walton made himself known to her. The night before, when she got back from Marc and Steven's place, she practically ran from her car into the door of the building. She was afraid but knew she could handle herself if she was prepared. 

Meanwhile, Marc and Steven rushed to get to Simone's to speak to her. They were surprised she wasn't at her office, being a work day, and threw fifteen minutes in the wrong direction because of it. 

After Moni stormed out the night before, Steven went off on Marc. He spent the whole night thinking about it and realized what he needed to do, making him want to kickstart a recovery period for their relationship. There was so much he wanted to do with her in his life. They planned to go into the same retirement home and play bingo, and Marc would be damned if they didn't hold onto that idea. 

Simone was writing a note on lined paper when they showed up. There was no knock, warning, or indication that it was them, and she nearly jumped out of her skin and screamed at them for doing that, especially when she was on high alert. She also silently scolded herself for not locking the door.

We're all idiots here, apparently. 

Marc didn't even think about it, stomping until he was just a foot away from her like a man on a mission. "I fucked up. I'm a fuck up. I know this, and I'm sorry." He started. Simone was baffled by what she heard and how it wasn't in an English accent this time. She sat at the dining table with the paper under her hand as he continued to ramble. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm sorry I'm messed up. I'm sorry I hurt you..." 

"Marc..." Simone spoke up and stood, trying to get him to relax. Marc was having an apparent breakdown right before her, and as soon as he said that first apology, they wouldn't stop coming. Tears built up in his eyes as he ignored her. 

"I'm not sure if I like the person I am without you with me, and I know that's fucked up to say, and I'm sorry that we've been so shitty to each other..."

"Marc?" She repeated, this time a bit louder and in the form of a question. He just kept pacing. 

"I'm scared to lose you completely, Moni. I know you hate that I keep calling you that, and I'm sorry, and I know it's shitty of me to just show up like this and throw all of this at you, but I lo-" 

"Marc!" She finally shouted over him, throwing her hands onto his shoulders to get him to stop. He stood still and stared at her with wide, watery brown eyes, unsure what else he could say besides what he repeated. 

He found himself with only apologies and proclamations of love to say but started weeping like Simone hadn't seen since they were kids. He began to buckle down on his knees and lower to the floor, and she followed, drawing him into her chest as her own tears crept through her ducts.

It broke her heart. She finally got the apology she wanted and more, but she didn't expect this. In Marc's shudders and hitches, she heard him continue to groan apologies that would sound like nonsense if he wasn't so close. 

"Honey, please. It's okay." She repeated, rubbing circles into his back with one hand and stroking his head with the other. 

Once the floodgates opened, they were damn hard to stop. Marc typically checked out before he could cry, but he knew he needed to get this out there with Moni. He slowly settled down to the sound of her voice and the thumping of her heart against his ear. 

Simone wasn't sure if this was the right time to bring up what was happening but couldn't chance not saying something if she didn't get the opportunity. "I think I'm in trouble." She said. Marc slowly pulled away from her embrace and looked at her, not sure what kind of trouble yet but not liking the sound of it. Once she explained everything with Walton and the disappearing patients, she helped him to his feet. 

"If anything happens to me, you do everything this note says. To the letter." She said, grabbing the note she wrote and handing it to him.

Marc was caught off guard, now knowing the situation but wondering why she assumed anything would happen to her. "Nothing's gonna happen to you, Moni. I don't need this." He said with a still, shakey voice, refusing to even look at the words it contained. She could tell him whatever she wrote down herself.

"I don't care what you think. This is real shit, and if something happens to me, Marc, Steven, you need to do this. I need to hear you say you will." Simone snapped. Her eyes looked grim like she had a bad feeling. Marc rejected accepting that possibility but knew she needed to hear it. 

"I understand," Marc confirmed. 

"Yeah, love. We'll do it." Steven also confirmed. "But we aren't leaving your side."

The whole day was an internal struggle for Simone. She went from going about her everyday life without Marc and Steven around all the time to them following her throughout each square inch of her apartment like Walton could be holed up in one of her cupboards, ready to grab her at any moment.

She feared bringing up the unleashed apology from earlier, knowing that it might cause trouble if she did. She also knew Marc wouldn't speak of it again unless she did first. Marc hadn't bargained for having an entire episode in the middle of her galley and was slightly embarrassed having that it happened. 

Now Simone's locked away with them, driving herself nuts in the silence between them as they both thought of the elephant in the room. She sat on the couch, they sat in Joyce's chair, and "Narcos" played on the TV as if they were paying any attention to it. She felt both comforted by their presence and uncomfortable all at once. 

