#creed 3 fanfiction

[chaneajoyyy]

CREED 3 FANFICTION

ADONIS CREED

sinner & saint series (ft. damian anderson)- @uzumaki-rebellion

DAMIAN ANDERSON

sinner & saint series (ft. adonis creed)- @uzumaki-rebellion

pink tax (handyman!damian)- @hearteyes-for-killmonger

underneath it all- @douceurrrr

ghost from the past series- @whorhees

the invisible string series (ft. erik stevens)- @essaysbyciara

***IF ANYONE HAS DAMIAN ANDERSON AND ADONIS CREED (CREED3) FICS HIT MY LINE!!!

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Soon come.."Sinner & Saint": Creed III Chapter 11

Summary:

Rocky's surprise return stirs up excitement at Donnie's retirement party, and Mary Anne confronts Dame in front of Athena dredging up old family drama.

[henneseyhoe]

Adonis being clingy with his wife and new baby.

Adonis x BLACK!FEM!reader

WARNINGS: postpartum depression mentions, other baby related stuff

SUMMARY: Adonis trying to be as helpful as he can, but the reader finds it a bit overwhelming while dealing with postpartum depression.

✮✮✮✮

“Pacifiers?”

“Check”

“Burping cloth?”

“Check”

“Bibs?”

“Check. Babe, we have everything. I promise” I chuckle, watching Adonis go through a list of baby necessities on his phone, while trying to calm the whining boy in his arms, the man being adamant on keeping everything where they need to be just for times like this when his son was irritated.

“We have diapers right?”

“Mhm”

“What about wipes?”

“Yes, all in the nursery, Donnie”

“Okay, good, good….you need anything? Thirsty?” He tucks his phone away, rocking the now resting baby in his arms.

“Mmm…water, maybe?” I shrug and he nods, rushing out of the room. He had been acting like this all day, running around the house like a chicken with its head cut off. I hadn’t even been home for two hours yet, just coming back from the hospitals secondary check up after a very unplanned home birth. The house was a mess from two days ago, my poor mother and brother being stressed out of their minds trying to deliver a baby that wasn’t supposed to be here just yet.

Luckily, him coming two weeks earlier didn’t matter and he was healthy as a horse. with the way he was screaming at the top of his lungs, you could tell that was a healthy baby. But, meanwhile I was pushing a 5 pound, big headed baby out of me, Adonis was scrambling to find a flight back to Cali so he could make it to the birth, which was unsuccessful. It took an entire day and some change to get back home, the man so disappointed in himself that he took a business trip so late in my 3rd trimester.

Though I told him to do it, he still felt bad, promising to never leave my side in circumstances like this ever again. The birth went smoothly even though it wasn’t expected, and as soon as Adonis landed, he was blowing up my phone with FaceTimes back to back. And he was completely serious with the ‘never leave your side” thing, cause he was on me like white on rice when he got home. Helping me to and from the bathroom, even though I could walk fine, supplying me with any kind of food or snack I asked for, diaper duty, which was the best perk, and massages.

He was showering me with all kinds of love and affection, but as fast as my high came from giving birth, the lows swooped in just as quick. The 6th day after birth came and postpartum depression came knocking. I was still functioning though. Not cause I wanted to, but because I had an infant now and had no time to dissect why I really felt the way I did.

As more days passed, I became more agitated with my circumstances and Adonis constant ‘bugging’. I knew it was from a place of love, but I needed rest before anything. I was just too cautious to tell him that, afraid I’d end up sounding like a bitch because I wanted a break from my husband for a few hours. Some women would have to beg their husbands to do what Adonis does, but I felt ungrateful because I didn’t have to, and quickly got tired of that because of emotions I couldn’t control.

✮✮✮✮

About three more days had gone by, and it had officially been a month since giving birth. My postpartum depression had subsided a bit, and I felt better about myself, but Adonis was the same, and so was my sleep schedule.

“…can I help you, sir?” I look over my shoulder, spotting my husband watching me intensely. The infant I had in my arms whines and mixes at the sudden movements, unlatching from my nipple for a moment before going right back to feasting. I was reclined in a couch placed in the nursery, praying to god that I could catch some Z’s.

“Huh?” He queries, still staring.

“You’ve been following me around the house like a lost puppy all day. Now you over my shoulder watching me nurse like I don’t know what I’m doing” I say, a bit agitated since I haven’t slept for more than a few hours everyday for the passed month.

“What? I know you know what you’re doing, baby” He completely ignores my other statement, his attention still drawn to my current ‘activity’. I blink at him for a prolonged second, then laughed, shaking my head. “Okay, well back up off my bumper, can you?” I suggest, waving him off with my hand. He sighs, leaning up and walking away. “Your daddy is a bit obsessed, don’t you think?” I look down at our son, his brown eyes fluttering closed as he begins to drift off into his fourth nap of the day.

I close my eyes too, relaxing.

‘Maybe I could sneak in a nap too’

just as I thought I was gonna have peace and quiet, I feel Adonis plop down right besides me, looking over my shoulder. I was in my right mind to lock him in a room now. I sigh, opening my eyes back up to the unpleasant sight of the sun shining through the baby blue curtains across from me. I’d rather see the inside of my eyelids. I was exhausted.

“…he looks like me, doesn’t he?” He pokes, smiling down at his new found pride and joy.

I slowly turn my head to the man, his face being so close to me that our noses touch. “Donnie…get outta my face” I mellowly warn him, ready to run him out of the nursery.

“I’m sorry! I’m just intrigued. I wasn’t there for when he came, I just wanna make that time back” I bite back a loud cackle for the sake of not scaring my son out of his cinnamon toned skin. Snorting, I cover my mouth.

Giving him a ‘be serious’ look with the tilt of my head, I uncover my mouth. “Donnie, please. It’s been almost five weeks since his birth, you came a day late, and it’s not your fault. Be happy you even found a flight that would get you back here so suddenly. Plus, you already made that 24 hours back, now you just being clingy” I say, pecking his lips twice. “It’s just a bit…overwhelming right now, that’s all,”

“I’m not saying it’s you, I’m not not really in a place to…ya know…be as social with you as I was before”

He nods, understanding. “And you know I love you, but sometimes I don’t need anything at all, just silence” Taking in everything I say, he doesn’t argue, understanding that maybe he was doing a little much on the waiting hand and foot, asking me questions at every movement I made.

He caresses my thigh, kissing my forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m really not trynna stress you, I just don’t wanna feel like I’m not doin’ enough, or want you to feel like I don’t care”

I smile. “It’s okay. Just tone it down a bit, okay? Next week I promise you can be as clingy with us as you want” he nods, starting to play with the little mitten that covered our sons hand. I knew he still wasn’t gonna leave any time soon yet, waiting for the baby to stop eating so he could hold him again. I just let him be. For now.

“Does it hurt?” He asks suddenly, and I shake my head. “Not really. It did for the first few times, but since he’s latching better, no”

“…he getting enough, right?”

I pause, my eyebrow raising at the man.

“Yes, my titties produce enough milk for our son. Any other questions, doc?” I ask with playful attitude.

He shakes his head, still looking. It was silent for a moment , only the sounds of summer rain tapping against the window and swallowing followed by shallow sighs from the infant being heard. That was until I decided to put my boob up and replace my nipple with his favorite paci since he had fallen asleep, remembering the doctor told me not to feed him while he’s not awake, considering my milk supply was fine and he gets full fast.

Yet, that still doesn’t stop my husband from breathing down my neck, attempting to reach for him, which I dodge by brushing him off with my shoulder.

Taking a breath, I glare at him. “What, Adonis? You wanna feed him?”

His eyes glimmer with excitement as he smiles, perking up at the simple question. “I can? Yeah” he asks before quickly answering.

“Grow some titties then” I pat his chest then stood to my feet, now attempting to burp the resting baby.

[reemonna]

HI! Love ur blog. Can I req some nsfw headcanons for Connor Kenway? ;)

Oh dear, this is the first time for me to write a whole nsfw blog and I'm so anxious about it, especially if it's about Connor. I hope I won't disappoint and thank you so much!

!!! (Warning: NSFW / not for minors / +18 content) !!!

NSFW Ratonhnhaké:ton / Connor Kenway headcanons

(During the events of AC3)

In spite of his terrifying physique and alarming gazes when he's hunting down an enemy, he can be the softest and most caring creature you'll ever get to know when it comes to him having a physical contact with you

He's so strong and able-bodied, so he can pin you to the wall with both his arms easily and you're here squirming before his huge body

When you're giving him head for the first time he'd be really concerned and anxious the whole time that you might choke. He's fully aware he is that huge

Him having kinks? I don't think so. He's an innocent boy, it's even possible for him not knowing what does the word 'kink' stand for in the first place. He could even ask you about it

"Nó:ronhkwe (love), what does the word 'kink' mean?"

"Where did you hear that from?"

But if he did have kinks, they would be the least risky and hurtful ones. Which means BDSM is a conclusive no for him

Connor is a busy man, he doesn't really have the time to have sexual and romantic relationships, he was once afraid he couldn't give his woman what she deserves. So having you would be his first. Yes, that means he is a virgin

Thus explain why he's shy and probably doesn't know what he's doing in your first time together. But he's a fast learner, with very observant eyes and sharp senses, he will take some mental notes of how to improve and get better by the time. And he definitely does

He's pretty skilled with his hands, according to training and using different weapons and managing them perfectly, so he really knows how to use them well, and he's ready to show you that in other ways than fighting, to play you like a violin, turning you into a sobbing mess

During the whole thing he will ask you some questions from time to time like 'Are you okay with this?', 'Am I doing good?', 'Do you want me to stop?' to let you know that he's wary and willing to make it as comfortable and pleasurable for you as possible

You wouldn't imagine what it's like to do it with him when he's mad about something. He turns into one brutal beast you won't be able to feel your body for a week at least

Once he's done and returns back to his senses, he will regret it immediately and keep on apologising (even if you're not really protesting), making sure you weren't badly hurt

When you're both close enough, he likes to play chasing games with you, tag for an example. He likes watching you from afar, determining your location with his secondary vision, licking his lips and eyeing you in a predatory way, closing the distance between you slowly like a vulture hunting down its prey. That's until he surprises you with a full-of-happiness giggle and hugs you. Holding you tight in a teddy bear way as if he's won his prize, whispering promises of a long blissful night to your ears

He looks like a sculpted statue of a greek god after reaching his climax. With his tired handsome face, pumped lips (more than they actually are), sleepy beautiful half-closed eyes, flushed tanned skin, tiny whines escaping his lips from time to time, sculpted flawless body and a rising and lowering sweaty chest. If he's conscious enough he would have a little wanton smirk on his lips with his eyes fixed upon you

He's the sweetest boy when it comes to the aftercare. He gives away lots of kisses and cuddles, asking you if he did well enough, could even prepare a bath for you to get cleaned up. He doesn't let you make the least effort possible. He takes care of everything himself until he finally lays beside you in bed, pulling you into his lap, fondling your hair tresses and kissing your forehead softly, wishing you sweet dreams

[punishereditz]

Playing Dirty

Pairing: Adonis Creed x f!reader

Warnings: 18 plus only! Minors DNI! DO NOT COPY! Boxing. Play fighting. (No one gets hurt) Smut. Semi-public sex. Unprotected sex. P in V. Fingering. Dirty talk. Praise kink. Size kink. Lots of teasing.

AN: This is a request post for @bqtmanz I hope that you enjoy this!

Summary: Don decides to take training a step further.

~

It was late, but Adonis didn't care. He ran outside in the Philly streets anyway. He couldn't sleep, he had too much on his mind and he knew he wouldn't get any sort of rest until he blew off some steam.

He ran past the gym, and quickly came to a stop, backing up, seeing that the lock wasn't on the door. He looked around before he tugged at the door. It slowly opening. He looked around once more before he made his way up the stairs.

"Unc? You here?" He called out but there was no response. He called for all the others, but once again, no response. He got to the top of the stairs, the sound of one of the bags being punched filling the quiet gym. Then you quickly came into view. You were letting lose into one of the bags. Small grunts coming from you with each punch. Sweat dripping from your body.

He tried getting your attention, calling your name, but you were in your own little world. You had your headphones on, listening to your music, not being able to hear a thing. Having no clue he was there and that he was making his way closer to you.

He stood by you, chuckling at your obliviousness. He gently placed his hand on your shoulder. You jumped back, and before you could think, you swung at him, but he quickly dodged it. You blinked a few times, realizing it was Don, you slide your headphones off.

"Wow, it's just me. You trying to knock me out here?" His smile was wide.

"You can't sneak up on me like that." You panted. Resting your hands on your hips. Looking into his doe eyes. He looked around the empty gym, then back to you. His eyes ghosting over your figure.

"What are you doing here? Where's everyone else?" He asked.

"Everyone's done left. I asked if it was okay if I trained for a little longer and they said it was fine as long as I did all the closing up work." You explained.

He nodded, wetting his lips with his tongue. "Rough day?" He said curiously. He knows by the way you were punching the bag that something was wrong.

"That's an understatement. And you? Rough day?"

"Yeah, something like that."

You nodded. "Come on." You nudged his shoulder as you walked by. Going up to the ring and climbing in.

"We seriously doing this?" He gestured to you. A grin tugging at his lips.

"We seriously are. I ain't got all night. You want to train, or not?" You rested your arms against the rope. Smiling down at him. You put your mouthpiece in.

He didn't waste another second. He went and got his gloves, putting them on, smiling to himself the entire time. He got into the ring with you, putting his mouthpiece in. Stretching his arms, he looked deep into your eyes as he did so.

"I'll make sure to go easy on you." You laughed at him. Shaking your head.

"I wouldn't be stressing about that if I was you." You both begin to move in circle. Looking into his eyes, you knew he wasn't going to throw the first punch. So, you lifted your hands, throwing him your right hand and he moved out of the way.

"You really going to hit me sweetheart?" His voice was all teasing as he came to a stop. Looking down at you, there was a challenge in his eyes. Like he was just daring you to hit him. A look like he didn't really believe you would actually do it. But you do, you hit him right in the jaw while he is distracted by you. You chuckle at his shocked expression.

"Alright, alright, I see how it is." Don takes a step back. His lips curling up into a grin, not being able to hide it. His eyes are carefully watching your body. How your arms are flexing. Your breast lightly bouncing with each step you take.

He will happily admit that he is distracted by you. He could care less about training at this moment. He just wants to see that smile from you when you get pleased with yourself. The way you tilt your head at him. The way you move your body. The way you grunt. He loves to see you get determined about something. See how stubborn you get, and see you get all frustrated when something isn't working.

He is memorized by you. How your hair swings with each punch you dodge form him. How your body flows and sways. Moving perfectly along with him. It's a dance, and the both of you are doing each move effortlessly. It's elegant in its own way. It's intimate. With each punch and kick, the tension grows stronger between the two of you.

He lays a punch on your jaw, and you smile at him. "Is that the best you can do?" Your smile grows impossibly wider.

He tilts his head down. This darkness growing in his eyes that makes shivers run down your spine. Before you can even blink, he swops behind you, grabbing your arms and pinning them above your head. Your body pressed to his. He leans his head down, his lips a mere inch away from your neck. His hot heavy breath against your skin.

You squirm against him. Trying to escape, but his grasp on you is too tight. He chuckles in your ear before he lets go of your arms, shoving you against the ropes. His hand slapping your ass.

You lean against the ropes, taking a deep breath. You turn to see him smiling wildly at you. Entertained with himself. You shake your head, walking back up to him.

