#black panther fanfics | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starcrossedxwriter · 5 months

Text

Princess’s Punishment (MBJ x Reader)

A/N: I didn’t have the energy to go back and find the two asks lol but this is a request from two folks for a kinky punishment story with. So enjoyyyy!

Warnings: degradation, name calling, NSFW, lots of kinks (spanking, cockwarming, etc)

***

“What do you think?” You gave her fiancee a model-like twirl so he could examine your outfit from all angles.

Michael glanced up from his phone and the email he was typing, letting out a low whistle as his eyes swept over your perfect frame.

“That dress gon’ get you into trouble, Princess.”

You threw him a coy smile before turning back to the giant mirror in the middle of the store. You were the only customer there, Michael preferring to reserve stores for an hour or two so you could have a private and serene shopping experience. It ensured everyone in the store was solely dedicated to getting you exactly what you needed and wanted. Most stores happily obliged, knowing that anytime Michael brought his princess in, the limit on his card was nonexistent. Today was no different.

“That looks great on you,” a man offered as he emerged from the back of the store. His dreads were neatly pulled back out of his face. He was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, the exact type of man who would have once turned your head before you met Michael, the love of your life. But no one compared to the literal sexiest man alive in your eyes and that was a fact.

You had never seen him in the store before but when the woman you typically worked with didn’t return, you realized he would be assisting you.

“Hope you don’t mind. Jenn had a family emergency. I’m Marcus,” he reached out to shake your hm which you accepted with a bright smile.

“Nice to meet you. Y/N,” you introduced yourself before turning back to the mirror, your hands running over the luxuriously soft material that hugged your curves. “Not sure this is the most flattering though.”

“I have another dress in the back, we just got it in. Similar to this one but it’s perfect for you. Will be far more flattering. A body like that… you should show it off.”

You did not pick up on the obvious flirting in his tone, particularly as that was the farthest thing from your mind. You merely nodded with a smile. “Thank you. That would be great. Can’t wait to see it.”

“I’ll bring that and a couple other pieces. We technically aren’t supposed to show them yet but for a friend,” he winked at you. “I can bend a few rules.”

“Really??” You were merely excited about getting an advanced look at your favorite store’s new pieces.

“Of course. Be right back.”

“Thank you!” You watched him for a few moments as he walked away before turning to Michael whose face was set in a scowl. “Everyone here’s so nice all the time.”

“That nigga’s nice cause he wants to fuck you,” Michael grumbled, his tone signaling that he was not as pleased with the service as you.”

Your jaw fell open before you laughed at the absurdity of the idea. Men rarely flirted with you, if ever. “Come on, baby. Don’t be silly. He wants us to spend money, likely to make his commission better so he’s just being extra complimentary.”

“Nahhh, I watched him basically undress you with his fuckin’ eyes, Princess. Besides, I’m the one payin’ and nigga didn’t say shit to me. Acted like I’m not even here. I don’t like him.”

You merely laughed, clearly not realizing that Michael was genuinely upset with the salesman. “Aww my grumpy baby. You don’t like anyone,” you teased before disappearing into your dressing room to try on more outfits.

Outfit after outfit, you pranced around for your boyfriend and gave him a fashion show. He was thoroughly unhelpful as he loved 95% of the items you tried on and refused to help you narrow down the massive stack of clothes. Anytime you went shopping, he thought you should buy everything you remotely liked, even if you had one exactly like it in the closet at home.

“What do you think? Don’t need both black dresses,” you muttered more to yourself than either man in the room.

“You look perfect in both. Just get both.”

“Not helpful, babe!”

“I think you should get the one you have on. Shows off your body better.”

“You commentin’ on her body a lil too much, my nigga,” Michael called out, clearly frustrated by Marcus’ innocent compliments toward you as you finished trying on clothes.

“Michael!” You whipped your head around in shock at his rudeness. “Sorry, he gets very grumpy when we’ve been shopping too long.”

“No apologies needed,” he raised his hands in surrender before making an excuse to go to the back of the store to get her something else.

You scoffed once he was gone, you and Michael having a silent standoff.

“That was hella rude,” you chastised him.

Michael merely shrugged “Hella rude for him to openly flirt with my girl in front of me. He bold enough for that shit, he’s bold enough to take the heat.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Nah and what were you doin’? Flirting back with that nigga.”

You let out a laugh at the absurdity of that statement. “Flirting back?? It’s called being nice. I only got eyes for one, very jealous man.”