"I'm getting to air." She announced, pulling herself to her feet. By that, she meant stepping out for a few cigarette drags. Marc paused the show as she put on her slip-on shoes. She wanted to protest his tagging along, wanted to tell him there was still plenty of daylight and she would only be right outside, but she knew what he would say. 

You think any of that'll stop Walton?

No, probably not. She answered in her head. 

They took the lift down and continued to stand silently, with the only sound being the machine whirling of the old rickety elevator. Marc had his thumbs tucked into his pockets, and Simone was rocking back and forth on her heels. He thought this would all go down differently and couldn't stop the shame of the apology bomb from creeping in. 

The elevator dinged to a stop, and the metal doors slid open to the hallway, where Simone started walking briskly across the treated concrete floor, and he followed at arm's length. She pushed open the heavy breezeway door and stopped far enough away from it to not feel bad for lighting the smoke she had brought out with her. 

It was her first one of the day, which made her feel good even if she felt Marc's eyes burning a hole in the side of her head. The fresh air did no good. Seemingly everywhere they went, the atmosphere felt heavy in her nostrils. She went in for a long, smokey inhale that comforted her momentarily before she released it. 

"I only have one left after this one. It'll be my last, I swear." She said, out of the blue and with a slight chuckle. Being outside made her feel like she could speak freely, though she felt dopey for that being her first comment. 

"How many times have you said that since picking it back up again?" Marc asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the stone wall behind them. Simone knew he had a point but didn't answer until she stepped forward and sat on the curb of the sidewalk they stood on. She immediately regretted this as the bumpy surface dug into the bit of buttock that her shorts left exposed, still sore from the night before.

"Too many." She replied with a slight sing-song tone. Now she felt his eyes burning holes in the back of her black shirt. This and the morning's apology and catch-up on her situation were the most they'd said to each other that didn't result in a fight or rough sex. Simone didn't think she had it in her to do either of those things today. 

Marc observed from behind as trails of smoke lingered away from her and into the gray-blue sky. All he wanted was to hold her, talk to her, and for her to talk back. He pictured sitting on the curb with her like when they waited for the school bus as kids and absentmindedly found himself on the pavement beside her. Simone stiffened at this, feeling like her body might unconsciously float closer to him like a magnet.

"If I ask you something, will you answer honestly?" Marc finally spoke up. Moni still refused to look directly at him but nodded the go-ahead. "Do you want me here right now?" He asked with slight hesitation. 

Yes! Simone thought to herself. Even if it's awkward, I want you to stay.

"I feel like no matter what my answer is, it won't affect your being here." She answered outwardly. A slight grin formed over his lips,

"It wouldn't, but I know you probably didn't plan on seeing us today. Not after-"

"Did you read the note?" Simone promptly cut him off, not allowing him to bring up the night before any further. She said her piece about the subject and accepted his apology. What they needed was to discuss what lay ahead. 

"No, and I'm not gonna read it because nothing will happen to you." He told her, fully believing it. Simone wasn't so sure.

"Just a bad feeling, is all." She spoke softer now, staring blankly at the cigarette as it burned to the butt. She didn't want it anymore but found ease in holding it. 

I miss you. She thought to herself. She couldn't bring the words to fall from her tongue. I miss you. I'm tired of being mad at you. 

Simone let the butt fall from her fingers and climbed to her feet, brushing pebbles and dust from her bare legs and buttocks before turning to find Marc also standing. They nearly bumped chests as she hadn't expected him to be there so quickly. Her eyes locked onto his briefly, and though it was too fleeting to call, it was long enough to cause the thought of kissing him to float through her mind. 

The fact that she felt like she couldn't or shouldn't kiss him caused the corners of her mouth to turn down as she brushed past him and through the metal doors again. An image clicked in her mind that told her there was nothing against him kissing her. It would be up to him. 

Marc pursued behind her as they got back into the elevator as quietly as before, brain scattered by thoughts of the pure electricity he felt when they looked at each other a beat before. There was an understanding there. There was no bitterness, lust, or anything that would lead them down the same path as usual, and for the first time since his bravery that morning, he wanted to overstep. 

The lift creaked and bellowed around them, and before Simone could spare a second thought, Marc had her turned around to him, and his lips folded into hers perfectly. It was a slow, soothing kiss where their noses brushed together. The kind of kiss you can feel them smile into. The type of kiss that said-

I miss you. I love you. I'm sorry.

It filled Simone with indescribable warmth and oxygen she felt she wasn't getting before. His hands caressed her back and pulled her closer as her arms wrapped around his neck. She was content, and the warmth grew as she sensed Marc relax his body into hers. 

"I'm not going anywhere. No more running away." Marc whispered through her lips. The promise vibrated on her tongue, and she knew he was being serious. It was everything she needed to hear from him, and it tasted like fresh honey. 