You try to kick him, but he grabs your leg before it can make contact with his side. He grabs your other leg, lifting you up in his arms. He slams you down on the floor. Laughing at the surprised look on your face.

"What? I thought you were into playing dirty." He hums, winking at you. Your surprised expression quickly changing to a pleased look as you sweep his leg out from under him. Moving him under you. You pin his hands by each side of his head. Smirking down at him.

"I am." His eyes begin to soften as he looked up at you. A look of lust in them. That playful smile dropping. His lips parted; he took his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes looking from your eyes down to your lips. You moved your head down. Hovering your lips over his, but not touching.

He leaned his head up to close the space between the two of you, but you pulled back. Only letting your lips hover. You let go of his hands, and they immediately went down to your hips. You brought your hands up, taking your gloves off as quickly as you could and spitting your mouthpiece. He quickly followed behind you. Doing the same. He leaned up once again, his hand going to the back of your neck. Pulling you down to his lips.

You moaned against his mouth. Shocked at just how soft his lips were against yours. You grinded your hips, making him pull away. Cursing under his breath, he let his head fall back. He pushed you down on his hips. Making you grind farther down on his cock that is throbbing. He attacked your neck. Placing kisses all over you. Occasionally biting at your skin. His hands moved up your body. Holding your breast in his hands. Squeezing them. A moan slipping from your lips, but he quickly cut you off. Crashing his lips on yours. His hands slide from your breast down to the band of your sprots bra. He tugged at it, and you raised your arms. Allowing him to slide it off of you. His eyes instantly going down to your exposed skin.

"Shit, you're so beautiful." He groaned. You kissed him again. Your hands moving over his muscled arms. Over his biceps and down to his forearms. Then up to his chest. Working your way down until you were gripping the hem of his shirt. He lifted his body up so you could take it off. Throwing it to the side. Your hands went back to his smooth skin. Your hands exploring over his abs.

He laced his hands in your leggings, "May I?" You nodded frantically and he lowly chuckled at your neediness. He slipped them off, throwing them over his head. His hands slowly moved up your legs, stopping at your thighs.

He placed a finger in the band of your panties. He pulled it back, letting it go. Making it snap against your skin. You gasped. Your hands flying up to his broad shoulders for support. He pushed your underwear to the side, dipping his fingers into you. His finger starting to tease your clit.

"Your soaked baby." He mumbled. His fingers traveling down to your entrance, pushing his fingers in. You were unable to hold back your moan, your grip on his shoulder tightening to the point your knuckles were turning white.

He had your head spinning, and had you overwhelmed. Giving you more pleasure than you could ever give yourself. His long thick fingers being able to reach that spot deep in you that makes your stomach turn and your eyes roll to the back of your head. And he curls them up perfectly. Teasing that spot over and over. Pulling you closer to the edge. Your orgasm coming up on you so quickly, it's almost embarrassing.

But you don't really care. When his thumb sneaks up to your clit and starts rubbing it, you clench your walls tightly around him. Moaning his name, your back arching. You grind your hips down on his hand and he lets you. He kisses your jaw. Whispering praises in your ear.

"That's it, baby. Look at you, trying to take what you want. Go ahead. Take it sweetheart. It's yours to have. You gonna come for me pretty girl? Hm?" He whispered the filthy words in your ear. His fingers working faster.

"Oh, yes!" You moaned his name over and over as your climax washed over. As if it was the only word you knew. He helped you down from your high. Not removing his fingers until your breathing started to slow back down and your body started to relax.

He brought his fingers up to his mouth. Looking into your eyes as he sucked all the cum off of his fingers. You swear, looking down at him, it was the hottest thing you have ever seen. But he didn't give you much time to think. His arms wrapped around your waist. Standing to his full height. He sat you down, his lips going to you hungrily. As if he has been starved. He pulled your underwear down. Stuffing them in the pocket of his sweatpants. He then hastily took his own pants off. His hands going to the back of your thighs. Laying you back down. He propped himself up on top of you. His mouth going to your chest. Bitting and licking at your nipples as he took his cock in his hand. Pumping it.

He kissed down your stomach. Making sure to not leave an inch of your skin untouched. He leaned back up over you. Smashing his lips on yours. He grabbed your legs. Pulling them up and on his waist. He took his cock and lined it up with your entrance. Guiding it in. Slowly pushing his long thick cock in.

You whimpered. Your walls clenching to him once he bottomed out inside of you. He stayed still, resting his forehead in your neck. Giving you time to adjust to him before he slowly pulled back. Thrusting back into you. He slowly fucked you. One of his hands squeezing your breast. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he rested his forehead against yours.

You moved your feet to his ass. Pushing him so that he would thrust into you deeper. He got the idea and started to pick up his speed. Starting to pound into you, and it took all your strength to not come already.

He was significantly bigger than you. He was taller than you, and his body was wide. He made you look tiny, but yet he fit so perfectly on top of you. He fit so perfectly in you. He stretched you out immaculately. He touched you as if he already had a hundred times, he touched you in all the right places and in all the right ways. His lips felt as light as a feather as he peaked kisses on your forehead, your nose, temple, cheeks, lips. Every part of your face he could get to. The way he touched your body, the way he whispered praises in your ear, it had your second climax built up in no time.

And his? He is just as on the edge as you. His climax has been building all night. Your walls clenching around him, your hand on the back of his head, moaning his name, it all overwhelms him in the best possible way. It keeps pushing him further.

"Uh, I'm so close baby." He grunted into your ear. You bucked your hips up, moving your hips in time with his and it takes everything in him to keep from spilling over.

"Come for me baby." You did. You soaked his cock. Your second orgasm hitting you even harder than the first one. Your climax sent him into his, and he filled you to the brim with his come.

"Good girl." He placed lazy kisses over your skin. You grabbed his chin, tilting his head up so that you could kiss him. He slowly pulled out of you. Both of you moaning. He rolled to his side. Laying by you. He interlaced his fingers in yours. Bringing your hand up and kissing the back of it.

"I think you should start training me more often."

"Yeah, I think so to."

[americahasasuperstar]

Bake ‘Em A Cake

She couldn’t believe that she had to deal with yet another nosey neighbor. She had just got used to Bianca blasting music at all times of the night without a care in the world, and it was like God wanted to give her yet another challenge to deal with.

Bianca told her that the new neighbor they had came to her and told her to turn her music down. From the seems of it, he seemed to have enough sense to not be disruptive to the people in their small, very thin wall having, apartment building. She was wrong though. She could hear thump after thump above her as she tried to get some sleep for her next shift in 8 hours.

“Hello!”

She didn’t care if she was being a bitch by banging so loudly on his door when she could’ve easily been a normal person and knocked regularly. She kept pounding as hard as she could until the door finally open, and revealed something she did not expect. Her eyes widened slightly as she looked up and down at the man in front of her that was sweaty and shirtless and fine as fuck. She could’ve sworn she felt her heart skip a few beats but she quickly composed herself when she realized what had made her get out of the comfort of her bed and make her way to the floor above her.

“Can I help you?” He asked her. A bit of an attitude she heard. Fuck did he have an attitude for?

Nyla scoffed as she pushed past him, walking into his very empty apartment. “Your loud ass thumping ass footsteps are keeping me awake.” She told him, tossing him a mean look over her shoulder.

“Come on in I guess.” He muttered.

Nyla looked around the apartment, only seeing a couch and a small tv. No pictures. No decorations. No accent furniture. God, it lacked so much furniture that it made Nyla want to puke. She turned around to look at the man, looking him to and down which allowed her to realize that the apartment did fit him. He didn’t seem like the type to go all out. Still made it an ugly apartment though. Or maybe she was just judging too much.

“This isn’t what people mean by minimalism, just so you know.” She stated, taking it upon herself to sit down on the couch.

He closed the door behind her, walking over to her on the couch. “Can I help you with something?” He wondered. He didn’t seem to mind that much that a complete stranger had walked into his home without a care in the world.

“I don’t know if you’re tap dancing, or doing the cha-cha slide, or just being a dickhead up here… but you’re being loud.” Nyla told him.

“Oh my fault, I didn’t realize.” He said.

“Yeah, everything’s thin in this apartment. Including my patience.” Nyla snarked, standing up from the couch.

He stared at her as she stared right back at him. Though, their stares seemed to be holding two different emotions. Hers being one of irritation and anger while his was more of… a lust filled stare. Then she realized why he had that stare as he looked at her. Nyla looked down in

horror when she realized that she had come up to this strange man’s apartment with nothing covering her upper body but a tight tank top that really did her boobs a favor. Like damn, they really looked good if she did say so herself. But that wasn’t the point. Nyla crossed her arms as she took a step forward.

“I’m Donnie.”

“Your real name?” Nyla scoffed.

“Donnie ain’t real enough for you?” He asked.

Nyla sighed as she stared at her nails out of boredom. “Donovan? Donald? Stop me when I’m getting closer.” She said.

“Adonis.”

“Way cuter than anything I said.” Nyla hummed. “I’m Nyla Gaines; your very generous neighbor.” She said.

“Generous?” Adonis asked, raising an eyebrow as he chuckled.

“I’m not cursing your ass out for waking me up. Twice. Take that as nothing but generosity.” Nyla told him.

“I’m grateful for it.” Adonis said.

“Wise choice.”

Nyla brushed past him, making eye contact the entire time, as she walked towards the door, stopping when he touched her arm. “You right below me?”

“Apartment B7. Which is exactly why I could hear your footsteps jumping around.” She told him

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Adonis nodded.

“Mhm. See you around Adonis.” Nyla said. “Welcome to Philly by the way.”

“How you know I’m not from here?” Adonis asked her.

Nyla snorted as she opened the door, giving him a look over her shoulder as she said, “I know everything boo.”

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

“I was so mean last night, Bi. I don’t like myself when I’m tired.” Nyla said, shaking her head in disbelief.

Nyla had a mini self crisis as she stood in her best friend, Bianca’s, apartment. She had woken up, fully rested after Adonis listened to what she had told him, and felt bad for the way that she handled his nosiness. She didn’t like being mean. It made her feel all… icky. So as a way to apologize for being an asshole, she had rushed to make Adonis a cake so he could have something to eat for the next few nights. Because he surely didn’t have much besides cereal in that wack ass apartment— totally not her judging though.

“He woke you up twice and you had work. If anything, I’m sure you weren’t mean enough.” Bianca scoffed.

“I know, I know, but still, I feel bad. Being a bitch isn’t the best first impression.” Nyla stated, carefully scraping the excess icing off of the cake.

Bianca looked at her friend as she walked into the kitchen, amusement written all over her face. “So… you’re made him a cake?” She asked.

“Duh ho!” Nyla said. “You think he’s home?” She wondered.

“He ain’t got no life from what I can tell. Just to the gym and back.” Bianca shrugged.

“Great!” Nyla chirped. “Cause it’s done and I need to have him like me immediately.”

“Why do you even care?”

“Everyone in this building likes me, and I can’t risk losing that achievement.” Nyla said as if it was obvious.

“You worry too much, girl.” Bianca chuckled.

“And you don’t worry enough.” Nyla remarked. “Now wish me luck.”

“Wear a condom.” Bianca said, waving her hand dismissively as she walked back to her piano.

Nyla snorted as she scooped up the cake pan in her hands, shaking her head in amusement. “Oh my God, you’re sick in the head.”

Nyla walked out of Bianca’s apartment, heading up to the floor that Adonis lived on. She really did hope he was home. It would be a waste of her time if he wasn’t, and she hated wasting her time. Thankfully though, when she knocked on his door— very gently compared to how she did the night before— he opened it almost instantly. Clearly he wasn’t doing nothing much with his time. Not that she was judging him for not having a job or anything. Totally not.

“Adonis.”

Adonis smirked as he took in Nyla’s appearance. He didn’t expect to see her at his apartment door again, especially if he wasn’t making any noise, but he wasn’t upset by the pleasant surprise. She looked good. Extremely good. Better than she did when he first saw her. She looked way more put together in the middle of the day than she did at 1 am. He would’ve been fine admiring her forever, like he was planing to, if she didn’t clear her throat to get his attention saying. He smacked himself mentally when he realized that he was staring, realizing that he probably seemed like some creepy ass dude.

“Nyla Gaines.” Adonis said, nodding at her.

A sort of her felt special that he remembered her last name as well, but then again, it was only last night. “About last night—“

“You cool,” Adonis said. She could see a ghost of a smile creeping onto his face as he looked at her cake. “That for me?” He asked her.

“Hope you like chocolate.” Nyla grinned, holding it out for him to take.

“Who don’t like chocolate?” Adonis scoffed.

Nyla snorted as he took the pan from her. “I knew I liked something you.” She smirked.

She turned around, prepared to head back to her apartment now that she apologized for her wrongs. But his voice stopped her before she could even take a step.

“Where you think you going?” He asked her, beckoning her over to him when she turned to look at him. “Come on in.”

[thou-babbling-brook]

Sanctuary

AO3

Rating: T

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Relationship(s): Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad/Maria Thorpe

Word Count: 6344

Tags: Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Maria Thorpe, Al Mualim, Original Characters, Assassin's Creed I, Masyaf, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Crusades, Implied Happy Ending

Summary: After stumbling upon a small caravanserai during a narrow escape, Maria has questions about Altaïr's past - particularly, his defining scar.

This fic is based on some of @nebulacrum's thoughts and headcanons about Altaïr's relationship with Al Mualim, along with his lip scar.

You can click here to see @ramshackledtrickster's accompanying pieces!

I hope you guys enjoy!!!

“Baba, we have customers!”

Fahmi glanced up from his ledger, brow furrowed and eyes squinted as the setting sun squeezed through the cracks in the sandstone walls. His son bounced before him while gesturing wildly to the door. His words blended together with the constant ringing present in Fahmi’s ears. Setting his hands against the desk, he rose, groaning as the aches in his joints cried in protest.

“Ameen,” he murmured, hunched as he shuffled to the gnarled wooden door, sand seeping onto the floorboards as the evening gusts of wind swept the hot sand inside. Maryam wiped her hands on her tattered apron before laying them on Ameen’s shoulders. 

“Come, it is late, and your father is tired,” she whispered, kissing her son’s head while guiding him away from the door. Fahmi nodded his thanks, shuffling to the window and shielding his eyes from the golden glare of the sun as it sank into the horizon. 

“But Mama!” Ameen protested. Maryam shushed him, her words inaudible as she and her son walked through the narrow doorway. Fahmi groaned as he reached down to the floor. Grabbing a few wooden panels, he straightened his back and placed them against the open window. His wrinkled hands trembled with each movement. Each knuckle ached as he flexed his hands and flattened his palms against the wood.

A resounding thud against the door disturbed the sand and dirt gathered by the entrance. Squinting, Fahmi poked an eye through the minuscule cracks in the wood panels. Two camels knelt before the water trough. Their backs were still covered with blankets and saddles. Yet, aside from the rushing winds of sand, the quiet hissing of nearby snakes, and the low chuffs of the camels, Fahmi found no sign of visitors.

Ameen rushed to his side, much to the protest of his mother as he tugged at his father’s robes. “I told you!”

Fahmi quieted the child, hobbling to the door as he pressed his ear against the wood. Another resounding set of knocks, this one more desperate than the first, echoed in the sandstone room. Broken Arabic shattered the silence. A woman, her voice high and exhausted, shouted through the door. Her accent was foreign, reminding them of the soldiers that had marched through the desert not long ago. Maryam tightened her hold on Ameen, pressing him against her front with wide eyes.

Maryam turned to her husband. “We were not expecting any caravans for another week.”