And with that, you disappeared back into the changing room to put back on your real clothes. You could not understand what was up with Michael as of late. He seemed to be so much more jealous than he used to be lately, snapping or glaring at any man who got too close or talked to you for too long. He had done the same thing at a premiere just last week. You had chalked the first couple times up to him having a bad day but now you wondered if something else was wrong.

“You ok?” You asked as you both patiently waited for Marcus to package your mountain of clothes and accessories.

His eyebrow was furrowed with an angry expression on his face. Still packing most of the weight of Erik Killmonger, he looked intimidating to say the least. But you did not understand what he could be that upset about, nothing had even happened.

He did not answer you, merely handing Marcus his card to finish paying.

“Need help getting these to your car?” Marcus asked, his hands already preparing to grab the heavy garment bags and smaller shopping bags

“That would be g-” you started to say when Michael immediately cut you off.

“Nah we got it.” His short tone made you cringe slightly, Marcus’s face blanching at the rudeness of it.

He gestured for his security to pick up the bags and grabbed the rest himself before gesturing for you to exit the store. You merely offered a polite thank you before following him out of the store.

***

As soon as you walked into the house, you started up the stairs to put your new items in their proper spots when he stopped you.

“Princess!”

“What’s up, babe?”

His tone and face looked almost bored as he scrolled on his phone. “When you’re done, assume the position by the counter.”

Your eyes grew wide with surprise. Assume the position was a clear directive in the Jordan household, one that let you know the relaxing evening you had planned was not going to happen. A sign that you had upset your master, and thus, must be punished.

“What did I do??” The logical part of your brain was well aware he was not going to tell you. If your infraction was not obvious, he rarely told you what it was until the punishment had started. But as you racked your brain, you could not understand what on Earth you did to upset him. You had a really nice day together and aside from the weird interaction with the sales associate, he seemed fine. Then it clicked in your brain.

His jealous streak seemed to not have ended earlier, after all.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out. 10 minutes.”

He did not spare you another glance before he disappeared toward the living room, leaving you gawking after him on the stairwell.

“Fuck my life,” you muttered as you raced up the stairs. You completely disregarded your original mission of putting your clothes away, you did not have time for that.

Instead, you stripped down to nothing and pulled your braids out of their high ponytail. You went to your drawer and pulled out the various things you knew were required: your collar and leash, nipple clamps, flogger, blindfold, and ball gag. He did not always use them all and sometimes he used none of them. But that was another thing for him to know and you to find out.

You descended down the stairs, your entire body almost floating with anticipation. You knew whatever he had planned would be the most delicious form of torture and that he would fuck you senseless once you begged for his forgiveness enough.

Michael was leaning against the counter, scrolling on his phone as he waited. Ingredients for dinner laid out on the counter.

“Thinkin’ short ribs for dinner. Cool?” He asked, his voice completely calm and normal despite what you knew was about to happen. The sweet, doting finace who cared what you wanted for dinner would disappear and a new persona would take over.

“Sounds good. Thanks, babe.”

“You ready, Princess?” he asked, checking in as he always did before an intense punishment or scene, which you always appreciated. They were punishments but they were supposed to be pleasurable, in a way, for you too.

“Yes, daddy,” you answered immediately, handing him all the toys you brought with you before sinking down to your knees before him. You spread your legs just enough for your flower to be on display for him, already wet and aching for his rough touch in the mere minutes he left you. The chill of the house caused the hair on your arms to stick up but you ignored it, things would heat up in a few minutes.

You wanted to smirk as you watched his eyes cloud with lust but you kept your face neutral. Michael was gone and your master stood in front of you. And his perfect, submissive fuck toy replaced you, designed and ready for whatever pain or pleasure he was generous enough to offer. And the growing ache between your thighs revealed a simple truth: you loved every single second of being his slut.

Your eyes remained trained on the wood panels of the kitchen floor as he silently studied you. The minutes stretched on and on at an agonizing pace but you did not lift your head or move an inch. However, you could not stop the little sigh of relief that passed your lips when you finally saw his feet come into your line of vision.

His hand wrapped around your throat, your mouth falling open with a small moan as he squeezed. It was not hard, just enough to let you know he was there. More, you wanted to beg. That was the problem, it did not matter what he did. You just wanted more of it and more of him. You were so addicted to the drug that was Michael, it felt like a lifetime supply would not even be enough.

His hand forced your head upward so you were looking directly into his expressive brown eyes, your favorite part of him. This position could have had you cumming right then.