The moment was interrupted by the ding of the elevator stopping, and they let the tender affection linger between them as they slowly drew themselves away, admiring the glimmer that sat in their eyes. They stepped out of the metal box hand-in-hand and returned to Simone's apartment.

Not much else was said for the rest of the night before they curled up into bed together. They drifted off in each other's arms but didn't stay that way as Simone woke up at 3 AM on her stomach with Marc's bare back to her. She awoke to the thought of her missing patients again and, in turn, needed a dart. 

She grabbed her last smoke, lighter, and a pocket-sized cattle hot shot she kept and slipped her slip-on shoes back on before leaving the building. The air was significantly colder than earlier, making her wish she had covered her legs and put on a coat.

The night was mostly quiet as a few cars cruised by, and the light of the single lamppost on the other end of the parking lot illuminated her vision. Even though she knew she shouldn't have come out alone, she felt oddly safe. 

A thick plume of smoke floated from her lips, and her gaze focused on it as it disbursed before her. She swore it to be her last cigarette, so she would savor it. 

Without warning, the lampost ahead disappeared. Simone's eyesight filled with black, and the smoke smell trapped around her as heat covered her head and neck and arms tightly wrapped around her, forcing her elbows to her body. 

"The fuck!" She yelled as her feet no longer touched the ground. She began kicking and screaming, but there was no use. A loud thunk registered in her ears, and her screaming and moving ceased as her body fell limp. Her last thought was of how much of an idiot she was for coming outside and keeping her back exposed. 

Once Simone awoke, it took longer than usual to fully open her eyes and register her surroundings. It was utterly dark, nearly too dark for her sight to fully adjust. Humid and dank, the air smelled rotten and skunky. It was entirely too quiet for her to get a reading on where she was. 

Her head pounded, and the right side of her face felt moist down to her jaw. There was no movement in her limbs as she attempted to wiggle, realizing she was duct taped to a chair with several layers wrapped around her torso and ankles, yanking stray arm hairs as she moved.

She was nearly too petrified to scream, but by god, she let one rip that made her feel like she collapsed a lung and busted a vessel in her eye before a shadow emerged, landing a sharp smack across her left cheek. Her head relaxed to the side in response to the burning. 

"You must be quiet, doctor." The English accent pierced her ears before forcing her head forward again and placing a thick piece of duct tape over her lips. It was Walton. She knew that voice anywhere. Hot tears began streaming down her cheeks as she remembered what he did to his victims before he was locked up and realized she would no doubt meet the same fate. 

A filthy thumb came up to the right side of Simone's face and glided under her eyelid, catching the tears before they could roll down, and Simone jerked her head away at the feeling of the finger coming near her eyeball. 

Don't touch my fucking eyes! She thought and screamed through the tape over her mouth the best she could. It was fully muffled, pulling the peachfuzz on her lips every time she tried to move them. The more she heard the muted feedback, the more afraid she got. She began shaking and wiggling without thinking, feeling the chair shift under her and the tape around her arms tug and yank. It was no use. 

"You're getting rather annoying," Walton said. "Settle down." 

Simone didn't calm as her body flooded into full-blown panic. She knew she wasn't getting anywhere, but she could help it. 

Walton had no choice but to subdue her, which he did with a vicious punch as he did the first time, knocking her out cold.

"I'll be back later, doctor."

Marc didn't expect Moni to be out of bed when he woke up. He also didn't expect her to not be anywhere in the apartment, so he checked outside where she would smoke. She wasn't there either, and her BMW was still locked in her parking spot. 

Neither Marc nor Steven took this seriously at first, thinking it was a prank or maybe she went for a walk. They didn't want to believe she had been snatched up on their watch, but when they realized her purse and cell phone were still in the apartment, it was clear: 

Walton got her, and the empty cigarette pack told them how he did it.

Fuck, Moni, why'd you leave without waking us up? 

They sat staring at the folded note containing her instructions for if anything happened to her like it was cursed. They didn't want to read it for fear of it solidifying her disappearance in stone. 

"We promised, Marc." Steven spoke up, taking control and beginning to unfold the paper. Marc stopped him abruptly. 

"No. We can't. We have to find her."

"We will, but we should see if this gives us any ideas. We promised!" Steven argued. 

It felt like someone stuck a meat hook into Marc's heart and dragged it across the pavement. The pain was continuous and immense. He wanted to retreat but knew he couldn't. 

I have to figure this out. I have to find her. 

Cautiously, he watched Steven open the note and read it quietly. 

Boys:

I have a feeling something will happen to me, and if something does, please do as follows. 

Marc: the recording from our hypnosis session is on my phone. Listen to it as if I were there, focus, and try to talk to Jake that way. He has an information network and will likely be able to find Walton and, in turn, find me. DO NOT engage. He's dangerous. Get a lead, call the cops.