“I know,”  he replied, voice barely above a whisper. Ameen curled against his mother as the pounding continued.

The voice begged and pleaded behind the door. Her pronunciations were muddled and awkward, but the desperation caused Fahmi to move his knobby hand. Slowly, he unlatched the door, prying it open enough to peer an eye through the crack. Immediately, he gasped, hobbling back and slamming open the door. The voice (a Frankish woman, it seemed. Though, it was nearly impossible to differentiate between their accents) was not alone. The pale woman stumbled forward, thanking Fahmi in her jumbled Arabic while Maryam covered her mouth.

“Help,” the woman pleaded, her eyes wide as she looked at her companion. Arm slung over her shoulder, a hooded man collapsed against the woman’s frame. An arrow stuck from his side, covered in gore. His linen robes were coated in dark liquids, sand, and dirt, a few notable slashes still seeping blood into the cloth. Maryam rushed to his side, shouting over her shoulder for Ameen to grab freshly drawn bandages, wine, and washcloths. The boy scrambled backward before turning and sprinting through the doorway. Fahmi knelt before the strangers, eyes darting to his wife as they shared a fleeting, anxious look.

“What has happened?!” Fahmi demanded, still breathless as Ameen returned, arms full of supplies as he tripped and stumbled into Maryam. The foreign woman could only stare with furrowed brows in return, her eyes jerking over Fahmi’s face.

“Mercenaries,” the wounded companion spat. It was clear that he was from the region. If not, a traveler passing through to his home. His face remained hidden beneath his cowl, eyes toward the ground while Maryam gestured for the woman to help her. The two laid the man on his back, flat against the cool floorboard. With the glaring sun hidden behind vast mounds of sand, Fahmi reached for two candles, placing them by his wife’s feet once they were lit. “We barely escaped.”

“God has willed it,” Maryam praised. Ameen sat awkwardly by his father’s side, face growing pale as Maryam and the strange woman attempted to treat the man’s wounds. Fahmi laid his hand on Ameen’s back, rubbing it soothingly. 

“Ready a room for them,” Fahmi instructed his son. “They will need somewhere to rest if he survives, God willing.” Ameen nodded and rushed off down the side corridor. In the meanwhile, Fahmi came to his wife’s side, his hands laying on the strange man’s stomach while Maryam surveyed the entrance wound. 

“It is shallow, praise be,” Maryam explained. The man grimaced, clenching his jaw and nodding. He turned his face to the woman, trading Arabic for a language Fahmi could not quite identify. French? German? It had been so long since he had served in the sultan’s army. He could not recall the languages of their adversaries. The woman shouted frantically back, to which the man turned to Fahmi and Maryam.

“Can you pull it out?” the man asked through gritted teeth. Maryam and Fahmi exchanged glances. 

“It would be unwise.”

“I did not ask if it would be wise. I asked if you could.”

The foreign woman seemed to understand enough of their conversation to slap his shoulder, grasping his chin and forcing him to look at her. She shouted again, her voice choking while her eyes glistened. The man squeezed her forearm, groaning and murmuring something that managed to calm her enough for him to return his attention back to Fahmi.

“You were a soldier. Have you dealt with this before?” the man asked.

“How can you tell?” Fahmi redirected. 

“You avoid resting on your knees.”

“You are right, but I have not seen this in decades.”

The man hissed as Maryam accidentally brushed her hand against the arrow. “Please, sir. My… my wife can help, but I will not be able to translate while you pull it out. I need someone with experience to help your wife.”

Fahmi, for the sake of the man, ignored his own, visceral reaction to such information that the strangers were married. Instead, he nodded, motioning for the woman to join him and Maryam by the arrow. Maryam handed the woman a cloth damp with wine, offering a weak smile as Fahmi placed his hand on the man’s stomach and the end of the arrow.

There was a silence before the man’s screams echoed off the sandstone walls, Fahmi quickly ripping the arrow out of the man’s body. The foreign woman slammed her hands down against his side, the damp cloth preventing blood from pouring out. While the woman kept pressure on the wound, Fahmi helped Maryam wrap the bandages around the arrow wound. They bound the cloth snugly around the man’s muscular torso, then turned their attention to the other slashes on his body. To the mysterious man’s credit, his screams only lasted as long as it took for the arrow to come out. Instead, he huffed through his nose, turning on his side and retching as nausea struck him all at once. His wife stroked his hair beneath his cowl, shushing him in their shared language until he fainted from the pain.  

“We need to examine his body for more wounds,” Maryam explained. She turned to the man’s wife, hesitating before gesturing to her own eyes, then the rest of the man’s body. It was enough for the foreign woman to understand as she crawled to the other side of the man, raising his robes high enough on his chest to view his other wounds. The trio worked diligently, trading supplies as they wrapped the wounded man’s body. 

“How is his face?” Fahmi wondered. He pointed to his own face, and the foreign woman nodded in understanding. However, she paused at the cowl still covering her husband’s head, as though debating whether to look. Her brows knit while her lips formed a pout. Maryam scooted closer, offering to help. The woman hesitated, but finally gestured for Maryam to continue. Fahmi thought nothing of it until Maryam gasped. 

“My God! What happened to him?!” she demanded. Fahmi hurried to her side while the woman tilted her head, squinting her eyes. His eyes widened at the scar adorning the man’s chapped lips. A man younger than what his eldest son would be now, God rest his soul. He laid his fingers against the scarred tissue, twisted and stretched from his chin to his cheekbone. A scar several years old, yet poked and prodded at judging by the abnormal healing.

“God help him,” Fahmi murmured, bowing his head and murmuring a prayer. “This is no sword slash.”

“And these are no normal wounds. Who is this man?” Maryam replied quietly. She raised the cowl once more. The man’s wife glanced between the two with a puzzled expression. Ameen returned with the commotion now ended, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot by the corridor.

“The room is made, Baba,” he spoke. Fahmi nodded, groaning as his knees protested as he stood. The foreign woman stood alongside him, glancing between him and Ameen.

“Room,” Fahmi spoke to the woman, gesturing to his son. “He will take you to your room.” He spoke slowly, overly annunciating his words. The woman nodded along, reaching inside her pockets. She handed him a heavy bag of coins. When Fahmi poked inside, his eyes widened. It was nearly a month’s revenue inside the bag. He protested, shaking his head and shoving the bag back into her hands.

“Too much,” he protested. The woman chuckled tiredly, laying it on the desk regardless of his protests. She knelt down to her husband, slinging his arm around her shoulder and heaving him onto her back. Her muscles strained beneath her tunic and trousers. Fahmi had to admit his astonishment at the woman’s strength, knowing he would be of little help. Regardless, he did loop the man’s other arm around his own shoulder, helping the woman carry her husband to their room. Together, they laid the man down on the bed. Maryam laid a fresh set of bandages, linen cloths, and a bottle of wine by the bed.

“For the wounds,” she explained. The woman nodded, eyes downcast to her husband.

Ameen scampered forward, offering a small bucket. “He might be sick,” he mumbled, cheeks flushed with color. The foreign woman managed a smile, mustering her best Arabic as she murmured her thanks. Fahmi and Maryam bowed their heads in respect, ushering Ameen out of the room and closing the door behind them. The couple shared fearful looks.

Just what kind of man had arrived at their doorstep? Worse – who had this man angered that dared mutilate his face before God?

.~.~.

“I have questions.”

Altaïr retched into the bucket, coughing and sputtering while nausea overcame him. He gagged, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before turning to Maria. “Right now?”

“Yes, but I will give you the courtesy of finishing,” Maria decided, scooting closer to the Assassin. Her palm rubbed his back as he heaved. 

“How kind,” Altaïr muttered.

“I rather thought so.”

Altaïr heaved into the bucket again. This time, Maria slid her hands to Altaïr’s chest, holding him up while he kept the bucket close to his frame. Freshly changed bandages demonstrated that Altaïr’s wounds were healing appropriately, but they did little to dissuade the nausea. She laid her cheek against his toned back. 

“You called me your wife.”

Altaïr panted, setting the bucket down by the bed. “What?”

“Your wife. You called me your wife when you spoke to the couple,” Maria murmured. 

Altaïr said nothing. He laid back against the pillows, eyes closed as he steadied his breathing. Maria propped her elbow on the pillow next to him, cheek resting on her palm.

“You were a fool for taking that arrow to your side,” she chastised. 

“You would have done the same for me,” Altaïr replied. His eyes remained shut, brows furrowed as beads of sweat cascaded down his face and chest, his robes long abandoned as they sat folded neatly in a nearby chair. The sweating was good, Maria reminded herself, though it was harder and harder to do so with how pale her companion was becoming.

“It does not make you any less a fool,” Maria murmured. She laid her hand on his chest, fingers splayed over his torso. Altaïr laid his hand over hers, his heart thumping against her palm. 

“I thought you had questions,” Altaïr whispered. He opened an eye, peering down at Maria. She hummed.

“I do. You ignored my first one,” Maria replied.

“It was not a question.”

Maria huffed, pushing on Altaïr’s chest. “Fine. Why did you call me your wife?”

“To avoid suspicion.”

“You could have called me your sister.”

Altaïr paused. “Would you have preferred as such?”

Maria pursed her lips. After a moment, she answered. “No.”

“Then I see no reason for concern,” Altaïr responded tersely. He grimaced as he shifted on the bed, holding his side. Maria sat up, easing Altaïr into a more comfortable position.

“I did not mind it,” Maria clarified. “You know I did not. I… I was just curious.”

Altaïr nodded, though Maria could not tell if he agreed. She fidgeted next to her friend, eyes falling to his lips. His familiar, plump lips, marked by his most defining feature. She leaned forward, reaching up to his lips and pressing her fingertips against his scar. Altaïr stilled. She could feel his body tense under her simple touch.

“They seemed horrified when they saw this,” Maria explained. “I did not understand why. They spoke too fast.” She repeated the few Arabic words she remembered, but they felt clunky and heavy on her tongue. Altaïr’s lips parted slightly, dry and chapped from their journey through the arid dunes. He avoided her eyes, tilting his face to the side as he reached for the goblet of water.

“Your Arabic is improving,” Altaïr complimented. 

Maria frowned. “You are avoiding the question.”

“You did not ask a question.”

“You know damn well what I meant.”

Altaïr shot her a look. Maria gulped. Yet, she held her chin high, too proud to back down from her words now. “I thought your scar was a battle wound, like mine. The man seemed to think otherwise.”

“It is, in its own way,” Altaïr muttered.

Maria laid her hand on Altaïr’s cheek, turning his face toward hers. She studied his scar, eyes narrowed as her fingers returned to trace the sensitive flesh. His upper lip split into his scar, providing a small slit into his mouth and exposing a sliver of his teeth and gums. It was barely noticeable from afar, and rarely had any man reached Altaïr’s face long enough to observe how his scar melded into his face. But for Maria, it had been the first feature she noticed, the cool metal of his hidden blade nicking her throat while she sneered. Admittedly, it had terrified her upon their first meeting. No man’s lips should form such a gruesome tear, after all. She was surprised it took the older couple so long to notice it. 

Maria was no doctor, but she had experienced more agonizing pains and wounds than the average man could dream of. The scar marked just above her left eyebrow proved it, nicked by a Saracen sword in a battle alongside Richard I. For years, Maria wore such a wound with honor. It was her first permanent scar since she had traded a wedding ring for a sword. A sign that no man, nor woman, could confine her. An affront to the English nobility that once trapped her. Such scars were not becoming of a woman, so Maria puffed her chest and bore hers with pride. Her scar was not a trap, but an escape from desirability as she wandered to the ends of the Earth. Her scars were gnarled and twisted and deep, but they had healed.

Altaïr’s most prominent scar differed in this regard. It was gnarled and twisted and deep like her own, but the flesh had not healed as hers had. Her eyebrow scar healed over a decade ago. Altaïr’s lip scar looked nearly as old, but the flesh had not healed. Not until recently, at least. The outer edges of his scar were light, contrasting against his deep tan and dark hair. The edges were fully healed. His lower lip and chin had been spared as well, the scar a faint pale against his skin. But whereas these areas were faint and light, the rest of the scar remained an irritated red. Not infected, but irritated, as though prodded at constantly. The dark shade of his upper lip failed to conceal the redness of his scar. Only in the last month or so had it begun to heal, slowly fading into a pinkish red.

Even as Maria trailed her fingers along his scar, Altaïr sat eerily still. Too still, as though he was bracing for impact. His jaw was clenched. His biceps tensed as Maria moved closer, her face lingering by his. She guided her fingertips to his jaw, brushing her thumb against his jawline. 

“You should shave,” Maria hummed, eyes glancing up. “Your face is growing scraggly.”

Altaïr cocked a brow. “Is that a question?”

Maria shook her head and pursed her lips, brows raised. “No. A suggestion.”

Altaïr stared at her. Those piercing, golden eyes that made even Maria shift under his gaze. She remained so close, barely a breath away from his lips. The puff of air from his nose as he exhaled tickled her own. 

“I can do it for you,” Maria suggested.

Altaïr almost smiled. “This feels like a demand rather than a suggestion.”

Maria rolled her eyes, huffing as she stood and walked to their things. Searching his bag, Maria located a small razor amongst his barren things. Throughout their time together, he always packed lightly. Truth be told, she was surprised he even possessed a razor. She returned to the bed, guiding Altaïr to sit up further with a candle in hand. She set the candle down on the bedside table, then unsheathed his razor. Carefully, Maria raised the blade to the Assassin’s jaw and scraped away a few wrily strands of curly, dark hair. 

“No water?” Altaïr asked.

“You will be fine,” Maria remarked, eyes focused on her work as she brought the blade closer to her thumb. “Besides, it is a trim. I rather like your facial hair. You should let it grow out.”

It did not escape Maria’s notice how Altaïr tensed at her words. For his sake, Maria paid it no mind and continued her work, trimming his coarse hair. A moment of comfortable silence passed, interrupted only by the scraping of the razor against Altaïr’s sharp jaw and the snoring of their camels just outside the minuscule caravanserai. Much to Maria’s surprise, it was Altaïr who broke the silence. 

“You said they were shocked to see my face?” Altaïr spoke. His words were uncharacteristically soft.

Maria frowned. “Not your face, your scar.”

“Is it not one and the same?”

Maria stopped in her tracks. She leaned back, narrowing her eyes as she tracked Altaïr’s movements. His golden gaze avoided hers, cast down upon the scratchy sheets. His lips were parted ever so slightly, Maria watching as he quickly swiped his tongue over them. Her eyes flicked to his hands, which lay awkwardly in his lap. Once again, his body was tense, muscles straining and breath shallow.

“What makes you say that?” Maria questioned, tone harsher than intended.

Altaïr’s throat bobbed as he shifted his gaze back to hers. “What makes you ask?”

“No, no,” Maria argued, setting the razor down against the bed. “We are not starting this. Altaïr, what makes you say that?”

There was a long pause. In the past, Maria would have dropped the subject entirely, writing it off as some sort of Assassin trick to dig into the deepest pits of her heart and mind. Now, however, Maria held her chin high as she forced Altaïr to keep her gaze, her heart thumping against her chest.

“How did the scar upon your brow form?” Altaïr asked. 

Maria closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. “Altaïr, I am not going to–”

“Do you want to know or not?” He snapped. Maria’s brow furrowed, and Altaïr quickly cleared his throat. He repeated his question, his voice much softer and weaker than before.

Maria stared incredulously, but ultimately decided to play along. “My first battle. One of Salāh ad-Dīn’s men slashed my brow.”

Altaïr nodded. “Were you shamed for it?”