All you could think about was how good it felt to have his hand squeezing your throat while you rode his dick. The mere memory made your pussy clench. But that was not in the cards for you… not yet anyway.

“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” He knew everything about his little fuck toy, exactly what his Princess wanted and needed. And there was not a man alive who knew it better. “Such an eager fuck toy for me. That’s why you were tryin’ on all those slutty clothes today? Think you’d get my attention and I’d come back here and fuck you like the attention-seeking whore you are?” He asked as he let go of your throat, much to your sadness, and started circling you. A predator sizing up his prey, indeed.

You were not foolish enough to answer a single question he levied, they were rhetorical.

“But I wasn’t the only man whose attention you got. Bet you loved that shit too… his hands on you fixing your outfits, complimenting you. Flirting with him, accepting his help right in front of your master. I should’ve fucked you right there in front of him to remind you that there’s only one man whose attention you should want.”

The thought of that made your head spin. Him forcing you to your knees in the dressing room, fucking you from behind, claiming you and your body loudly for every person to hear.

He gently put your collar around your neck, the fur lining made it more comfortable than it would have been otherwise. It was custom, Princess Y/N, embroidered on it.

“Too tight?” he asked as he attached the leash to it.

“No master,” you muttered.

“Good.”

He tugged on it, forcing you in step behind him. You bit back the moans this caused, him walking you around your living room and kitchen for a few minutes. He knew how much you loved to crawl behind him. It was clear he was trying to ramp you up as much as possible before the punishment truly started. And it was working perfectly.

By the time you returned to the spot you started at in the kitchen, your knees in pain from the hardwood floor, your body was screaming for his touch. Your core felt painfully empty, you were desperate to feel him on you, inside you. He slid the blindfold over your eyes.

You whimpered for a moment at the sudden loss of sight, sensory deprivation was a new game for you both and you were still getting used to it.

“Say the word and the blindfold can come off, Princess,” he whispered. At your nods, he continued. “Face down, ass up. Legs spread. Don’t move a muscle.”

You adjusted yourself to assume his favorite position. You hissed as your upper body laid against the cool kitchen floor but you made sure the arch in your back was perfect, your ass perched high in the air. Your legs were spread enough for him to see the glistening mess coating your inner thighs.

“You disgustin’ cum slut. Crawlin’ like a whore made you that wet?” He degraded you, making your entire body shudder as his hands caressed your ass.

“Yes daddy,” you breathed out, your brain already losing the ability to fully form words. The fog of pleasure was already heavy and he had not even started. “I-I’m sorry.”

You tensed up sightly, knowing that when you least expected it, his caresses would turn into sharp blows that would make you cry out. However, just as quickly as he started touching you, he stopped. You could not feel his presence around you at all. You had not been given permission to move and you could not see him. You could not even sense where he was anymore.

Had he left you there? Naked and unable to move like a statue? After a few moments, you heard soft footsteps not far away, causing you to exhale slightly. He was still hovering around.

Minutes passed by, slower than you thought time could move, as he just left you there without a single touch or word. But you followed directions, your legs would literally collapse before you moved a muscle.

Your mind raced to understand why he was not punishing you. And after about 15 minutes of utter silence except for the sounds of him cooking, you longed for it. The sting of his palm, the fire of the flogger against your ass, your thighs, your back, literally anywhere at this point. But there was nothing. This was more of a punishment than the spanking. If you had been given permission to speak, you would have begged for your own torture at this point, would have begged for as many lashings as he felt you deserved for being such a shameless whore. But you could do nothing, nothing but sit with shaking legs in your disorienting haze of pleasure until he decided that you were worth even doling out a punishment on.

It was clear to you why he chose that particular spot, a spot you knew was visible to him regardless of where he stood in the kitchen. You were on display.

At that realization, you deepened the arch in your back to something you didn't even know was possible. You had to force yourself not to wiggle your ass in his face, entice him to light it on fire with his strength.

“Couldn’t even last 15 minutes without daddy’s attention, could you?” You were not sure if you were allowed to answer. “You may speak, Princess.”

“D-daddy pl-please…” you begged.

“Didn’t seem to care about me earlier. Why should I give you attention now?”

“B-Because… I need…” your words failed you. You needed so much in that moment. You needed the pain, you needed the pleasure it brought, you needed to be reminded what you were and whose you were.

“You need what? Need me to make you cum? You’ll be grateful if I let you cum at all tonight. Need me to fuck you like the cumslut you are? Not sure you deserve my dick. Or you need me to remind you what happens to disobedient fuck toys who anger their masters? Need me to remind you who owns you?”