Steven: You may not want to hear this, but I could be dead right now. It's a possibility. You can mourn later. This isn't a final will and testament, but I withdrew every cent in my name and stuck it in a duffle bag in my closet. Use it, invest it, donate it, whatever. It's yours; don't give it back if I'm alive. 

Jake: Don't be so stubborn. They will need you more than you realize; the unfortunate cost will be their acceptance of Khonshu if you won't drop the bird. You can figure that out later. Right now, the only option is integrating and getting this bastard off the street before he hurts anyone else. Every file I have on Walton is in my trunk (don't tell anyone). Again, DO NOT engage.

If I'm found alive, and you ignore these instructions: I'm coming back swinging. At your face. 

If I'm dead: FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTIONS! And find my mom. Tell her I turned out alright. Lie if you have to. 

I love you, boys. Please be careful. 

-Simone, aka Moni.

Their eyes scanned the instances she tried to write in all capital letters to get the point across and how they still looked pretty and curly like the rest of the words. 

I'll follow your instructions, Moni, but I can't promise I won't kill the fucker when we find him.

[xenclev]

ℭ𝔥𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔞

𝑞'𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 — Angst. Male character, no direct character specified. I wrote this when I was in 10th grade, and I did not go back and check for grammatical errors. Sorry if you run into any. ♡

tw: self-loathing, depression, language, a sprinkle of salt

chi·me·ra: something that is hoped or wished for but in fact is illusory or impossible to achieve

Hello, you've reached my–

Sharing is caring, babe!

You've reached our voicemail. Say your message after the beep, please.

Another person?

Beep.

They had moved on so fast, yet he can't seem to believe they had left.

"Another person," he repeatedly thought.

He slumped on the floor, choking on the air lodged in his throat. The closing up of his airway to refrain from sobbing didn't help his case at all. He wondered how they could love someone simply because the person they loved weren't him.

He gathered the strength to force a coherent word out of his mouth. Tears stung his eyes, waiting to tip over the brim of his lower lash line.

He inhaled sharply, almost being strangled by the wild thump of his heart.

"I-"

This was his chance to tell them how much he missed them. The room spun as his heart rate inclined even more. Thoughts of how he'd explain how much he'd do anything to have them back ran through his mind.

If you are satisfied with your message, please hang-

He leaned his head backwards to rest it upon the wall behind him. He missed them. He wanted to know what they were doing. He wanted to know where they were. He needed to hold them in his arms again, to make contact with them. He needed to feel it.

He needed to feel loved.

"I can't remember the last time I felt good about what we have."

"What do you mean? We love each other."

"We? You love me. It's not like I tried to stray away from loving you. It just seemed to happen that way."

He jolted, finding himself in the same spot he was in the night before. His spine still alined vertically against the cold, cracked wall. There was a static sensation in his legs due to the position he had been in all night. He saw the dimness of the sky's glow penetrating through his livingroom window. The sun was just starting to rise.

Placing his palms against the fuzzy carpet, he pushed downwards to lift himself from the floor. The stiff tiredness of his legs made his knees buckle and awkwardly stumble to his feet. He set his journey off to his bedroom.

The ebony door creaked, ajaring as he pushed it to reveal the room. Hesitantly, he made his way over to the neatly tidied resting place. He plopped on his bed and traced the stitching of the duvet with his fingers. It seemed that it had been centuries before he decided to touch it again. He didn't like to sleep in his bedroom now. It often reminded him of the love of his life.

The room made him lonely.

He still felt weak. He was definitely not up for going to the office today. He'd probably call into work with an excuse for him to stay home, again.

He slowly rolled over on his side to pick up the phone. He tapped the phone icon and dialed the number of his work place.

After explaining why he wouldn't be attending work once again this week, the assistant just sighed, gave him a sympathetic "it's fine," and hung up.

He hated that. He hated pity. He hated all the whispers and stares he attracted once he stepped into a room. Most of all, he hated himself.

"You're saying that... that you don't love me anymore?"

"Honestly, I never did. I tried. I really did, but you're so dull. I could never love such a dull person."

"I'm so sorry. Wh- what can I do to make you love me? Please, please tell me."

"Nothing. I will never love you the same way you love me."

9:30 PM

"Damn..."

He slowly sat up, looking around his room that felt unfamiliar. He came to an agreement with himself that it wasn't his fault that he had ended up alone. However, he could never forgive himself for letting a precious jewel slip out of his grasp so easily.

He'll never let that happen again.

After being in such deep thought, he decided to take a shower. Oh boy, did he need one. He rose up from the bed, made his way towards his closet, and grabbed the things he needed for the process of showering.