Maria shrugged. “A few soldiers from my infantry joked here and there, but no.” She squinted her eyes and furrowed her brow. “What are you getting at?”

“In Islam,” Altaïr explained, “it is believed God places all of our senses and beauty into our faces. It is why Muslims avoid striking the face.”

Maria scoffed. “My scar begs to differ.” 

Altaïr did not laugh, though she did see the corners of his lips tug up in a phantom smile. “It is taboo to do so. It can leave the face… disfigured,” he explained. “It is not so easy to conceal as a scar on one’s arm or leg.”

Maria’s expression fell. She hesitated before she finally asked her burning question. “Where did you get your scar?”

“Who do you think?” Altaïr all but answered.

Maria should not have been surprised. She only knew of Altaïr’s master through his stories and his codex (Maria could not help it – his journal had been left wide open). Despite Altaïr’s almost nostalgic tone toward a man who had betrayed him time and time again, each story left a sour taste upon her tongue. Now, her tongue tasted bile and copper in disgust. 

“How old were you?” she demanded, her words eerily still. Her blood boiled. 

“Old enough to know better,” Altaïr replied, quiet. 

“Horseshit. How old were you?” 

“Thirteen winters.”

Maria stood from the bed, pacing back and forth by the side. “You were a boy. A boy!” She rustled her dark locks from their meticulously braided bun as she grasped and tugged at her hair.

“I knew better than to speak out of turn,” Altaïr replied, his voice raised almost defensively. “I owed everything to him. My progress, my training, my life. He cared for me, in some twisted way, after my father’s death.”

Maria flocked to his side, kneeling before him on the bed as she cupped his cheek. Her thumb grazed over his scar. She tried not to gag imagining a small boy, voice yet to crack, begging the one guardian in his life for mercy. Apologizing desperately for words that should not have offended an allegedly wise leader so greatly. 

“That is one thing,” she managed once her voice was composed enough. “But it should be healed. It should be healed by now. For God’s sake, Altaïr, you are twenty-seven! Why is it only now healing?!”

Altaïr caught his lip between his teeth. “I have never been good at staying my tongue. I needed reminders.” His jaw clenched as his throat bobbed. Maria nearly choked as he spoke. “If I would not close my mouth, he would pry it closed for me.”

Maria stared. What else were she to do? She stood, pinching the bridge of her nose while Altaïr silently stared – no, glared – down at his own hands. 

“Your master would mutilate you before God,” Maria murmured, her head spinning, “and you would defend him?”

“He was an ordinary man,” Altaïr replied softly, “in control of illusions.”

“This is no illusion, Altaïr.”

“I know.”

Maria tossed her hands in the air before setting them on her head, pacing once more. She inhaled, standing and placing her hands on her hips. She gestured to Altaïr, speechless as she attempted to form words on her heavy tongue. “For thirteen years, Al Mualim slit and prodded your mouth to silence you, on top of his manipulation. As a boy, I understand your hesitance, but you never once fought back?”

Altaïr stood, hand clasping his side while he straightened his back. Maria took a step back, eyes wide but jaw tensed. “How do you fight a man who thinks himself God?” he questioned with narrowed eyes. “What would I have gained? Where would I have gone?” Altaïr winced and sat back down, eyes cast down shamefully. Maria sighed, sitting next to him on the sheets.

“Assassins are not always required to hide their faces,” Altaïr confessed quietly. He tenderly rubbed his stub of a ring finger, thumb brushing over the seared and scarred skin. “Most lower their hoods in Masyaf if they are not patrolling. There is no reason to hide amongst brothers.”

“And you?” Maria dared ask.

Altaïr shook his head, running a hand through his coarse curls. “I was no brother. I was his personal weapon.” His throat bobbed, and Maria tore her face away when she noticed his golden eyes begin to glisten in the flickering candlelight. “He created me. He could mold me into whatever he pleased. He could slice and strike my face. He could shave my beard and treat me not just as a boy, but a dog. He could isolate me. He could tear my name from me and make me the son of no one, loved by nobody. He could do whatever he pleased.” He turned to Maria, voice wavering as he spoke. “Where would I have run to? Who would I have hidden behind that would not whisper my arrogance to Al Mualim?”

There was silence as both Altaïr and Maria turned to stare at the cracked sandstone before them. “My face was unsightly, he told me,” Altaïr whispered. “Disrespectful, even.” He bent forward, elbows digging into his knees while he craned his head and rubbed his eyes. “Better kept hidden beneath a cowl, even in the arms of my brothers.” Altaïr swallowed. “He was correct.”

“No,” Maria opposed. “Your scar is not unsightly. It is not disgusting, or disrespectful, or anything that blabbering fool would have you believe. Your face is not unsightly. You are not unsightly.”

Altaïr chuckled, though it nearly sounded like a sob. “You do not have to lie, Maria.”

“I am not!” Maria all but shouted, coming in front of Altaïr and bending her knees slightly, stopping when she was level with him.

“I am nothing.”

“You are everything,” she pleaded. Maria cupped each of his cheeks, thumbs brushing the heavy, dark bags beneath his kohl-covered eyes. “You are kind and good and curious and wise and beautiful.”

It was Altaïr’s turn to scoff. “Beautiful? I hoped in our time together, you would have some respect for me, even if minute.”

Maria bit back an argument. Instead, she reached for his hands, squatting on the ground while she squeezed them. “You are not some ‘ugly, old Assassin’ beneath your hood,” she murmured, briefly lowering her voice and swapping her accent to mimic his words from Cyprus. Once she had seen his face in Cyprus for the first time, she had thought he was joking during their initial meeting with his Cypriot allies. Now, staring into his piercing eyes, Maria’s heart shattered knowing he had truly not lied. At least, he did not believe so.

She held his hand to her lips and kissed each knuckle. “You are so beautiful. Strikingly so. In fact, it is embarrassing to admit,” she managed a soft laugh. “You are not some broken, shattered weapon. You are the Mentor of the Assassins. You are a scholar. You are a man. You are Altaïr. And Altaïr is more than enough.” 

Altaïr was quiet. Maria did not press for an answer. His tear-stained cheeks, illuminated by the candlelight, were enough to signal the power of her words. Her heart pounded as she imagined the utter agony one man could carry. Maria had little autonomy under Robert’s control amongst the Templars, but Altaïr had possessed none under Al Mualim since the age of eleven. His name was stripped from him. His masculinity was torn away in favor of a boy to manipulate. His face was mutilated simply because Al Mualim could. To be at the mercy of a man with none, who believed himself worthy of the powers of God… Maria choked back her tears, instead burying her face in his hands and kissing each palm. 

“Altaïr,” she murmured, gazing up into his tearful eyes, “you are everything to me.” She cupped his cheek, ignoring her own hot tears as she smiled solemnly. “You have given me a fresh start. You have given me compassion, wisdom, love.” She swallowed a sob, standing before repositioning herself on the bed. Altaïr still said nothing, his eyes simply following Maria with every movement.

“Please,” Maria begged softly. She cupped her hands around Altaïr’s. “We are more than the instruments people would craft us to be.” Shuffling forward, Maria laid his hands over her heart, her own hands keeping them flat against her chest. “You are Altaïr. I am Maria. That is all we need be.”

Maria could not recall what resulted in Altaïr’s lips melding perfectly against her own. Perhaps it was the thump of her heartbeat. Perhaps it was their matching tears and snotty noses. Perhaps it was Altaïr’s released anguish. Or perhaps, it was merely Altaïr distracting himself from his nausea. Whatever the case, Maria gladly opened her mouth, finding Altaïr’s mouth absolutely delectable as her fingers combed through his curly locks. It was not the first time their lips had met so fervently. It was not even the first time their lips had met with so much love. But it was the first time their lips had met so unencumbered. There was no hesitance as Altaïr deepened their kiss, no weariness behind his lips. Nothing but relief and love and catharsis.

Eyes fluttering, Maria dug her fingers into Altaïr’s coarse hair. The warmth of their breaths mingled with each kiss. She sank her teeth into Altaïr’s lower lip, tugging it and slipping her tongue into his mouth. All the while, Altaïr pressed fervently in return, deepening their kiss as he tugged her forward. Maria’s head spun as her lips lingered by Altaïr’s long after they parted for air. His breath was hot and ragged on her cool skin. She tilted her head up, squinting her eyes as she analyzed his face. Tears stained his sharp cheeks. His eyes were red and puffy. Even with his mouth shut, Maria could see his teeth and gums through the exposed sliver of his scar.

Maria cupped both of his cheeks, her thumbs swiping the stray tears from his skin. She watched as his eyes crinkled and his lips tugged into an awkward hint of a smile. His curved nose, slightly crooked from Maria’s boot to his face only a few months prior, bounced the candlelight off his face. The flickering light highlighted his strong, sharp cheekbones. His eyes, a piercing swirl of gold and amber, were only emphasized by the kohl beneath them. Every inch and crevice of his face captivated her. The longer she stared, the more he strained against her palms as if tugging away from the attention. Tears welled in his eyes as her hold left him utterly exposed. But she could not let him tear away. His dark curls and his striking gaze and his full lips and his winding scar and his scruffy beard and his tan skin enchanted her very being. 

She had never seen anything so beautiful in her life. 

“Say something,” Altaïr croaked.

Maria did not. Instead, she leaned forward, peppering gentle kisses to his scar. Maria was careful not to irritate the slit in his upper lip any more than it already was. Rather, she gingerly trailed her velvet lips up along his scar, leaving small caresses along the trail. His facial hair – not quite a beard, but not quite stubble – tickled her cheeks. She smiled. 

“My first demand as your wife,” Maria murmured between kisses to his scar, “is that you must grow your beard out. I am fond of it.”

The world spun still with her words. Beneath her gentle touch, Maria could feel Altaïr’s body stiffen. “What?”

“Oh honestly, Altaïr, you cannot just stop listening to me immediately!” Maria huffed. “You have to wait at least a year.”

“I do not understand.” His voice shook – perhaps from nausea, perhaps from nerves, or perhaps from both.  Maria laid a hand on his bandaged chest. His heart threatened to thump out onto the floor. She grinned.

“We have been like this for many months,” she explained. “Stumbling around our feelings like some prepubescent children. One might think us virgins the way we stammer about.”

“Aside from insulting our maturity,” Altaïr spoke, his face contorted in confusion, “I am assuming you have a point to this.”

Maria waved her hand in dismissal. “Hush, let me get there.” The Englishwoman grasped Altaïr’s hands in her own, her thumbs stroking his calloused palms. “But tonight… something… it is difficult to explain.” She inhaled and squeezed his hands. Her pale, cerulean eyes met his amber stare. “I love you. I think you and I know that intimately by now. But it was not until tonight, with the mercenaries, the arrow, your scar… that I understood the extent of my love.”

Altaïr furrowed his brow. “I still do not understand. Why now?”

“Because for the first time,” Maria breathed, “I thought I would lose you.”

“This is not my first arrow. This is not even our first battle.”

“No, but I have never seen you so injured or ill. I have never seen you, the great Altaïr, retching over a bucket with bandages covering your entire torso.”

“If you do not make a point soon, I fear you may again.”

Cautiously, Maria handed Altaïr the water-filled chalice, waiting until he had drunk his fill to continue. Her throat swelled with tears as she gulped down her pride. “You have been so truly and utterly vulnerable tonight. You have shared with me the deepest parts of your pain. You have let me care for you and stay by your side.” She smiled through her tears, rolling her eyes as she wiped a few away and scoffed at herself. “Oh good God, this is humiliating.”

Altaïr managed a smile. A true smile. Not the phantom of a smile, or a mildly amused look. A small, bright smile that tugged his lips into his cheeks and formed a pair of dimples. Good God, Maria had never even noticed that before, and the revelation was not aiding her poor attempt at an explanation. “No, it is not,” he assured quietly. It was his turn to cup her pale cheeks. He swiped a tear from her eye, then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Maria inhaled sharply, praying that God would not see her break into some weeping wildflower.

Mustering the courage and dignity that remained, Maria tightened her jaw and stared up at Altaïr. “I would walk with you to the ends of time, Altaïr. To our glory, to our doom, I do not care. As long as I walk beside you and chastise you for your foolish decisions to put yourself in front of arrows for the rest of my life, I will be content.”

Altaïr hesitated. “How can you make such a decision so hastily?”

Maria laughed. “My life is nothing but hasty decisions, Assassin.” She crawled beside him from the edge of the bed, wiggling by his side to find a more comfortable position. “But this is not one of them.”

Altaïr laid his head against the creaking headboard, closing his eyes. “So, you have decided that you are my wife now? I have no say in the matter?”

“Is that a question?”

“Maria.”

“No,” Maria answered plainly. “Not yet. But I will be.”

“What makes you so sure?” Altaïr taunted.

“I am a stubborn woman. You are a hot-tempered man. One will wear the other down eventually,” she teased.

“What if I said no?”

“You would not have called me your wife, then.”

Altaïr grinned. “That is true.” He opened his eyes and turned toward Maria, who quickly shot out her hand to ease the pain in his side. “Then you will need to learn more Arabic. It was horrendous before.”

Maria feigned a gasp. “You said I was improving!”

“Both can be true,” Altaïr countered.

“Fine. Next time, I will leave you to die amongst the vipers and vultures in the dunes.”

“You would not.”

“I will stab the arrow back into your side, Altaïr.”

“Now that, you would do.”

The two glared at one another, squinting their eyes and puffing their chests, until finally, Altaïr began to gag. Maria swooped for the bucket, lifting it to her lover’s face before he heaved into it. He murmured apologies, but Maria merely shushed him, her fingers stroking his curly hair. 

“You are still a fool for taking that arrow,” she reminded.

“You still would do the same,” Altaïr grumbled, panting into the bucket before wiping his mouth and gulping down what water remained inside the goblet. Maria kissed the top of his head, grabbing the nearest rag and wiping the beads of sweat from his face.

“You are not a weapon, Altaïr,” she reminded, careful as she dabbed around his scar. “You are a man. You do not need to earn my love or any other through reckless acts. You are a man, and that is enough.” 

Altaïr nodded, and Maria prayed he believed her.

[daughterofthequeen]

Minors go away until you’re 18+

•Ratonhnhaké:ton(Connor) is a headboard grabber nobody can convince me otherwise, and if you disagree we have a problem.

•And also his whimpers and his moans are a higher pitch(higher for him🤷‍♀️) than you think they are(note how I said ‘a higher pitch’ not ‘high pitched’ there’s a difference guys) ESPECIALLY in the first few times he does it(it being 🥵)like I’m convinced the reader walks him through it and softly doms him because it’s his first time and keeps him calm and relaxed OR if it’s both of their first time then reader most likely will be the one reassuring him but if reader is a100% sub then he would definitely step up and be the reassuring one. And I can see him being in slight shock at how great it feels and how the pleasure’s more intense than he thought it was going to be, like it totally catches him off guard.

•And don’t even get me started on him being a pleaser especially when he gets the hang of it 😏, along with being a gentle dom himself.

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

Welcome to the 12 Days of Christmas countdown to Christmas Day. Here's our final post of the night!!!! Hope you guys enjoyed the kickoff.

*sigh* I just love this season.

Pink Tax

Damien comes to cash in on what his old friend still owes him and when he doesn't get it, he requests something else.

Tags: Damian Anderson, lil tiny bit of smut, Handyman!Damian

It was a week before Christmas.

Damien responded to the Evans' call for a handyman. He showed up in a warm long sleeve, beanie, jeans, and work boots, holding a tool box to work on a slow draining sink.