“Y-Yes! P-Please… I d-deserve to be punished. I n-need it.” The words barely left your lips before you felt the first blow of the flogger against your ass. “T-Thank you,” you moan, savoring the sting and ache it left behind.

However, you could not savor it long as he rained them down on every inch of your ass and thighs and a couple well-placed agonizing ones against your pussy that made you scream. You kept count, as was already required.

“Keep your legs open, slut or I’ll add five more,” he demanded as your entire body convulsed as the flogger caught part of your clit. You forced your body to maintain the position, which took all your willpower. And to think, you begged for this.

Tears were streaming down your face when he reached 29. That was the most he had ever done with the flogger as it was more painful than his hand and it was torture. However, you took it, the desire to use your safeword never coming to your mind. You would not be able to sit tomorrow but your entire body was on fire, hot, sweaty and desperate for him to fuck the shit out of you.

When you finally said 30, you were proud of yourself for taking all of it like a champ.

“That’s a good slut. You should see your ass right now,” he muttered. “So beautiful.” You could only imagine your entire body was completely red and you could feel a couple welts from where he punished you in the same spot over and over again. “You may sit up.”

You whimpered as you stretched and moved out of your position, your muscles protesting. As you sat up, his hand cupped your cheek and wiped away the few falling tears.

“Too much?” he asked quietly.

“No sir. T-thank you for r-reminding me what I am,” you whisper.

He helped you to your feet, your legs shaking slightly.

“Let’s watch somethin’ on the tv. Short ribs are slow cookin’.”

Despite the pain in your body, you could not help but smile. This was what made the punishments worth it, this moment. You were happy he let you walk to the couch, giving you a chance to stretch your legs. You stood and watched, licking your lips as he stripped off his clothes before sitting down, his head dripping with pre-cum that made you want to sink to your knees and steal a taste. You licked your lips, longing clearly written on your face that made Michael want to chuckle. He knew how much his Princess loved servicing him on your knees.

“Don’t even think about it. Worthless cunts who can’t remember who they belong to don’t get a taste. Why?”

“Because servicing you is a reward and I don’t deserve a reward, daddy,” you mumbled quietly, your voice just as lost and pitiful as you felt. This was the point of punishment though because all you now wanted to do was assure him you were his perfect, obedient princess so you could be rewarded.

“Good girl. Earn my forgiveness and maybe I’ll fuck that sweet mouth before bed tonight. Now for your punishment…”

Your eyes grew wide. The last 30 minutes had not been the punishment??

Fuck my life.

“Climb up here and sit on my dick. Facing the tv.”

You practically catapulted onto his dick without hesitation. Not just because good girls did what they were told without hesitation but because this was your type of punishment. RIding his dick was your favorite pastime.

You slid down on his hard dick, moaning loudly as he filled you to the brim. It was not the orgasm your body desperately needed but it satisfied the overwhelming, blinding carnal need to be filled you felt. You immediately started rocking your hips to increase the friction and pleasure when a powerful and painful swat against your already bruised ass stopped your movements.

“I didn’t tell your dumb ass to move. Seems like you keep forgetting I own you Princess. This pussy… this body… it’s all mine. And no one else gets to touch what’s mine, no one else controls what’s mine. So you’re gonna sit there on my dick and you’re not gonna move until I tell you to. When I tell you to ride my dick, you do it. When I tell you to stop, you fuckin’ stop. Understand?”

“D-Daddy please?” you hoped your pleas for mercy and the soft puppy eyes you had on would be enough to soften his resolve. Of all the things he had forced you to do since walking in the house, this was the worst of them. To feel him inside you and be so close to bringing him the pleasure he deserved and you desperately needed but not be allowed to?

Fuck my life.

“You should be thankin’ me for even letting your worthless cunt warm my dick. Now sit there and watch the show,” he nodded toward the tv where an episode of both of your favorite anime was playing.

You moaned and turned around, trying to keep your attention focused on the show in front of you. However, it was impossible.

This was an utterly new sensation and, while it was torturous, you could not deny that it was pleasurable in its own way.

Michael’s girth and length was something to be reckoned with and he knew how to use it. His dick perfectly curved into your g-spot and could have you cumming with a few strokes. As you sat on him, his hands occasionally wandered to caress your other pleasure zones. His strong hands massaged your inner thighs causing you to moan.