Once he stepped in the bathroom, he looked in the mirror. His eyes were puffy and swollen from crying, but also sunken in from the lack of sleep he had gotten. All of the sorrow, doubt, and hate was carved onto his face. He looked weak. He was drained.

Repulsed by his own face, he turned away and walked over to the shower. He turned the knob to the hottest setting. If he wasn't able to achieve his hopes of dying, this man is about to feel the second hottest thing to hell.

The steam from the water was visible, yet he stuck his arm in the water to test it. His nerves hadn't received the heat of the nearly boiling water until a few seconds afterwards. As soon as his receptors indicated pain, sense knocked the hell out of his brain.

He quickly retracted his arm.

"What the fuck am I doing?"

He turned the knob back a few notches and tested the water again. This time, it was just right. He hopped in and tried to put some liquid soap in his hand.

"You can't be serious," the liquid base didn't come out of its bottle.

Unscrewing the cap from its coil, he looked inside to see the soap gunked to the bottom of the bottle.

"How long has it been since I've taken a fucking shower?"

He sighed in defeat. He didn't have any other option than to pour a little water in the bottle to loosen the base's particles up. When the liquid finally dispensed from the plastic bottle into his palm, he rubbed it into his matted, untamed locks.

Still cleansing his body, he closed his eyes and relaxed under the soothing warmth of the water. The thought that it was not his fault reapproached his mind. He couldn't force someone love him for who he was. Dull. He hated the word and how well it described his personality.

As he stepped out of the shower, he grabbed one of the towels that hung on the hanging rack. He took the cloth and ruffled his hair briefly before tying it around his waist. Maybe he was just the problem.

"I don't mean that I hate you, though."

"What do you mean then?"

"What I meant to say was, you aren't fit to be in a loving relationship."

"Relationships suck anyway," he mumbled while he roamed through the various shows Netflix has to offer.

He heard a soft grumble emanate from his stomach. How long has it been since he'd eaten a proper meal? Ten days? With an exasperated sigh, he headed over to the refrigerator. The door of the refrigerator only revealed a half eaten container of peanut butter and a jar of mayonnaise.

"Un-fucking-believable," he scoffed, "I guess I'm going to have to go grocery shopping."

He shut the refrigerator. Walking to the sink and filling up a glass with water, he looked over at the clock on the stove.

11:23 PM

He shrugged, grabbing the remote to resume the hunt for something to watch on Netflix. Each recommendation being something he had already watched, he finally decided on a psychological thriller. His stomach complained once again, but he knew it was too late to go to the store or order takeout. Sipping on his water, he sat there contemplating what he was going to do. Suddenly, he remembered that he had a box of cereal in the cupboard.

"I assume that's dinner."

© gyecm 2021. do not repost or modify.

[supersizemeplz]

A Single Prick

DarkMagic!T'Challa x Black PlusSized Reader

Another #supersizedfic random one shot. I listened to Nina Simone's I Put A Spell On You as I wrote, it's recommended I suppose. Enjoy!

Day quickly turned to night, the full moon rising above the small town of the southern city. The cool temperatures had found their way into the once heated air, forcing the ones enduring the change to dress a little heavier. You pulled your stylish leather jacket tighter, feeling the breeze send a chill through you. Though this season was your favorite, you enjoyed it better when you were inside the warmth of your home.

You walked to the rhythm of your heels, humming to the tune of some song that suddenly entered your head. As you approached the store front of a family owned café, the words of the song fell into place with your humming. Furrowing your arched brows, you slowed your steps as you approached the display window. A few people were inside, the door was closed, yet you heard Nina Simone's voice clear as day. I put a spell on you.

Through the large store window, there was a small girl in a yellow dress. Her heavy bows bounced her ponytails as she spun to the song, shaking her shoulders slowly to the music. You zoned out, watching her as she seemed to move in slow motion. She reminded you of a younger version.. of you.

"A beautiful song, is it not?" A voice as smooth as silk pulled you from your trance. Turning from the window, you spotted the handsome stranger as he rested coolly against the front of the building. You recognized him, seeing him a few times when you were out and about. You'd both would made eye contact once, but he'd disappear when you turned away. "Nina Simone. Her voice is so soothing and leaves one with a sense of peace. At least to me..."

He smiled, giving a flash of gold on the bottom of his gapped smile. Short coils adorned his head like a crown, his eyebrows thick and maintained. The sharp outline of his jaw was enticing, but what caught your eye were his eyes. One of his eyes were an icy blue that contrasted with the natural brown of his other, and when he noticed you admiring it he raised an eyebrow. His lips pulled into a smirk of amusement. Long story short, the man was oddly fine as hell up close.