"Oh," the Mrs greeted him, hanging onto the front door as he stood waiting on the strep.

"Good afternoon Miss, I'm the handyman you called."

She looked him up and down openly before allowing him in. It was clear Mr. Evans wasn't in. She watched his gait and ogled him waiting for him to walk ahead so she could see the view from the back, but Damian waited for her to lead the way.

"Uh, yeah. This is the sink that needs to be unclogged," she directed him to the main hall bathroom upstairs. He sat his toolbox on the floor tile and laid on his back under the sink while she stood by watching him clean the hairballs from the p trap and the rot from the pop-up drain. Every now and then he'd look and make eye contact.

"How is it going," she squatted thighs wide revealing that she ain't have no panties on.

Damien took a full glance and continued the work he was doing. He wiped his hands on his towel and tested the water in the sink. It drained immediately. "It shouldn't give you any problems. Who's paying, you or your husband?"

"He's not here," her bold fingers slid down his bicep as she stepped directly into his space, looking from his chest, to his strong shoulders, Adam's apple, to his eyes that were watching her back closely.

"..When you expecting him?"

"Not for another half hour.. if you wanna wait," she teased. Her hand slid down to his stomach and to the top of his jeans onto his button and zipper.

He stood still simply watching as she knelt and walked the zipper down, her eyes remaining on his until his jeans slid down to his calves. Her eye contact dropped to his dick in his black briefs, his toned beep brown thighs. He watched her peel the briefs down and look back up at him as she held his half-erect dick in her hand, stroking it slowly and firmly like it was turning her on.

She licked with attitude up the length of his shaft enveloping the first inch and sucking the head with a pop before she grinned licking back down to his balls.

He raised the hem of his shirt giving her a glimpse of his deep cut abs while she continued to suck him, hard and rhythmically, her head swirling with noises that reminded him of a washing machine. She hummed in excitement as she pulled back to see all her spit glistening on his length that was still hardening. She stood up to brace herself on the wall and bend over but Damian tossed her chest over the sink and pushed her head down onto the counter as he went under her short dress to fuck her with her palms pressed into the mirror. He lifted her head by fisting and pulling her hair so she could watch herself get fucked hard by a stranger.

Her mouth hung open, her eyes wild as she took all he was dishing. She moaned and cussed while he bit his lip and grunted in her ear, smacking her ass hard and gripping her neck, moving her like a ragdoll. He could tell she liked it a little rough as he tossed her around the bathroom, picking her up and bouncing her on his dick with her back on the wall. He sat her her on the closed toilet and pulled her head into his pelvis for her to clean her mess from his dick and suck it clean.

He grunted as he skeeted on her face and neck, getting only some into her open mouth. No words were needed, he tapped her cheek harder and harder until she turned her head letting him know to dial it back a step in intensity. She never stopped sucking and moaning until he pushed her off and put her over the sink once more with her knee on the counter to fuck her from behind. He channeled his energy into smacking her ass as he drove his dick into her raw.

They both heard the front door close suddenly and the jingle of keys. Mrs. Evans climbed up quickly and looked at Damian before fixing herself up speedily and leaving the bathroom to greet her husband as if nothing had happened. His dick was still on her breath. Her juices were still on her thighs. The bathroom had the smell of sex.

Damien listened into their conversation. She was telling her husband that the handyman was finishing up so Damien pulled up his pants and readjusted his work drip, lingering in the halls and visiting their bedroom in search of jewelry and money.. just long enough to corroborate her story. He stored the money, watches, and rings he found in his toolbox and sauntered out to where the couple stood talking.

Mr. Evans turned and in seconds his stance went from relaxed to defensive.

"Sup," Damien nodded. "I'd ask how you've been holding up, but by the looks of this place I'd say pretty good," he stopped short a few feet away.

"Damian. When you get out?"

"Lucky. You don't sound happy to see me," Damian smiled watching Lucky Evans sweat. "And after I did you yet another solid," he gestured back, then to Mrs. Evans. "Your wife has been very.. should I say hospitable?"

That comment rocked both Lucky and his wife. Damien took a deep inhale and looked around. "Half of this shit is mine."

"How you figure?"

Damien threw a look as if it were obvious and took a seat on the leather couch in the living room waiting for Lucky to sit on the opposite couch, facing him. Lucky owed a hefty debt. It was the with the money he borrowed and never paid back that he was able to afford the house and the maintenance of his new woman. Damien waved his fingers rushing Lucky to settle. They needed to talk.

"I'm here because you owe me money.. and I want it plus interest for you making me wait."

"Well I ain't got it," Lucky admitted. He had some, but that was his savings and without it he'd be wiped out. Damien sighed expected those words.

"I'm not leaving here empty handed." He put his gun on the table and Lucky leaned back, staring at it. "Now Lucky, I don't wanna have to leave you as a mess for your pretty wife over there to clean up," he smiled at the woman who was in a different room watching them. He waved and looked back to Lucky, his smile dropping. "Like I said, it's a nice house.."

"I can get you the money," Lucky said quickly. Damian smiled once more.

"That's what I like to hear. Unfortunately.. I think you a liar so I'm good on that.. I want this house.. and your wife," he stared watching the seriousness sink into Lucky's face. "Oh yeah, I'm coming for everything. Don't worry," he smirked. "You can get another house.. You can get another bitch... but you only have one life."

Now that Damian was out of prison, it was time to pay up and he didn't fuck around which Lucky knew all too well. Damien had people and Damien had bodies. Lucky had escaped him for a decade but the past finally caught up.

Lucky agreed that he would turn over the house which was paid in full. He would vacate the premises and they'd call it even. Damian watched him break it to his wife, the part about her being the roughest. She slapped him and ran upstairs. She was pissed, but in Damian's mind she should've asked her husband more questions about his money before she married him for money.

Lucky got as far as to his car before Damien stopped him and called him back.

"I'm just messing with you lil bruh, I ain't finna kick you out the week before Christmas. Where was you finna go," Damian clapped him on the back.

Lucky released a long exhale and grabbed his knees as Damian let him back inside the house. "I owe you big," he sighed, relieved.

"You do.. secure the bag, then we'll get on that," Damian gripped Lucky's shirt firmly to get his message across. He picked up his toolbox. His gun was in his pants. "Merry Christmas," he smacked Lucky on the cheek like he'd smacked his wife. He took a deep breath of fresh air once outside. "Be out my house by the end of January.. don't make me regret this. I'm watching you," he gestured on his way back to his truck.

@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @nobodybaby93 @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @tgigoldie @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybee @playgurlxoxo

[kang-sworld]

I am just going to slide this right here …

[chaneajoyyy]

Y’all got Damian Anderson fics, especially handyman!damien fics?

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Sinner & Saint: Creed III” Chapter 7

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

"I must be lost in my regrets I must be down I must be stressed I've got like 13 years of age that I ain't still got off my chest It must be so much more to life if I had diamonds and baguettes I must be stupid, fucking shaded Must be down I must be stressed I must be

Sabotaging me till I'm forced to rip the mask off This lobotomy is just a reflection of the last lost This body is in remembrance of the last lost And this lady is too pretentious of the mascot Look got a 22 I wouldn't call this bitch a catch-22 But here is your body back that I can dig for you Let me live for you, let me crawl inside your body Make a meal of you and tell you how many times I ain't feelin you, bitch"

Doechii—"Stressed"

Donnie stood outside the Moroccan restaurant, waiting for Damian to show up. Cars flowed past him on the corner and a few fans stopped to get pictures of him when they recognized his face. A car horn rooted, and Damian's SUV whipped past toward the parking structure. Waiting a few minutes more, he spotted Damian jogging toward him.

"Sorry I'm late, man. Traffic was a bitch on the ten," Damian said.

"You're good. We just got the table ten minutes ago," Donnie said.

They clasped hands and bumped shoulders, moving past a waiting line of patrons. Other fans nodded and shouted Donnie's name as he strode toward an elevator that whisked them up twenty floors to the rooftop dining area. He waved at a star NBA player who knew his sister before they found Bianca curled up on the low-cushioned seats.

"Eating on the floor," Damian said.

"Not exactly," Bianca said.

She stood from the North African pillows and held out her hand to Damian. He clasped it gently.

"Great to finally meet you," Bianca said.

Their first-course entrée arrived, and Bianca waved her hand for them all to sit down.

"They have like these special meal groupings, so I picked us something that I thought we could sample before ordering. I hope you don't mind, Damian."

"Dame," Damian said.

Damian sprawled out on the comfortable pillows across from them. Part of their seating surrounded a small controlled fireplace in a private section with low candle lighting and a partial plexiglass window view of city lights.

"This is nice… real nice," Damian said.

They ate braised lamb tenders with a chickpea and eggplant salad as a starter with sweet and bitter coffee. Spicy chicken briwat and beef kefta tangine filled them up with Damian gulping down water to cool his tongue.

Donnie monitored Bianca because she was a great reader of people and she was genuinely comfortable being around Damian. There was a charismatic charm about him, and the constant smiles she could pull out of him helped Donnie relax with his childhood friend. They lounged around the fire talking about old homies in Crenshaw and Leimert Park. Bianca enjoyed the reminiscing and tugged on her small diamond earring before rubbing her shoulder against Donnie's. She looked into his face before glancing at Damian.

"Curious. What happened with you two?" Bianca said.

Donnie stared into her eyes. Damian studied his expression to the question.

"Oh, he didn't tell you?" Damian said.

Donnie looked across the fire, and a sardonic grin creased Damian's lips. He leaned back in his seat.

"We was like brothers… back then there was nobody tighter than me and Donnie. Unfortunately, the streets do what the streets do. I got caught up in some mess and went to the pen."

Bianca blinked in surprise.

"That's why we lost contact over the years. I won the Golden Gloves and went to a six by eight-foot cell soon after, instead of starting my boxing career."

"Oh…."

Bianca sought Donnie's eyes, and they locked with questions that he wasn't ready to answer at that moment.

"I was the best though…"

Damian rubbed his hands together and stared at the fire.

"The best amateur boxer out of California, out of the nation… had people lined up waiting to see me go pro. Had a Nike endorsement on the table and everything. I was on the march to be the champion of the world. But I never got a chance to prove that," Damian said.

"I'm sorry, Damian… I didn't know—"

"Water under the bridge, Bianca. It's a new day. I'm a new man. I won't let my past mistakes keep me down and out. Donnie here is making sure I stay on the straight and narrow with a new opportunity to make a comeback. Ain't that right, D?" Damian said.

Donnie nodded his head and clapped his hands together.

"Dame, I'm about to begin a new chapter in my business plans. I'm opening a new gym soon that's bigger and better. State-of-the-art and everything. After this Conlan fight, I'm moving into managing and promotions. I want you on my team. You deserve a shot with the best behind you," Donnie said.

He reached into his wallet and pulled out the brand-new business cards he had printed up. Passing it to Damian, he laced his fingers together.

"Once you turn pro, I'll set up a meeting and offer you a contract," Donnie said.

"You serious?" Damian said.

Damian fingered the card and stuffed it in the front right pocket of his jean jacket. He tugged on the earth-brown beanie he wore and sat up.

"Very," Donnie said. "Smokey has nothing but praise for your skills. What we're trying to do with my new company is back talented athletes as a full package deal. Not just the sports they excel in, but seeing their careers through after they retire. Broadcasting, ownership of sports teams, broader product endorsements outside of athletics," Donnie said.

Bianca curled her arms around his bicep.

"Donnie has created the blueprint for how Black and Brown athletes can extend their value beyond the usual expiration date," Bianca said.

Donnie accepted his wife's praise, although his plans came about because of Athena's prodding. Twiddling his thumbs for two years trying to figure out what was next post-boxing took time to figure out. Attending one of his sister's marketing seminars helped home in on what he wanted out of his new company. Damian was a good fit. Keeping him close also kept a lid on any controversy about Donnie knowing him from way back. Still… there was the fear of Damian's bid being linked to Donnie's involvement in it if the man ever told the truth.

The fear of that stewed in his belly as he observed Damian admiring the far-reaching view so high in the sky. Donnie didn't want the past to create a present scandal with his brand or his family. He couldn't afford to lose everything he built up. The public was unforgiving of rich celebs falling off their pedestals. Too many people outside of his family depended on him for their livelihood, too.

Bianca rubbed her arms at the cooling temperature. He paid the tab with cash.

"We should get back to Amara before it gets late," Bianca said.

Donnie lifted her coat and helped her put it on. Damian stood up with them.

"Thanks for dinner," Damian said.

They all walked out together, rode the elevator to the lobby, and parted on the street. Donnie contacted their driver for the evening, and they waited for their private chauffeur to gather them.

"Were you ashamed to let me know he went to prison?" Bianca asked.

Her gaze quizzed him.

"It happened so long ago that I almost forgot he existed. Dame was the one person I could count on, even before Mary Anne found me in juvie. My life changed, and it was so easy to let so many people go. I should've stuck by him. Ma didn't let me and made sure I focused on my future. Didn't even look back once. I feel bad Bianca."

"You're helping him now. But what I want to know is… what was your part in his lockup? Your body language all night has been tense and jumpy. I know how you express guilt, D. It's all over your face. If I hadn't asked Damian about you two, would you have told me yourself?"

"Yeah, but it's complicated. We were so young. One stupid move I made fucked up his life."

Bianca slipped her hand into his. He couldn't keep his eyes from welling up.

"We can talk when we get home, okay?" she said.

She hugged him around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder.

"No matter what, helping him get back to boxing is a good thing to repair that long separation," she said.

Their private driver arrived and Bianca held his hand tight. Back home, they checked in with Amara before seeing Taylor off for babysitting. Bianca shared a sweet flaky pastry from the restaurant with their daughter, and Donnie spent time signing with her on her giant princess canopy bed before she went to sleep.

"What do you want for your birthday, Ladybug?" Donnie signed.

Amara scrunched up her face as Bianca walked back in, tying a headscarf over the girl's springy curls.

"I want to see you fight in Las Vegas," Amara signed passionately.

Donnie glanced at Bianca.

"Ladybug…" Bianca signed.

"This will be my only chance. Daddy won't fight anymore. You promised I could see when I was older," Amara signed.

Donnie held his daughter's hand. Her inquisitive brown eyes pleaded with them. Bianca's fingers moved quickly, and she spoke out loud.

"We did promise her," Bianca said.

"Mommy and Daddy have to talk about it. We'll get back to you," Donnie signed.

"That feels like a 'no'," Amara signed, with a frown on her face.

"We will talk about it fairly," Bianca signed. "Sleepy time, Ladybug. Get under the covers."

They tucked Amara in, gave her double kisses, and left her room. Bianca followed Donnie down the stairs and into their spacious den. She relaxed on a long ottoman and patted the space next to her. Donnie joined her side, lifted her hand, and took a deep breath before he spoke.

Donnie felt afraid.

He woke up early with Bianca by his side, but his wife faced away from him on their bed. Their bedroom window was open slightly to let in the fresh air, so she must've woken up earlier and crawled back into bed after opening it.

The words he spoke to her the previous night had never been spoken to anyone. Not even Mary Anne. If his adopted mother suspected the truth, she kept it to herself to protect him. He threw a hand over his eyes and Bianca stirred next to him. She shifted her body to face him and placed her left arm across his waist.

"Awake?" she asked.

He nodded. She touched his lips, and he removed his arm from hiding his eyes.

"I want you to know that I love you, and what happened eighteen years ago does not define you," she said.

"Being young and dumb doesn't excuse it," he said.