You wondered if you could orgasm from just sitting there. You would not because you did not have permission but you wondered if it was possible. Because between his hands and the feel of him inside you, you could think of nothing else. You could feel every inch of him, his dick throbbing and pulsing like a heartbeat against your walls.

Your body squirmed in his touch, your moans as he played with your body were consistent, particularly when he brushed against your clit. He offered a featherlike touch, it was barely there but you were so worked up, you felt every jolt of pleasure through your body magnified.

Your pussy clenched around him as if silently begging him to move. But you knew he would not allow you to until he was ready.

He worked up a rhythm against your clit, your movements becoming more uncontrolled, your breaths heavier. You weren’t gonna last long like this.

“Whose pussy is this, Princess?”

“Yours, daddy. Only y-yours.”

“Who can bring you pleasure like your master?”

“N-No one. J-just you.”

“Never forget that shit, understand?”

You nodded fervently. Every punishment had a lesson and this one was etched into your brain matter as now was the feeling of every vein and inch of his dick.

“I w-won’t! I promise, daddy.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your bare back, increasing the speed of his fingers. “Cum on my dick, Princess.”

With permission to cum, you stopped holding back and allowed your body to feel everything. Fuck his fingers knew exactly what buttons to push as your body finally got the pleasure it needed for the last hour. The build up was so fast you barely got to enjoy it but you did not care, you needed the crash, the fall to drown in the pleasure only he could provide. And when you reached the peak, you crashed hard.

“You like that, baby? You gon’ cum for daddy?”

“Y-Yes… fuck… t-thank you!” you cried out as you threw your head back as an explosion of pleasure took over every inch of your body. You felt pleasure down to the very cells that made up every part of you.

You gasped as Michael’s hand wrapped around your long hair and gripped it, pulling you backward. He turned you so his mouth could claim yours, drowning out your moans and cries with a kiss so dominating you never wanted it to end.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, causing your heart to soar. “You’ve earned my forgiveness. Ride.”

You did not need to hear anything else as you started to ride him with abandon, moaning every time his head rammed into your g-spot. You’d cum again before this was over but you made it your personal mission to ensure he did too. You pulled out every trick and play you had in the book until you felt his hands dig into your hips and he started ramming into you.

You let him take control as he fucked you like a rag doll, ignorning the ache of your bruised ass and thighs as he slammed into them with every thrust upward. He kept you flush to his chest with one hand wrapped tight around your neck, the gentleness of his choking earlier long gone.

“Where you want it?” he demanded as you felt the signs of him about to cum.

“Cum inside me, please!” you begged. Michael knew you had a bit of a breeding kink, loving the feeling of him filling you with his cum. That was often another punishment when he would cum on you instead of inside you. Not that him marking his territory was really a punishment.

“Want me to fill this sweet cunt, baby??”

“Yes! Please, please!” you begged as he fucked you so hard you felt as if you would be seeing stars for hours.

You could not stop your body from convulsing as you felt the warmth of his cum surge inside you, you clenched around him.

Your legs burned as you used your arms, braced on his knees to stop your upper body from toppling forward. He rubbed soothing patterns along your spine to calm you. Michael pushed you to your limit every time but he also knew how to take care of you afterward.

He lifted you off of him, a slight whimper escaping your lips at the emptiness you suddenly felt. He only sat you down long enough to stand up himself and you were quickly back in his arms, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he carried you up to your master suite.

He laid you on the bed and got some soothing lotion and started massaging it everywhere the flogger hit you. You shuddered at the cool feeling but it felt heavenly combating the stinging you still felt and soreness you knew you would still feel tomorrow.

“You did so good for me, Princess,” he offered, your sweet Michael clearly having returned to you.

That was all you needed to hear, that you had pleased him.

“Thank you.” Your gratitude was muffled against the comforter of your shared bed. After a few moments of silence, you sat up and glanced back at him. “You know you’re it for me, right? Don’t have eyes for anyone else.”

“Yea I know… sometimes I just worry…” his voice trailed off.

You ignored the ache to shift over to him and straddle his waist, his hands resting on your hips. “You’re always reassuring me, sometimes I forget you need that too. You are the greatest thing that ever happened to me. It’s you and me till the end of the line, babe.” You teasingly peppered his face with kisses until he finally smiled and started laughing.

“You and me, baby.”

“But anytime you wanna get a little jealous and possessive and it leads to that? Feel free,” you joked, the scene still dominating every space in your mind. At your words, you suddenly became hyper aware of his member pressed against your core and instinctively started grinding on top of him.