His long fingers gripped his jacket before he adjusted it on his shoulders. You watched him  slip his hand into the expensive looking coat, catching sight of the silver clawed necklace he wore. "I've seen you around town a few times, and promised myself I'd give you a gift the next time I seen you. Just to break the ice.." Pulling his hand from the inside of his jacket, he held out a back rose with gold trimmed petals. "A pretty flower for a even prettier lady."

You were beautiful to him. With long legs and thick thighs to support you, he could admire you all day long. Nearly perfect. You were new to the small city he'd grown up in, no one knew anything of you. From what he'd taken in, you were always to yourself and didn't get out much. His research took a little longer than expected but now that he had his info he had to have you.

Anybody else and you would have declined his gift and kept it pushing, but something about him held you. So you ignored your paranoid ways of thinking. You accepted his gift, your hand brushing his he handed you the rose. "It's beautiful. Thank you, Sir." He smiled at your voice, licking his lips. With a short dismissive head shake, he told you to just call him T'Challa. "Thank you, T'Challa.. This makes today a bit better than it was going."

His eyebrows furrowed with concern. He straightened his posture, looking down at you. "Why would someone as pretty as yourself be so down?" Sighing, you looked down at the rose twirling between you fingers. It was your favorite flower. You brought the flower to your nose, taking a small sniff as a distraction. "Sorry if I'm being forward. Y/N. I don't mean to be. We don't have to discuss it." He cleared his throat, stepping back.

You shook your head. "No, it's fine. I just wish.." With an eye roll, you finally met his gaze. "I just wish that what others do wouldn't effect me so much. It'd be nice to not be able to feel anything negative.." You shrugged it off, averting eye contact once again. "But I should get going, T'Challa. I'll be fine with a little Netflix and ice cream.. Again, thanks for the rose. Maybe I'll see you around and we can hang out soon."

____

Locking the door behind you, you turned to the spaciousness of your apartment. It was finally starting to feel like home since the move in weeks before. Tossing your house keys into the bowl on the end table by the door, you exhaled. This was it. Home sweet home.

After fifteen minutes of eating leftovers, you were headed down the hall to your room. Your gifted rose in hand. The hardwood floor was cold against your bare feet until you hit the carpet of your bedroom. You approached your dresser, choosing clothes to sleep in. As you rummaged through the graphic tees, you couldn't help but think about T'Challa.

His velvety voice had caressed your soul, toyed with your hormones. The fullness of his lips and how good they looked when they spread into a smile. Those eyes of his were so enchanting. Something about him was addictive, yet you couldn't put your finger on it. It just made you yearn to be near him, to get to know him better. Soon definitely isn't soon enough.

"Shit." Just like that you were snatched back into reality. "I didn't even know it was a fucking thorn on the stem.." Dropping the flower onto your dresser, you examined your finger. A droplet of blood formed before dripping onto the dresser, tainting the beautiful petals of the rose. You'd tend to it after a shower. Sighing, you grabbed your clothes from the bed before disappearing into the bathroom. The dim glow of the blackened petals going unnoticed.

Your clothes pooled around your nude body before you stepped from the pile, the blood still oozing from your ugly cut. Soft music from Pandora played through the portable speaker on the bathroom counter, calming your thoughts as steamed filled the bright room. The glass door shut softly behind you as the water of the shower began its moisture massage.

Lathering the towel with soap, you began covering your body in suds. The unscented soap left a fresh scent wafting into the air, but something was different about. Almost like a faint cologne. You ignored the odd occurrence before slipping your soap into its box, stepping further under the water to rinse yourself. Just as you closed your eyes to enjoy the pointed streams, a shadow like passed the fogged glass. It was gone as fast as it came, but went unseen anyways.

Turning off the water and stepping from the shower, the instrumental of the song from earlier began. You glanced towards the speaker, raising an eyebrow. The song seems so popular today. Taking a deep breath, you shrugged the eerie feeling off.

You bent down to check the lower cabinets for your band-aids, pulling the Halloween themed box from the first aid kit. "I shouldn't need ointment, right?" Taking one from the box, you held up your finger to see that the cut was gone. Your eyebrows pushed together in confusion, staring at the healed digit.

"What the hell?" Smoothing your thumb over the skin, there wasn't a trace of the scar. You couldn't have imagined that. First it was dealing with messy people out to get you at work and now you were hallucinating. A nap was long over due.

Finally looking to the mirror, your heart stopped. Written in the fog of the mirror was soon isn't soon enough. Your lips parted to gasp, but they didn't budge. Bringing your trembling hands to your lips, your fingers grazed your lips. Sewn shut. Wiping an arm across the mirror to erase the fog, your eyes widened at the sight of dark thread laced neatly around your lips. Your muffled screams echoed through the bathroom as your eyes began to water from fear.