"I didn't say it did. Damian loved you enough to take all the charges. I wish things had shaken out differently for him, but he made a choice—"

"I was lucky. I had Mary Anne."

"Thank God for that, Donnie."

"Truth is, I didn't even need that stupid burner. Dame could handle himself better than anybody, but I wanted to be there for him… protect him from all those jealous niggas that wanted him to fail. All them crabs in the barrel pulling at him. I just didn't think it would backfire and cause him to lose his freedom, y'know? I've always had poor impulse control… popped off when I should've listened to Dame and just left that liquor store. Two people lost their lives that night. Dame and that store owner. It was an accident, Bianca. I swear. I had no intention for that shit to go that far—"

Bianca covered his lips with her hand. He stroked her wrist and closed his eyes.

"What's done is done. You're making up for it now," she said.

"But I didn't hold him down, Bianca. That's what your brother is supposed to do for you when times get tough. I faded from his life so smoothly, like nothing happened… like our friendship never existed. We had a code to look out for each other. I turned the other way instead."

"Be there for him now. He told us himself last night… water under the bridge. You could've died. He saved your life. That's all I care about," she said.

Amara bounced into their room, signing fast and furious, her excited huffs of breath making them laugh and setting aside the Damian situation.

Breakfast was quick pancakes and sausages and Donnie gave Bianca some alone time to work in her home music studio. He scooped Amara up in his arms and inspected her boxing workout gear. Driving through town was easy on an early Sunday morning, and it did not surprise him to see Damian working with Smokey in the ring with bands on his legs to go over footwork. Donnie gave a head nod, and Damian pointed to Amara with his glove.

"It's her," Donnie said with pride

He plopped down their shared workout bag near an open punching bag and pulled off his sweatshirt. They warmed up with jumping jacks, cherry pickers, and arm stretches before he guided Amara over to the bag.

"Watch me first, okay?" he signed.

"I got this, Daddy," Amara signed with a smug grin.

Donnie bent his body low and slowly demonstrated the type of punches he wanted his daughter to do. Amara was a quick learner. She punched the bag without gloves and he called out moves for her. After thirty minutes, he grabbed hand pads and knelt down before her. Strong jabs came his way. Because he couldn't sign with his hands covered, he allowed her to work out her own combinations until she needed a break. They sipped water together before moving on to jump ropes. He sat on a folding chair and studied her form. Her curls were full of sweat, and it dripped down her face, which was full of concentration.

When she was ready, he fixed up her gloves and let her hit the bags again on her own. He walked around the gym to see how other boxers were doing and stopped to check out Damian. Bulky and heavily covered up with his sweatshirt, Damian sparred with Smokey and Donnie could see the pleasure in the old man's eyes working with the newcomer.

He felt a jab in his right side. Amara grinned up at him. He ducked and moved, tapping the top of her head to tease her, and she fought back before chasing him toward the punching bags. She was so excited to be around the boxing life and enjoyed learning the sport. He didn't know if his father had pugilist dreams for any of his children, but watching his little girl develop serious skills impressed him. Maybe she deserved to see him fight in person.

Her fingers were fluid, signing to him. Private words he needed to know.

Donnie rocked on his heels, holding his gloves up to his chest, swinging them gently while his wife helped him focus on his task. Defeat Ricky Conlan. Stitch, Tony, and his daughter watched him at a respectful distance. Bianca stepped back and Amara approached him with wide eyes. Her small, thin fingers danced in front of him.

"You are the best, Daddy. I love you," she signed.

He bent over and kissed her forehead. Amara threw her arms around his wide shoulders. She wore a satin shirt and skirt that matched the red, white, and blue of his trunks with their last name stitched across the front in gold embroidery on her top.

"It's time, " Tony said.

Bianca led Amara out of the room, and he threw a few jabs toward Tony to loosen up.

"That man is washed. All you're doing is putting him to bed with milk and cookies," Tony said.

Donnie laughed, and Stitch chuckled, too.

"This fight is the perfect swan song to your career in the ring. You will go out there and show them why you have been the best for seven years. That past loss to Conlan was just newbie jitters. This right here, is one for the ages, Donnie. You own boxing. Your career elevated the game in ways your father would be proud of. Go out there tonight and show them why a Creed remains the best there is. The gold standard," Tony said.

Donnie jogged in place, taking in the words like a mantra.

He slipped on his robe and followed his team through the double doors and the welcoming, deafening chants of seventeen-thousand rich fans. Simply stepping into the ring, win or lose, he was making ninety million cash, not even counting the back end. Retirement talk escalated his winnings. His family was set for generations.

His theme music blared in the arena.

Donnie had fans in the Hip Hop community and the hottest rapper around recorded a throbbing bass track with his wife singing on the hook. The satin patriotic robe rubbing against his skin had him feeling like a king facing a bold usurper to the throne.

Conlan stood in the ring waiting for him. Uncertainty rested in his eyes. Prison knocked the pride out of him, and the scent of desperation lingered all around him as Donnie climbed through the ropes. A part of him wilted in disappointment. Athena's prediction seemed imminent. This was Ricky's last hurrah. Hopefully, he put up a good show because millions of eyes were watching them all around the world. Tickets to even be there inside the arena cost upwards of fifty-thousand dollars on the cheap side. Everyone who thought they were somebody was there. He tracked a few high-profile athletes and celebrities screaming at him as he walked through a gantlet of people. Tony held the ropes apart for him to enter the ring.

The referee went over the rules and Donnie's gaze dueled with Ricky's. The psychological games of mean-mugging and aggressive posturing began in earnest. Conlan's beady eyes dredged up memories of their first clash facing off. Time had sculpted and shaped Donnie into an immovable obstacle to all of his competitors. Conlan recognized the seasoned champ Donnie evolved into. He faced a seven-time world champion. The man was going down and Donnie gave him the courtesy of seeing imminent defeat up close without the trash talk. Walking toward his corner to wait for the bell, Donnie's gaze slid to the arena floor seats near him and he caught sight of Bianca, Amara, and Ma. A few rows behind them sat A.J., Athena, and… Damian. They all stood clapping and waiting for the bell to ring. His brother was stolid with his expression, and Athena appeared thrilled to be in the mix. Damian stood next to her with eyes of pure, solid focus.

The bell rang and Donnie sprang out of his corner to face his very last career opponent.

Damian felt walls close in all around him.

Overstimulated by the crowds of people, all the noise, and all the movement surrounding him, his body shut down his core function until Athena held his hand and squeezed it. He almost had to flee to the restroom to get away from the pressing of bodies trying to get close to the ring and close to the Creed family.

He closed his eyes and replayed his day.

Athena sent a car for him and he arrived at L.A.X. with his duffle bag filled with weekend clothing and a garment bag with a new suit. He wore a decent pair of slacks and a pressed dress shirt. Expecting to meet Athena in the public terminal, he was taken to the separate terminal for celebrities flying on private jets. He met up with her and A.J. Creed in a VIP lounge before they left to walk across a tarmac toward a white Bombardier Challenger 850 jet with the Creed name splashed across the side in navy blue.

A.J. was curious about him but kept their interactions pleasant with polite inquiries about his training and how he enjoyed living out in Venice. Athena stayed bubbly, and he noticed how hard she tried not to hold his hand or act overly familiar in the presence of her older brother. She had an assistant with her named Max, and despite the festive kick-back weekend feel of going to Vegas, Athena still worked on the seventy-five-minute flight. Damian watched the clouds in the sky for his second trip on a plane ever. His first trip had been to a family reunion in Galveston, Texas, during Juneteenth. He loved it out there and wished he could've lived there as a kid with so many relatives around in one place. Staring out of the jet window, the clouds below looked like giant cotton balls he could jump on.

Athena chatted across from him on her phone and her brother watched the clouds with him.

"Go in the back," A.J. said to her.

"Why?" Athena asked, muting her phone.

"Nobody wants to hear you work," A.J. said, jerking his head toward Damian.

Athena glanced at Damian.

"Sorry, Dame. Last-minute stuff," she said.

"You're good," he said.

Athena stuck out her tongue at her brother and continued talking. Max sat across from her, his seat facing her direction, clacking away on a small laptop. Damian enjoyed hearing her call shots to whoever was on the other end of her phone. She didn't take shit from anybody for an hour. She spent the last fifteen minutes of their flight chatting with Max. The jet banked, and the gentle descent toward the airport below made Damian's stomach flip-flop.

A private car drove them to the MGM Grand Hotel, where luxury suites awaited all of them. Damian thought the dark emerald green coloring looked brighter in person than the pictures he used to look at when Mayweather dominated the sport. The proud gold MGM lion sat facing the strip with garish giant digital advertisements splashing Donnie and Conlan's pictures every few seconds. The fight packed Vegas with high rollers, rich celebs, and people from all over the world who wanted to witness the highly touted blood sport.

They dropped A.J. off at his deluxe room and it floored Damian to see the room she put him up in. Max wandered off to his junior suite and left Damian alone with Athena.

"We don't have to be at the Garden Arena until six, so you can relax, and order in food. Do whatever you like," she said.

He sauntered over to her.

"How does your family feel about me being here?" he said.

She glanced out of the window. The view showed a cool and sunny Vegas strip down below.

"They don't know you're here," she said.

"Oh, no wonder A.J. looked at me weird."

"He knew you were coming. A.J. always looks at people like that," she chuckled.

"It's scary how much he looks like your father. For a second, I thought about calling him, Sir," Damian teased.

Athena giggled, and the sound soothed him.

"Why didn't you tell the others?" he asked.

"You're my guest. I can bring whoever I want and I chose you. There will be so much shit going on, anyway."

"Your mother will have a problem."

"I don't care what my mother thinks about you. She doesn't know you like I do."

"You shouldn't bring tension around your family while Donnie has to stay mentally tight."

"They've been in Vegas all week with him. We won't see them until we hit the arena. By then, who cares?"

She touched the collar of his shirt.

"I don't want you fretting about them. I brought you here because I want you to see what could be yours one day. Look out there. The top of the world in boxing."

Her eyes held his gaze.

"I'm happy you came with me," she said.

Her cell buzzed in her purse.

"Are you working all weekend?" he asked.

"No."

She checked her cell and rolled her eyes playfully.

"I'll take this in my suite. It's my mother. I'm down the hall if you need me for anything. Order anything you want. It's on the house. MGM is bending over backward for us. You can get free gambling chips at guest services if you want. I'll hit you up later," she called out, heading to the door.

Damian stared at his surrounding suite. The ease of luxury for the Creed family was mind-boggling. He looked over a menu sitting near the living room phone and ordered a lavish brunch spread of steak omelets, chicken marsala crepes, hash browns, and champagne. After his food arrived, he took off his clothes and used one of the complimentary hotel robes to stroll around in while being naked underneath. Eating and drinking alone, he stared out of the window and watched the teeming hordes of tourists walking from hotel to hotel looking for their stimulation fix with gambling, food, and other entertainment like mindless zombies.

With his belly full, he toured his suite thoroughly and became delighted at finding a jacuzzi waiting for him in another section of his suite facing the window. He dropped his robe, turned on the hot tub water jets, and slipped down into the steamy liquid.

"Ah… shit… this is it," he said out loud.

He jumped out with his penis flopping about to grab the champagne bottle and his glass from the living room. He returned to the jacuzzi, jumped back in, and drank to his heart's content. A quick nap ate up his time afterward, and by four, he was ready for an early dinner. Athena left him a text that she was eating with her family in Mary Anne's suite. Donnie wasn't with them, preferring to stay alone in a ritualized pre-fight routine. He popped down to an in-house restaurant called Crush and ordered the filet mignon with lobster mac 'n cheese, signing the check to his suite. After eating dinner, he walked around to watch gamblers before heading back to his room.

Damian showered and went to open his garment bag with a towel wrapped around his waist. Unzipping the bag, he pulled out his suit and a small purple gift bag fell on the floor. He lifted it and saw Athena's handwriting on a small card attached to the bag.

"I thought this might be nice on you. Enjoy. Athena."

He pulled out a Tom Ford brand of cologne he never heard of before. The fancy bottle was black and gold, and Damian carried it to the enormous bathroom, sitting it next to his other toiletries. He splashed some in his palm, rubbed his hands together, and dabbed it over pulse points. Staring at himself, he stroked his goatee and ran a hand across the thick curls that stood out. He let it air dry before running a light hair oil across the tips to sculpt distinct peaks. Teeth brushed and flossed, suited and booted, Damian looked at himself one last time in a full-length mirror on the back of his bedroom door. Athena texted she was ready, and he strolled out of his suite to go to hers.

His eyes almost fell out of his head.

"You like?" Athena said.

She twirled around in her doorway wearing a slinky white satin dress with spaghetti straps. The top was low cut and enhanced the view of her breasts. Diamonds decorated her ears, neck, and fingers, creating a stunning work of art. She tossed back long spiral curls and the dark brown of her smooth skin made her dress glow.

"Damn," he muttered.

She draped a small purse around her arm, and he reached for her hand. Her brother A.J. stepped next to him, and Damian moved back to give him space.

"Ready?" A.J. asked.

Athena walked between the two of them as they marched to the elevator. The hotel lobby was packed, and the energy electrified Damian's nerves. Making their way to the arena, the pulse of excitement rose to a crescendo. They bypassed regular patrons and security escorted them to their seats.

Mary Anne noticed him as they walked into the venue and her lips pursed with disappointment.

"Here we go," Athena whispered to Damian as Bianca brought Amara over to them.

Athena hugged her niece and Bianca.

"Dame," Bianca said.

Damian reached for her hand, but Bianca gave him a warm hug instead.

"Dame, this is my mother, Mary Anne Creed," Athena said.

Mary Anne put on airs because they were in public, but her keen eyes were not welcoming at all. Damian was the worst kind of interloper in her family gathering. Amara signed to Athena, and it surprised him to know she was totally deaf. Bianca and Donnie never mentioned that. Athena's fingers moved quickly and Amara responded with a grin, and then her sly eyes took in Damian's appearance before she signed again with her aunt. Athena gasped and gave Amara a playful head noogie. He didn't know what they said, but from Athena's reaction, it had something to do with him. Photographers gathered around them and Athena excused herself from his side. The Creed family stood in front of the boxing ring, and several flashes went off from other photographers too. Many fans took advantage of the money shot, and Damian had respect for how the family looked together. Athena was the knockout, and a few reporters approached her to talk about the fight. He drank in her appearance, feeling like the luckiest man in the world to know her. Her dress was working its magic on him and he looked away before his body got out of hand, thinking about what was underneath it. The arena filled up more and the walls caved around him. Too much was happening all at once. The noise kicked up and the flashing lights from thousands of cell phones irritated his eyes.

"Damian Anderson."

He turned to his right and a Black man in a tailored double-breasted paisley and gray suit approached him from the aisle. A had reached out to Damian, but he stood there trying to understand how the man knew him.

"I'm Buddy Marcelle, the promoter of this event. I saw your Golden Gloves win back in the day. A shame how things panned out for you. Are you here with the Creed family?" Buddy asked.

"He's here with me," Athena said, sliding next to Damian with a stern voice.

"Interesting," Buddy said. "How do you know each other?"

Damian didn't like the man's tone. It was predatory, as if he didn't want another man near Athena. Damian had only known her for six months. She wasn't his lady, but he put some stank on his tone as if she was.

"Me and her brother go way back," Damian said.

"Dame," she said.

"A.J. or Adonis?" Buddy said.

"Donnie," Damian said.

Buddy's neck tilted as he studied Damian's entire vibe.

"Even more interesting," Buddy said again.

Buddy pulled out a silver card holder from his jacket pocket.