“Princess,” he growled. “This time ain’t about me,” he reminded her. Aftercare was about you and he was committed to it.

“How much time do we have till dinner?”

“Two hours.”

“Enough time for you to teach me my lesson again and then take care of me. Don’t think it quite stuck,” you shrugged nonchalantly, taking on your bratty persona to rile him up.

You shrieked as he flipped you over onto your back and stood up. Master was back and he was ready to make the most of those two hours.

***

A/N: Thanks for reading!! My requests are open if you have more asks/requests… just know that it takes me a while lol

Drop a comment and let me know what you thought :)

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x oc #mbjordanedit #michael b jordan x reader #black panther #michael b jordan fanfic #creed 3 #adonis creed #creed iii

440 notes · View notes

hearteyes-for-killmonger · 7 months

Text

ALL MINE.

Pairing: Erik × Black OC (Courtney).

Summary: Erik finds himself at the mercy of an obsessive woman.

Tags: Non-Con, Roleplay, Bondage, Body Worship, Size Kink, Praise Kink.

Part 2

The soft float of breathy giggles filled the air as Erik awoke to realize he'd been handcuffed to a pink bed and confined to an all pink room. His Tinder date from the bar, Courtney Rawlins, was lying next to him on the bed, tracing figures on his forehead with her fingertip.

"Oh baby, don't struggle," she warned in her gentle Cajun accent. The cuffs were tight to the pull.

"Did you drug me," he glared, feeling her finger slip into his nose. "Did you drug me," he demanded, yanking once more despite how those cuffs cut.

"Relax." She tapped the furrowed stress lines between his furrowed brows. "Just relax. You woke up a little confused and it's to be expected. But you're okay. It's just you and me here."

Erik's eyes circulated the room once more for something to help himself out of his predicament, but Courtney caught his hairy chin in her stern grasp.

"Don't startle, my little pumpkin. You are safe here with me."

"Fuck this," he pulled away. "Kidnapper Barbie is NOT what I signed up for."

"Don't be that way. We were having fun," Courtney purred, cuddling into his side.

"What do you want?"

"What any girl wants... To spend a little uninterrupted time with you at my fingertips for whatever beautiful thing we conceive. I'm all yours and... You're. All. Mine," she enunciated with finger taps on his cheek.

"You've got to be out of your damn mind. I would match with a crazy bitch." He turned his head, unafraid but regretful of his choices.

"Courtney," she corrected. "But if you wanna nickname, call me Sweet Pea or whatever your sweet lil heart can conjure." She drew a line down his nose bridge and booped him as he stared a her, a woman 'booping' a grown man 6 years older than her.

"You seemed so normal on our date, Courtney," he continued to stare, unsettled. "What happened?"

She smiled, squishing his chin in her hand. "You're so CUTE. Lil shady self. I love it. I'm gonna feed you and make you fall in love, you just watch. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach and BOY do I have a HELLA good tribute on the stove, special, just for you."

She left the room.

Erik tested the cuffs once more, but they were of a sturdy grade. He'd made the mistake of telling her his favorite cuisine on Tinder when she asked and now she was using it against him in some sort of sick warfare. He wouldn't give in.

"I'm back," she sang, returning with her hands full. She set up a collapsible side table with a bowl of steaming gumbo and a glass of sweet tea with a bendy straw. His mouth watered.

"You drugged that."

"What purpose would that serve?"

"Iono but I ain't eatin' it."

Her eyes widened. "You're already handcuffed to my bed! There's no more reason. This here is straight home cooking, no tricks."

The cornbread was floating on top of the gumbo, soaking it in. Cajun cuisine from a Crazy Cajan Barbie. He didn't trust it. He watched her spoon it, blowing gently. The spoon traveled to his mouth as she cupped the bottom to catch the drip.

"Open up. I swear it's the best thing you'll ever do. Well... within the next twenty minutes or so."

Immediately his tastebuds were in heaven. It was the best damn gumbo of his life.

"I'd ask you how you like it, but I can see," she rubbed her well-moisturized knees happily. She smiled, feeding him a spoonful at a time until the gumbo and cornbread were gone, giving him sips of tea in between. His stomach was happy as ever and full, but he was still cuffed to a damn bed and at this weird girl's mercy. What did she plan to do to him and for how long?

"I can't believe I've got you here all to myself! It feels too right."

"Courtney."

"That's not all I have planned for us, but I swear you'll be in love by the end of tonight."