"Aww, now. Don't cry pretty girl.." That voice. You whipped around, holding your towel tighter around you. "There's no reason to be afraid, Kitten. The Shadowman is here to help." Himself, of course. T'Challa unfolded his arms, straightening from his previous leaned position on the door frame of the bathroom. He took a small step forward, and you backed further into the sink with a whimper.

"That there rose I gifted you, it has bonded us together. The scar you had was only a temporary thing, but that blood the rose took.." He grinned, flashing that lone gold tooth once again. What once made your heart flutter, now made it drop. "Has bonded us for life." You didn't realize the tears that fell as he spoke. His long finger wiped away an escaped tear before he brought it to his lips to taste its saltiness. A chuckle radiated from his chest as he licked his lips. "With a soul as sweet as yours, you could balance the chaos in my life."

His lips were inches from captured ones as he spoke. "I actually see something in you.." He rested his hands on your shoulders as he turned you back to the mirror. "See, Kitten. A man with my power gets what he wants.." His hands waved in front of the mirror and what appeared was a wedding scene. A dark one, at that.

Everyone was dressed in black, hints of dark purples were hidden in the vision. A bride and her groom stood at the altar, present before a wicked looking voodoo priestess. The groom was clearly T'Challa, that face was easy to recognize. But the bride. Her face was veiled in dark lace to hide her identity, a fitted dress just as dark adorned her body.

"And what I want is you. Now the only question is, will you give me your heart and soul willingly..." He snapped his fingers and the bride lifted her veil. It was you. You jumped back at the sight of your blacked out eyes, hitting against his brick wall of a chest. His chuckle chilled you to the core. "Or am I going to have to drain it from you, and leave your vessel to rot away.."

_________________

Taglist: @sisterwifeudaku @kumkaniudaku @loveandcigarillos @elaindeereads @wawakanda-btch @theunsweetenedtruth @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @unholyxcumbucket @purple-apricots @marvelpotterlove @madamslayyy @onyxvixen-writer @chaneajoyyy @disneysdarlingdiva @wakanda-inspired @justanotherloveaffair @cmonkillmonger @slimmiyagi @princesskillmonger

[existentialstatesofmind]

Opening Up

Clare: had read stories about the Japanese mafia claiming to be humanitarian groups that keep order in Japan. “I’m sure most of it is made up. But the mob knows how to fake running legitimate enterprises. They have office buildings, business cards, the whole works. It would be easy to get in over your head! Now I want to borrow a manga about that.” She laughed. “I guess that means boys aren’t allowed to take home ec at all? According to the paperwork Simpson handed out, it’s compulsory for girls.” She already had a feeling sexism and gender roles would need to be the topic of one of her articles. “How embarrassing. Don’t worry, I won’t take it personally and make Nastsumi feel worse.” Clare smiled at the thought of being ‘average’. “In that case, I’ll wait for Japan to buy new pants so they’ll be the right length for once.” She nodded. “I’m in no hurry and I can come back if you want me to since Emi has plans.” Clare offered. They were only going to spend a couple of hours at the mall. She kissed him again and again with more passion even though she wasn’t trying to change his mind. Soon as he stopped, Clare let go of him and blushed. “I wasn’t offering to buy lingerie. Just satin cami and shorts sets.” She expected him to sneak into her room for cuddles and making out. Nothing more. Clare smirked at Kota as she got into his car. “Why would I freak out? I didn’t even know who Yohio was. Still don’t really…” She trailed off uncertainly. Clare could’ve found out anything she wanted to know about him online but she didn’t feel comfortable violating his privacy. “Can’t be a model. A designer? Maybe an actress...West Drive’s studio isn’t far from here.” She guessed. Clare knew Murder Bunny was popular locally and in Japan, but she had no idea anyone famous would make a special trip to pick up dresses from Kota. When he helped her out and mentioned it again, she giggled. “I’m not going to embarrass you.” She still wasn’t taking his ‘warning’ seriously. So Clare had to bit down on her lip to suppress a scream when she saw who was waiting for him. She saw a picture on Instagram yesterday of Melanie Martinez’s latest split-dyed hair color, blue on the right side of her head and black on the left. The girl hugging Kota looked identical to the singer, she had the nose ring, tattoos, dark lipstick everything. Clare stared at the older girl as much as she could without breaking her promise. It couldn’t really be THE Melanie Martinez? Kota never let on he was on a first name basis with a big star. Not a single hint all the times they’d listened to her music. What if she’d said not today when he suggested giving her tour?! Clare knew what an endorsement from Melanie meant for MB and she didn’t want to act like a crazy fan so she only smiled at Melanie when he introduced them. “Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I relate to your songs so much, and I love the fairy tale elements like the big bad wolf being a metaphor for something much darker.”