"I hear you're turning pro. Call me when that happens officially. There's a lot of potential money to be made on a good comeback narrative. Do you have a manager?" Buddy asked.

Athena snatched the card.

"Yes, he does. Me."

Buddy was taken aback as much as Damian was.

"Sorry to scoop up raw talent before you, Buddy. You know how it is. The early bird and all that jazz," she said, slipping his card into her purse.

"Wonders never cease to amaze. I see you, Athena. Making money moves. Love to see it. Let's talk soon," Buddy said.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. Athena accepted it and the cords on Damian's neck tightened and his jaw muscle twitched. A wave of celebs entered the arena, and the noise broke Buddy's attention. They watched him move toward Mary Anne and Bianca up front, and Damian turned to Athena.

"Manager?" he said.

"You need one that can handle these jackals and hyenas."

"I don't know if business and pleasure should mix," he said.

Her eyes twinkled with the lights from the arena.

"Pleasure?" she said, moving closer to him.

Her perfume yoked him up, but the roar of the crowd made him jump. Athena clasped his wrist.

"Just breathe, Dame. It's a lot to take in, but you're doing great."

He wanted to kiss her right there. She accepted his behavior toward his situational awareness and the moments of panic that could seize him from being around too much stimulation at once. Inhaling deeply, he exhaled as she stroked the knuckles of his right hand to calm him. Tunnel vision seized him and he fought back on the anxiety crushing his chest.

Damian concentrated on Athena's eyes and she brought him back down softly. The arena lights flashed and A.J. rejoined them at their seats. The title bout was about to start.

Music blared from the arena speakers and a rapper with a British accent spouted bars he couldn't comprehend. Rap had changed so much since he had been gone, he had no clue what the style was called. Ricky Conlan bounced down an aisle with his crew and the arena went batshit, surprising Damian. Conlan danced around the ring, waving his arms around with his British Union Jack trunks. He stood on the bottom rope near the left side and hollered like a madman, to incite the crowd onto his side even more.

"Showtime," she said when the lights went out and Bianca's singing voice announced that Adonis Creed was coming out.

Athena clasped his hand as her brother trotted down the aisle surrounded by an elaborate entourage that supported him for years.

"Take it all in, Dame," she said.

He did.

Chapter 8 HERE.

Tag List:

@unfriendlyblkhotti3    

@cherrellek​  

@yomiloo

@goddessofthundathighs​

@eyeknowmywrites

[the-kittylorian-writes]

“A Future Yet Unknown”

Rating: General Audiences

Type: One-shot

Word Count: 1k+

Summary:

As Din Djarin leaves after consulting with the Armorer in the Covert’s new hideout, someone else stops him on the way out.

Spoilers for s03ep01

Read on AO3 or here:

“A Future Yet Unknown”

“Then I will see you again,” were Din’s parting words with the Armorer.

That was all Din could believe for himself in that moment. Those were words he reassured himself with, more so than with anyone—that all roads would lead him back to his Covert, one which had sheltered him, cared for him, and taught him how to fight. The Tribe whose lessons helped him measure the odds that both plague and adorn his existence.

This was the home he had ever known, before Grogu, and after.

Din’s shoulders felt heavier from a huge unknown burden. He was walking away once again from this only identity, to go forth and prove himself for a place among his brothers and sisters when he returned. It was fortunate that many have recouped to this planet and were rebuilding in small ways.

He thought he heard another pair of footsteps other than Grogu’s, and Din stilled.

The footsteps were light, yet full of promise. They were also the footsteps of a child.

“H-hello…” said a young voice.

Din turned to face its source.

Grogu had already made his way to the tips of Din’s boots and looked up to follow his father’s helmeted gaze.

A Mandalorian child stood before them, and from the looks of the boy’s helmet, it was newly forged and painted.

Din recognized the child. It was the newly converted young warrior of the Tribe.

Din said nothing. He shouldn’t linger, but he felt compelled to stay a minute longer for this child.

Having sought Din’s attention, it seemed the child grew bolder. His little voice filled the air.

“I—th-thank you. Thank you, mister, for saving us back there with your missiles… sir.”

The child stooped a little, as if unsure. While the boy’s movements were subdued, he appeared very much willing to converse with Din, perhaps not knowing who this silver-clad Mandalorian really was. Din was no longer of the Tribe… at least, for now.

Din couldn’t think of any other reply but to give the boy a wordless nod. He was about to turn heel and exit the cave, but Grogu stood so still. Din stopped to patiently wait for his son to follow suit, as always.

Grogu cooed, encouraged by another child’s friendliness. The boy’s helmet turned to Grogu.

Something like a tiny, delighted laugh escaped the boy’s vocoder.

“I-is he your son, mister?” asked the boy.

Din stood still, said nothing. That was all he was to the Tribe now: a shadow, a ghost.

The child, as Mandalorian children were, was stubborn, but not impudently so.

Grogu cooed again; the boy giggled again.

They seem to be having a conversation which Din didn’t dare come in between. As it was, they truly needed to leave. He was about to call his son’s name when the boy spoke once more.

“What’s your name?” The child was addressing Grogu. The boy tapped his own little chest in a lighthearted gesture. His young voice was filled with awe and a pinched sort of joy. “I know we’re not supposed to tell our names to strangers, but you don’t look like strangers. My name’s Rag—“

“Ad’ika!!!”

A deep voice boomed robustly throughout the cave.

The boy gasped, came to senses as if recovering from a slap and abruptly turned to the one who called him “little one.”

It was Paz Vizsla. The towering blue-clad warrior stood a few paces behind the little boy.

Din noticed the moment where the child tensed. The boy took one last look at him and Grogu before offering Paz a feeble nod. The child dashed off into the farther recesses of the cave.

There was only silence as the two armored men gave each other a stare-down.

Finally, it was Paz who spoke.

“You loiter too long,” the hulking Mandalorian told Din matter-of-factly. Din was both surprised and suspicious that he detected no spite or vitriol in the other man’s tone. “Do what you need to do, but don’t speak to any of our brethren in this Covert while you remain apostate.”

Paz couldn’t even say Din’s name, or address him in any way but that of an estranged brother.

“Paz…” Din began.

“Leave.”

Din felt his heart pound. He needed to know somehow, even if it further risked Paz’s ire.

“That child—is he your foundling?”

Paz’s broad shoulders further bucked. The large Mandalorian bristled and stilled, but said nothing.

Din knew that Paz would not entertain his presence any longer. Din had decided to pick Grogu up instead, cradle his son back to the ship. Grogu fidgeted and his large eyes were filled with an odd, sad light.

He was nearing the lip of the cave when out of nowhere, Paz spoke.

“Ragnar.”

Din held his breath as he turned to face his old friend again.

“My foundling’s name is Ragnar. He has just sworn the Creed.”

Din found a window to let his once-dear friend and comrade know.

“He’s already shown great courage.”

It took a while before Paz nodded. “Yes.”

Grogu’s babbles were a soothing balm to add to this precious moment of one brother communing with the other. Small words that held solemn meaning.

“I saw you, Paz, before I pulled the ship’s trigger on the creature. You went in between Ragnar and harm’s way when that monster loomed too close to him…”

There was a glint in Paz’s visor as its gaze pinned Din with it.

“You had done the same.”

Din felt Grogu’s small claws and soft hands grip his gloved fingers, as if the child understood this terse conversation.

Against his will, Din’s voice broke as he reminded Paz of an adage treasured by all of the Covert: “The foundlings are the future.”

Another beat passed. Paz had punctuated their brief exchange with a long-winded huff. The hulking warrior’s visor landed on Grogu for a while; Paz’s broad frame seemed to relax. Then with bounding footsteps, he walked off into the inner cave, perhaps to rejoin his young clan member.

While Din started powering the starfighter up with Grogu tucked in his pod behind him, Din felt a blanket of comfort.

Paz knew. He knew that once a child was in your care, that no hells could ever come for the little one you love, because you would willingly stand in the way. You would take armor and blaster and every breath in your mortal body to stave all danger away, not while the child you love was still learning their path.

The foundlings were the future, even if the future remained a huge, winding unknown.

******

A/N: Theory’s around that Ragnar is either Paz’s foundling or son, and the kid would be a recurring character. Since this ep was Ragnar’s debut, I still have no idea what his personality is, but he could either be nice, or just as a meanie as his “dad” Pazzy. 🙈

Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading! 💙

(You can read second part which can also be stand-alone on AO3 or Tumblr. Yes I'm now invested in this possible father-son conncection. TuT)

[reemonna]

Hello can you make a another hc’s or Connor ? ;)

Yes, sure! Thank you for the request! (And sorry for the delay) To be honest, I was looking, lately, for some excuses to write more about Connor since he's my favourite assassin so here are some Connor headcanons. I hope you love 'em! (I will certainly be uploading other Assassin's Creed characters headcanons, but I think I'm going to stick with Connor for a while)

When you're stressed or panicked with Ratonhnhaké:ton / Connor Kenway

He blames himself for what you had to go through

He will try so hard not to show it. But his stoic face gaunts gradually seeing you weep and sob in his arms

He shows various signs, biting his lips, intensely moving his gaze away, gritting his jaws, or clenching his hands cruelly that his knuckles turn white

He gets narky and manic to the point he could set the whole world on fire just for your sake

He's considered socially awkward, thus why he's not really able to express what he really feels correctly -and nicely at the same time- since he comes from an isolated society, and he doesn't open up to anyone about any of these sensitive issues and events, especially these which happened to him as a child. So he just stays silent, holding the urge to say anything that might make the situation worse as much as possible

He will leave you alone for some time to let you calm down and manage yourself on your own should he feel you're stressed out in his presence

He tries containing and perhaps dragging these vengeful and bloodlust thoughts out of your consciousness -in a situation of one of your loved ones dying by the enemy-, whether by distracting you or alerting you of what walking down that road could lead to

He doesn't wish to witness you turning into someone he long-lived detested and fought, like the templars, or like himself sometimes

He'll try to know who's behind your sorrows and deal with them, staining his hands with more blood to keep yours clean

He will lean closer to you, aiming to embrace you, and by accepting his offer he will gently wrap his arms around you, holding you tight and absorbing your anger

Taking you to a tranquil place, where no one can be seen or heard except for your footsteps, and maybe the animals running around you -if you were in an open space among the nature-

He thinks a little walk in such places could ease the tension even a little bit, since he used to spend a lot of his time there whenever he wants to clear his mind

[asscrackcreed]

Taking a Break (Smut)

Haytham x gn!Reader | Commission by @enby-coffin

Prompt: I'm interested in a Haytham x gn!reader. Most fanfics I see of him, he's always suave and flirtatious, but I'd like to see one where the reader initiates the romance. Cause he's a workaholic and doesn't want to take the time to meet people.

Note: MAN I'M SO NERVOUS TO POST THIS - Commissions are open!

-

“I just have a little more work to finish.”

“And what about your other responsibilities?” You huffed, “Like me?”

Haytham slunk back in his chair, one arm resting on the chair and the other propped on its elbow with his fingers alongside his face. The way he draped himself on the chair shot a sense of arousal through you. The sigh he let out was followed by your name. You were leaning on his desk, looking over him. The light of the candle danced on his face. He seemed to have his own glow. The light of the moon accompanied the candlelight illuminating the room. Window open, the soft breeze brushed his hairs, tied loosely in his red hair tie. Haytham himself was keen on concentrating. He noticed your eyes gazing around at him, a smirk tugged at his lips and so he held his hand out for you. Pushing yourself off the desk, you finally turned to stand before him. Taking his hand, his eyes traced over your figure before darting back at your own eyes. With a tug you made him stand up, one hand cupping your face whilst the other wrapped around your waist. He watched as you inched your face closer, a soft peck. He whispered your name before pecks became kisses. His lips were ever so gentle on your own, but for you it wasn’t enough. So you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him further into you. The kisses were strong and wet. Slight groans melted into your lips as your hands travelled down his body.

You didn’t break the kiss as your hands started exploring his legs. One hand traced over the already slight bulge on his thigh and the other grabbing Haytham’s face. Haytham hands were on your waist in anticipation. His body was far more excited than he might have shown. The twitch on your hand didn’t go unnoticed as you started rubbing the wet clothed tip faster. Haytham’s grunt moulded into the kiss when he finally mustered the courage. His hand snaked to the back of your neck, deepening the hot kisses. With him quietly moaning into your mouth, you undid the button of his trousers.

Quick shuffling around led to Haytham’s hardened cock in the grips of your hand. Leaning onto the desk, his head fell back whilst your hand slowed as it slid to the base. Back up to the tip, Haytham’s pre-cum leaking down his shaft and your hand. The movement was agonising, and he was not a very patient man. Haytham opened his mouth to complain only to be cut off by the friction and the added grip, he bit back a moan. The control within your hand made you feel powerful. The teasing worsened as your tongue lapped up all the pre-cum. Haytham’s hand moved to the back of your head, his heavy breaths followed by a groan. As you took the tip into your mouth, your tongue swirled around whatever was in your mouth. Your eyes looking up at the heated man’s face, eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly open, hands gripping the arms of the chair while his chest rose and fell quickly. The sight of such a self-composed man becoming weak with the little touching that you’ve done spurred you on to take him further into your mouth. Haytham watched your head bob up and down, his hand slightly pushing you down as he heard the slick noises come out of you. He felt like he was on fire, your tongue working just as hard as your mouth. Your hollowed cheeks, struggling slightly at the length and girth of his burning cock, made Haytham louder. Slight hissing led to biting his lip which led to a strong grip stopping you.

Looking up, he tugged at your hair a little to pull you off. Neither of you could remember to move his important papers out of the way as he bent you over. Your clothing was quickly removed and the warmth was replaced by his hands. Massaging, memorising the shape and beauty of your skin. Kissing along and down your spine, his fingers grazed your hole. Keen to tease you, he only pushed slightly in and out, enough to cause a whine from your lips.

“Please…” The plead caused a slight smirk to play on his lips

“Yes, dear?”

“Fuck me.”

And so his fingers pushed in. Stretching slightly in anticipation for his cock that he knew would fill every inch of your hole. His fingers were only giving you a taste of what his cock could do inside you. The curling of his fingers only made your grip tighter on the desk, his lips continuing to attack on your back. The marks left behind and your further pleas spurred him on. The arousal made Haytham leak further as his cock brushed against your thighs.

Once the frustration grew, Haytham was merciful enough to remove his fingers. The desperation to fill you up grew evident as his hungry eyes watched as your readied hole ached for his equally hungry cock. Pressing the tip in, Haytham hissed, leaning his body onto yours. Both the sweat and heat mixed as his hips swung slowly. His cock buried deep at first, taking a second for the both of you to adjust to each other. His hands gripped on your hips, the movements of his own hips first slow. The heat and tightness of your hole squeezed onto Haytham who could only moan in response. He listened to your quickened breath, the creak of the desk and the rustling of his papers. The room began to fill with stifled moans. You had to beg more and more just for Haytham to listen to you. And he was merciful enough to finally give it to you. As though he had enough torture, Haytham rocked his hips faster. Head against the desk, hands gripped against the edge, Haytham pushed your legs further apart. He fucked you. He fucked you like he would never hve the courtesy of doing so again. He fucked you like it was a privilege that he was so lucky to have. The desk creaked and the legs scraped against the floor. Your head had become almost dizzy with pleasure. His cock continued to hit the right spot forcing every moan out of you. Skin on fire, you couldn’t help but groan his name continuously. Despite not being able to see his face, the hunger in his eyes was enough to keep him almost rabid-like. He left your neck in kisses and saliva, devouring whatever skin his mouth could reach. His moans melted into your skin, fingers moulding into the skin of your hips. You felt like you could cum any minute, the tension below continued to tug.