"Courtney, stop the bull. This is crazy. You know it's crazy. You're crazy... You need help and I can help you... If you unlock these cuffs-"

"The cuffs stay on! I don't trust you to stay put. You'll leave." She grabbed his wrists, stilling them. "Stop struggling or you'll bruise."

"Look. Really look at me? Do I look happy? I'm cuffed to your BED. Do you not see how fucked up this is?" He squinted, watching her avert her crazy eyes to avoid reality. The second he got loose, he'd run for the hills.

With a deep sigh, ahe folded her arms on his chest and rested her head on top, looking innocently up at him from under her lashes. "I just wanted us to spend some time together is all. I was gonna let you go... Eventually."

"You... could've... asked???"

A high giggle escaped her. "You know, you have the most lusious lips and the way they move makes me think of things I'd love to use them for. I love this mouth," she sighed tapping his full bottom lip, high on her delusional cloud. "But I'm patient. I can wait."

Erik exhaled the breath he held when she got up.

"Hope you can handle dessert. I don't think you're ready for this one, it's what I call The Clencher." This time, when she left the room, she returned with a covered plate. "Voila!" She presented a wide and hefty slice of chocolate mousse cheesecake.

Suddenly, he wasn't so full anymore. She was killing him.

"Mm, mm, mm!" She sprayed whipped cream on top. Not the damn whipped cream. He loved whipped cream. He ate it straight from the spray can.

Hm... Fuck that, he doubled back mentally. He was done. No more entertaining the circus.

"Whoa! Hol'up... What you doing..."

She began pulling her cropped pink shirt slowly over her head so not to mess up her hair.

"Courtney," he warned.

Under that shirt was a small and magenta bra. "You guessed it," she smirked. "Looks like you're getting lucky tonight."

"Nah, sweetheart. This aint it. I'd have been happy to see this under different circumstances," he admitted, watching her slowly push down the matching pale pink mini skirt to reveal a magenta thong. "But this? Too far." He couldn't deny being a little turnt on. Had he uncovered it in his own way on his own terms, he'd have been glued like a dog on a leg. "It's the principle."

"I don't think so?" Courtney walked forward, challenging him. She pinched her bra apart from the front, letting the straps fall from her shoulders to reveal two perky breasts. "The Big-Big Man didn't get your memo," she teased, looking to his partial-chub. "He doesn't seem to care how it happens as long as it happens. Gotta say, I agree.

"My dick gets hard if the wind blows. You not special. That's why you listen to ME. Consent is everything."

Her eyes grew momentarily.

"You have a way with words that gets me so tingly on the surface and creamy inside. It's not helping your case," her accented voice lilted, giving the sound of arousal. "I'm getting what I want tonight and you're... gonna like it."

Erik pulled against the pink furry handcuffs as she slipped down onto the bed with the cheesecake. "POLICE."

"Stahp," she chuckled, feeding him.

He might as well have been drugging him, she was giving him the itis. The cheesecake was like a cheesecloud. If only she wasn't so damn weird! She fed him another bite then sat the dish down, dabbing the whipped cream on her perky chocolate nipples.

"Bitch... If you touch me without my permission we're gonna have some real problems."

"Would you punish me?" She touched her nipples and massaged the cream lightly in a teasing circular motion, causing his dick to pitch a tent independent of him. "Seems two of us know exactly what we want."

Erik watched her swipe her delicate and clean looking finger along the top of the cheesecake, collecting a healthy dollop and bringing it to his mouth. Hesitantly, he sucked it. She was a gorgeous girl, his ideal physical type, and very sexy. The cheesecake was godly. Next was her chocolate mousse coated nipple. She hovered over his face and he caved, salivating for a different reason now. His thoughts were wayward.

"If I'd have asked you on our first date to come spend time glued to me like a good roux, would you'd have said yes?"

"No," he admitted easily. "Because that's weird. I don't think you really understand."

"You don't understand. I want what you won't freely give me.. Sugar, I want your heart. I want your time. I want you to look at me as more than a one night stand. I want you to understand my passion for all things you." She drug her hands up his washboard abs feeling every bump and indentation, getting very worked up in the process and breathing heavier. Her leg was now over his and she was sitting on top of his thighs, grinding, her hips rotating to show off her toned belly. "I want you so bad Erik. I want you to be all mine and no one else's. I want to be selfish and keep you to myself forever, tied to me. I can be your everything if you let me.