Kota: looked at Clare when she mentioned the manga. "I can see if I can find some for you. I mainly read manga on an app called Manga Meow and most of them were recommended to me. Others just seemed interesting. Just watch what you ready because some are more twisted than others. I do read some dark and twisted ones, but there have been some that were too dark for me to read." he explained and looked at her. "No, but that's mainly our fault. We were invited to join in home ec when the calligraphy teacher was absent, but it didn't go too well. Tanakashi-san ate most of the batter Nakashimi was working on, some boys left in the middle saying it was boring. A few of the boys just slept allowing the girls to make the cookies from them and in the middle of the class Kodomo-san's oven caught fire so we were kicked out for our own good and we're not allowed. I wasn't able to go to the class since the teacher didn't know English and I didn't know Japanese at the time." he chuckled and smiled at her. "Thank you. Tanakashi-san accidentally sets off her anxiety, but at the same time he's helping her with it. They're dating and since they've started dating, she no longer locks herself in lockers and has become more outspoken." he assured. "But there are still some things she's afraid to say. She'll keep it in till the very end, yell it out, then bow as an apology for being loud." he laughed a bit and squeezed her hand when she mentioned buying pants in Japan. "The girls don't wear pants in Japan like ever. There are pants in some styles such as Visual Kei for girls." he laughed. "Sorry I imagined you in the pants and dressed in the Visual Kei style. Visual Kei style is their version of Goth only more dramatic in some aspects or like our Punk rock clothing. All black with chains and bondage belts on the pants, but not too many girls wear the pants even dressed in Visual Kei, they prefer skirts. Other than that your only option is skirts. In the winter girls wear cotton leggings with fleece on the inside." he explained. "I mean I did do an online poll to see how many girls would wear pants in Japan and only like 3 said they would out of millions of girls that took the poll so I'm not making MB pants for girls in Japan, but in some comments they said only Yankee's would wear pants. Yankee is an insult to a Japanese woman, but they'd call you a Yankee because you are, it's basically a term for people who live on this side of the country." he explained and smiled as she spoke. "Ok good because I plan on sneaking in your room once Emi goes to sleep. Also no one knows I'm a virgin in Japan, it's kind of like here. If people found out I'm a virgin I'd have girls offer to sleep with me and guys try to help get me laid. Not too many guys are virgins in Japan after 14 and if you are it's considered an anomaly." he explained. "Girls are the same in some aspects. Most girls lose their virginity at 15 and those that don't lie about it most of the time." he shrugged. "Girls and guys are on a similar level in that aspect." he added. When Clare spoke to Melanie, Kota suppressed a laugh and turned his head to the side away from Clare for a moment. "I'm happy to hear that, Kota did tell me you're a fan." she said and shook Clare's hand before moving beside Kota as they started walking. "So I made the dress with the shoes in mind." he said as she took the shoe box out of the bag and handed him the bag, then the lid holding the shoes in hand. "I love them." she smiled and hugged him again before walking again. "I figured you might." he chuckled. "Did you get a call from Johnny Depp yet?" Mel asked looking up at him. "Why would I get a call from Johnny Depp?" he asked curiously. "Because Johnny Depp was on Jimmy Falon and Jimmy asked for his most memorable fan experience. He told the story of how he met you and your cousin in the UK and how he lectured you both on the plane and called your parents." Melanie laughed. "Mel, that's not funny. To this day I'm still forbidden to get a debit card and I have to show my mom the inside of my wallet when I get home to prove I don't have an obscene amount of cash and it's the same with my brothers now. They kind of hate both of us for it." he explained. "Or they could be mad you came up with the idea first. Besides how does a child obtain enough money to afford two tickets to the UK, a nice hotel room, and food for the two weeks you were there?" she asked. "I cleaned out my bank account. And we would've stayed longer if Johnny didn't ask us about our parents. They didn't even realize we were missing either. Genre was staying at a friend's house and my twin was pretending to be me every now and then." he explained. "Well, he knows your full name since Jimmy saw the picture and said 'Oh that's Dakota Anderson he's the head of Murder Bunny.' and showed off a pair of MB socks he was wearing on his show saying how much he loves them. He also told everyone how he owns an MB jacket too. He has the black varsity one." she explained. "I should get my assistant to find his number and call him asking if he wants me to personalize it for him." he muttered. "Do it! He'll freak out you so need to do it while I'm here and on speaker phone." she exclaimed as they got to his office. "Later?" he asked. "Ok, do you want to go bowling after?" she asked. "I wouldn't mind, but Clare's going to the mall with her friend at some point today." he explained as he got her dresses. "You didn't tell me this on the phone." she said. "You asked if I'm free." he trailed. "Can Kota and I pick you up from the mall then?" Mel asked looking at Clare.