“I… I can’t…”

“Finish with me.”

Your back pressed against his front, both covered in sweat and tired. Thrusts lazily turning into grinding. Your head fell back and your eyes squeezed shut. Moans turning into needy whines. Haytham’s strong thrusts became slow, giving a few more pumps before you crashed onto the desk. The room fell almost silent with you both catching your breath.

Your legs shook slightly as Haytham pressed soft kisses along your back. His hands rubbing your sex as you eased down from your orgasm. Haytham pulled you onto his lap after sitting down on the chair. You turned your head to place soft and lazy kisses on his lips. Both quiet in each other's embrace as you cooled down. His skin felt soft against yours, arms wrapped around your waist. 

“I do have to finish this work.”

“You’re so stubborn… After all this, you won’t even let me enjoy your company?”

Haytham rolled his eyes, “Alright, I won’t hear anymore complaints. Let’s go to bed.”

[americahasasuperstar]

Netflix & Chill

Adonis was cool peoples.

Of course, Nyla didn’t really have any worries that he wasn’t, but it was nice to confirm what she already thought.

Baking him a cake seemed to be the easiest way to get him to like her. Which she was grateful for because honestly, she didn’t care to do anything more to make him like if the cake didn’t work. She watched with an amused look on her face as he practically devoured the entire cake before him. She never understood how men could just eat so much and not gain a single pound. It made her wonder why they got that little superpower and not her.

He would take moments to stop eating to ask if she wanted any more than what she got or to tell her that she was a master at baking, which she surely appreciated. She was good with her one slice though, that was already too much sugar for her. 5 minutes had passed and it seemed like he was done eating for now. He only had like two slices left but she figured that he had ate enough to last him for the entire week, so she took it upon herself to grab the rest of the cake and put it in the fridge for him to eat later on.

“So, why move to Philly?” Nyla asked him as she closed the fridge after she placed the cake pan in there.

“Let’s just say I got some business to handle.” He shrugged.

“Oh, so you’re a dealer?”

“Girl what?” Adonis scoffed, furrowing his eyebrows at how she even came to such a conclusion. “No. Why you even guess that?” He asked.

“So… you’re a nigga with nowhere to go?” Nyla asked.

“Ain’t I just say I got shit to do here?”

“That’s what everyone says.” Nyla argued. “Truth is, nobody moves to Philly for anything other than the schools. It’s not like y’all aren’t aware of how dangerous it is.” She explained, shrugging her shoulders as she pushed her plate to the side.

“You not repping your city?” Adonis asked her.

“What’s there to rep? I’m leaving the moment I can.” She told him.

“Where to?”

“New Orleans maybe. Or maybe somewhere on the west coast. L.A. comes to mind.” Nyla said.

“I’ll take you one day.”

Nyla’s eyes lit up as she let out a cute little snort. “I knew you were from there!” She exclaimed.

“How?”

“I don’t know, you just give California. And I’m never wrong when reading someone’s vibe.” Nyla explained.

“Didn’t you just call me a drug dealer with nowhere to go?” Adonis asked her, amusement written on his face as she blushed out of embarrassment.

“I was simply asking.” She shrugged.

She walked around the counter, looking down at him as she stood by his side now. “So, what did you do before you moved?” She wondered.

“Boring ass office job.” Adonis muttered, clearly uninterested in talking about that aspect of his life.

“Oh yeah, that totally doesn’t seem appealing. I can barely stand still for more than 30 seconds.” Nyla chuckled.

“ADHD?”

“Nope. The will to explore.” Nyla grinned, placing her hand on her hip as she stopped by his side.

“How about you? What do you do?” Adonis wondered.

“I’m just your average waitress.” She shrugged.

“Doesn’t sound like much of a career to me.” He said.

“It’s a job. Not a career.” Nyla corrected him. “I’ll get started in my career soon though.” She said.

“What you thinking of?”

“Interior design.”

“Oh, that’s why you been disgusted and judging my empty ass apartment this whole time.” Adonis pointed out.

Nyla snorted as she hit his shoulder. “I have not been judging your place.” She giggled.

“You lying.”

“Am not!”

“Name three things in here you like then.” Adonis told her.

Nyla took a look around the very crappy— yet still beautiful in its own way— apartment for a few seconds. “Well, the cabinets are very evenly lined—“

“Don’t play in my face.” Adonis grinned.

“I’m not!” Nyla exclaimed. “The floors are nice. Love a good swept floor.” She told him.

“You really playing with me right now.” Adonis chucked, shaking his head in amusement as she rolled her eyes playfully.

“And the man that’s renting this place happens to be fine. So, that’s a good sign.” Nyla finished, smiling innocently as she batted her eyelashes at the man.

“How fine we talking?” Adonis wondered, raising an eyebrow.

“Real fine.”

Adonis grinned in satisfaction, patting himself on the back while she just rolled her eyes. He already knew he was fine. He just wanted her to validate it. He was so corny and it made her wanna rip her eyes out. She liked it though. It made him different than most of the men she had encountered in the past that took themselves way too serious for her liking. She actually liked being around Adonis. He wasn’t boring. And while that wasn’t anything special if we’re being honest, it still made him stand out.

The man stared at Nyla as she tapped her nails on his counter top, wondering if she was bored or not. He was enjoying himself, but of course, it didn’t take much to make him enjoy himself when he was in the company of the most beautiful girl he ever saw. Nyla was just enjoying the silence. There weren’t many people that she could be comfortable enough with to just sit in silence with them and enjoy their presence. Adonis happened to make himself one of those people in less than 24 hours of knowing Nyla. She couldn’t pinpoint it. Why him? What made him someone that she liked being around? Out of all the men that desperately tried to get her attention, here came Adonis, not even trying yet still getting something most men in Philly would die for.

“You got plans for tonight?” Adonis wondered, interrupting Nyla’s train of thought.

“Just staying in.” Nyla shrugged.

“Stay in with me.”

Nyla blinked a few times at his very bold statement, shaking off the feeling in her stomach that she felt as she bit her lip. “To do what in this lavish apartment?”

“You like movies?”

“What type of question is that, Adonis? Of course I do.” Nyla scoffed.

“My bad, some people don’t.” Adonis shrugged as he walked away from the counter. “Let’s see what we can find on Netflix.”

“Netflix and chill is what they call this.” Nyla told him, eagerly following him over to his couch.

“We just Netflix-ing. No chilling involved.” Adonis reassured her.

“Unfortunate.” Nyla muttered.

Adonis smirked as he looked at her over his shoulder. “You say something?”

“No, not at all.” Nyla chuckled, waving her hand dismissively. He had clearly heard her though. Didn’t mean she would give him the satisfaction of seeing her blush.

“Wanna watch The Purge?”

“What’s that?” Nyla said, gently sitting down next to him.

Adonis eyes widened as he looked at her. “You’ve never seen The Purge? You living under a rock or something, shorty?” He asked her.

“One, you’re cute but not cute enough to call me that. Two, I prefer dramas.” Nyla told him.

“One, thank you. You cute too. Two, but you not cute enough to get out of watching this tonight.” Adonis told her, making her laugh as he put on the movie.

“Oh God, am I going to have nightmares?” Nyla asked him, already whining and the movie didn’t even start yet.

“If you do, just scream my name and I’ll come running.” Adonis told her.

Nyla chuckled as she held onto his very strong arm, surely aiming on using him as comfort whenever she got scared. “My Knight In Shining Armor.”

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

Opening her eyes, she was shocked to be met with the view of something other than her own ceiling.

Nyla shot up with panic coursing through her veins as she looked around to see where she was at. She felt dumb when she realized where she was at. She didn’t realize that she had fallen asleep in Adonis’ apartment. How long had she been asleep for? The last thing she remember was the movie beginning and now she was waking up. And where was Adonis? She was shocked to see the answer to her question being right in front of her eyes. She looked over to her right to see Adonis knocked out just like she was a few seconds ago.

She had tried to get up, but she was weighed down by the man’s heavy ass legs in her lap. How did they even end up in such position? Nyla shook her head in disbelief as tried to push them off of her, only to fail. Turns out she was no match for his muscle. Even when he was asleep, he was still stronger than her and he wasn’t even trying. Jesus. She really needed to start working out more.

“Adonis.” Nyla whispered, shaking his legs a bit. “Adonis, hello? Wake up.” She said, starting to shake him harder and harder.

“Leave me alone.”

Nyla groaned in annoyance, but that’s when an idea popped into her head. Her sister always used this trick to wake her up when they were younger. She put her finger in her mouth to wet it, which made her cringe but she managed to fight that, and then reached over to Adonis’s ear. It was a bit gross to do on a stranger, but hey, Nyla was desperate to get up. When she put her finger in his ear, she couldn’t help but laugh. She was so childish cause what the hell was she even doing right now? However, her amusement was cut short when Adonis suddenly shot up and snatched her by her wrist.

“Jesus! Don’t break my damn arm!” Nyla hissed.

Adonis’s eyes widened when he realized that he wasn’t man handling an intruder, instead the pretty girl he let spend the day with him. He cringed at himself, letting go of her arm immediately. Nyla sighed in relief when she got her arm back, looking down at the slight bruise that his grip left behind. And when he realized that he had his legs laying on top of hers, he took those off. Much to her relief. Though, she kind of liked having him touching her.

“Shit, my bad. I ain’t mean to be all in your space like that. And I definitely ain’t mean to hurt you.” Adonis apologized.

“Don’t worry about it.” Nyla muttered, rubbing her sore arm with a pout on her face.

“What time is it?” Adonis asked her.

“Almost 10.”

“Damn, you been here the whole day. We must’ve been knocked out.” Adonis said, laughing a bit.

“That’s what happens when you eat a ton of cake.” Nyla told him as she stood up from the couch finally.

“Where you going?” Adonis asked. He sounded a bit worried that she was leaving. A part of her believed that he wanted her to stay, but then again, she made a lot of shit up in her mind so who knew?

“Can I use the bathroom?” Nyla wondered.

“Oh, yeah. Go head.”

Nyla hurried and did her business. She wanted to leave and go sleep in her own bed, but a part of her wanted to stay and spend more time with Adonis. She wasn’t sure if he was giving the signs that he wanted her to stay as well. Maybe he was just being a good host and making her comfortable. Nyla surely want some stranger staying too long in her own home, but that was the thing. Adonis wasn’t just some stranger. She sounded crazy saying that but it was true. She felt as if she knew him for years now, so she didn’t feel the need to treat him as what he was. Which technically was a stranger.

She walked out of the bathroom, tossing the paper towels she used to dry her hand in the trash as she passed it. “How did you feel so comfortable letting yourself fall asleep around a stranger?” She wondered, leaning against the back of the couch.

“You fell asleep first so ask yourself that.” Adonis told her, shrugging his shoulder.

“I don’t even remember being tired.” Nyla said.

“Even if you didn’t, I like your vibe. It’s trustworthy. I don’t think you’d do anything to harm anyone.” Adonis admitted.

“Awe, well that’s true. I’m glad you can tell that off the bat.” Nyla smiled, slipping her sandals back on quickly.

“You leaving?” Adonis asked.

“Yeah, Adonis. I’ve been here for almost 5 hours.” Nyla told him, scoffing.

“You right. I just thought you’d want to watch another movie or something.” Adonis shrugged.

Nyla smirked as she sat back down next to the man, “You really don’t want me to go, huh?”

“It’s not even like that.” Adonis said, waving his hand. It was totally like that. “We just fell asleep for the first movie so we gotta make up for it.”

“Mhm.” Nyla grinned. “If we’re watching another movie, it’s my turn to pick a movie now.” She said.

“What movie is it?” Adonis asked, leaning back into the sofa.

“Hmm… ooh! I got it.” Nyla chirped, her favorite movie of all time popping into her head. “Hold on, lemme go get it.”

Nyla ignored his questions as she got up and ran out of the apartment as fast as she could. She hissed as her bare feet collided with the cold wood of each of the steps she ran down but she ignored that as she arrived at her destination. She started banging on the door immediately, already knowing that the person she needed at the moment was well awake. It took a few seconds before she finally decided to stop, pressing her ear up against the door to see if she heard footsteps approaching the door. And indeed she did.

“If you’re not bleeding or dying, go back where you came from!”

“It’s an emergency, Bi.” Nyla lied, grinning proudly when it worked and Bianca opened the door immediately. “You still got my Titanic dvd?” She wondered.

“Bitch.” Bianca scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “It’s on my dresser. That jawn was too long. I gave up on even finishing it.” She said.

“Your attention span for anything other than music is shorter than ever.” Nyla pointed out, brushing past her friend into the apartment.

“It was too boring!” Bianca argued. “How you gonna blame me for that?”

“Whatever.”

Bianca stood in the doorway of her room as Nyla searched for her movie, arms crossed as she noticed how late in the night it was. “How did giving Adonis the cake go?”

“Good. Real good. We’re actually about to watch this right now.” Nyla said, picking up the dvd under Bianca’s pile of records.

“Wait, hold up, you been there all day?” Bianca asked.

“Yes.” Nyla nodded curtly. “Is that a problem?” She asked, turning around to face her best friend.

Bianca shook her head before a grin slowly spread across her face. “Did you fuck him?”

“Bianca!”

“Don’t ‘Bianca’ me, Nyla. Did you sleep with him or not?” Bianca questioned.

“No! I didn’t!”

“Boring!” Bianca sang. “Get out of my apartment.”

“You’re sick in the head.” Nyla scoffed, rolling her eyes as she made her way back to the front door.

“Tell me everything after y’all done fucking. For the 6th time tonight probably.” Bianca told her, snorting at her own joke.

“I hate you so much.” Nyla muttered, walking out into the hallway.

“Love you too!” Bianca exclaimed, slamming her door shut after Nyla was far enough from it.

Nyla hurried back up the stairs, hoping that Adonis didn’t fall asleep on her. When she entered the apartment, she was beaming with excitement as she stared down at the dvd as she walked over to the couch. She could watch Titanic a million times and never get bored of it.

“I found it—“ Nyla raised an eyebrow as she approached Adonis, who was setting up pillows and blankets on the couch. “And what is all this?” She chuckled.

“I just got some pillows and shit incase you got uncomfortable. I don’t want you twisting and turning like I be on this hard ass couch.” Adonis explained, shrugging his shoulders as he tried desperately to hide his blushing cheeks.

“Thank you for the kindness.” Nyla giggled. “Now, you ready to watch the best movie ever made?” She questioned.

“Friday?”

“Close.” Nyla lied, revealing the disk she had behind her back with a wide grin on her face. “Titanic!”

Adonis sighed, but he already knew he wasn’t going to win the argument if started one. So sighed and laid back. “I’m going to die of boredom…”

“No you are not.” Nyla scoffed, sticking the disk inside the dvd player. She was surprised he even had one, but thankfully he did!

“What did you say? I’m already fading away.” Adonis said, making Nyla roll her eyes.

“You’re so dramatic.” Nyla chuckled.

“You like it.”

“Mhm.”

“Why you still over there?” Adonis asked her. “Come sit down.” He said, beckoning her over to the couch. To which she gladly obliged.

“Get comfy.” Nyla told him.

Adonis did that corny yawning move so he could put his arm around her, pulling her into his side as the movie started to play. “I’m comfortable enough being with you—

“Shh! It’s starting!” Nyla hushed, slapping his shoulder so he would shut the hell up.

“Man…”