"Easy.. Calm down.." She was riding his laplike they were having sex but he was still fully dressed and she wore panties.. They were getting damp just from that..

It clicked to her in that moment to undress him. He couldn't physically resist, so he laid and watched his long legs come into visibility.

"You even smell amazing." She took a large intimate sniff of his bare stomach. Unhinged. "Why do you drive me so crazy?"

"Drive you? You were already there." He watched her press kisses into his stomach around his bellybutton. A ring of kisses, then more where she'd just been. She traveled up, sliding her hands with them. She was in the Sahara as thirsty as she was, licking his skin like she'd taste pheromones. Meanwhile, Erik couldn't deny the blood flowing to his dick. He'd lied when he said the wind could make him hard, but Fort Knox couldn't get that info out of him right now. He was so fucking turned on despite his frustration.

"Aight that's enough."

"For who? I just started."

She worked her little hungry ass tongue desperately back down to his waistband, kissing over his print in his Calvin Klein briefs. The head HAD to be crazy the way she was feenin.

"Stop... Bitch, what I say? Don't touch my dick." He kissed his teeth as she disregarded every request doing only what she wanted.

She freed his growing erection watching it twitch to life as she stroked it up in her hand. He happened to be a grower AND a shower, and she looked hungry like she needed to be fed.

"I knew it was big. I knew it was big." She rubbed her face against it in circles. With her nose flat on the underside."

"The fuck are you doing?"

"Stay up there!"

She continued to stroke it toward the ceiling, all fingers on deck to grip the girth. It was thickest at the base and that was where her face rested, her tongue tracing the vein. Soap and vanilla filled her nostrils.

He watched her natural nails painted pearlescent white. Then she stopped fucking around and put her lips on the tip, putting him an inch into her mouth, her lips as full as his and shapely. The sight of her lips making his tip disappear with her eyes on his made him keep his eyes on her. She was swirling her lil freaky tongue on the hole. "You freaky motherfucker... you better stop that shit..."

She claimed another inch, still focusing on the tip and watching him carefully to find his sensitive spots. It felt so good to him that he put his head back against the bed and watched the ceiling to shut her out. She was determined to find a way to his soul.

Her hand cranked the rest of his shaft and for a moment her tongue found its way to his balls. He bit his lip, holding back sound. Don't encourage her, he thought. But she was encouraging herself, moaning and licking on his sack, playing with it. Her tongue slipped to his taint, massaging.

"Shiiit.."

"There's no one as perfect for you as me," Courtney announced. "Give me sole access to this dick and I swear," she begged, between soulful sucks on his sensitive tip. "You'll never want for better.. I can satisfy you."

She took him in deeper and deeper still. He could feel the back of her mouth, her tongue, then the squeeze of her throat. She was getting sloppy, making a mess of spit and bubbles that collected around the base and slid to his balls as she massaged it in.

"Fawwck," Erik writhed with nowhere to go. She was seizing his body up, relentlessly sucking and beating the shit out of his dick. "Uh!" He came in ribbons, all in her mouth. Her eyes turned into two happy slits, but she didn't stop. She focused on his tip, still sucking. If his hands were free, he'd push her away needing just a moment, but his wrists were cuffed. "Aight, aight. You don't eat the stick when the popsicle gone," he sighed, watching the ceiling once more.

She was in her own world with his dick.

"I'll devote myself to worshipping this big pretty brown dick."

Her fingers dug into his thighs, passionate in her plea and sucking him into another buckling orgasm.

"One more," she sighed.

This time she gave him a moment as his dick was losing blood, his breathing trying to get back to normal. But it was only a moment. She gripped his base and started stroking to get the blood moving back up. Again, she put it in her mouth.

Erik groaned, pulling against the cuffs. His abs tensed. A low feral growl escaped him. "Fuck me," he blurted. "Sit on my dick. Now."

Brain was turning off, lust was turning up.

She wasted no time straddling him with her panties pulled to the side and her feet planted at his sides, her hands on his chest. She guided his rock hard dick into herself and sank down onto it bouncing off of the first few inches and working her way down with gravity.

Erik growled, flexing and wishing his hands were free. He wouldn't run, he'd take control and teach her ass a lesson.

Courtney moaned loudly with no regard for neighbors as she rode the fuck out of him. An expert jockey. "I love this dick, I love this dick," she chanted. All he could do has throw his hips to add more bounce and thrust deeper into her womb. "Fuck me!"

"I'm finna nut. Shit. Shit." She hadn't put a condom on him.

"I want it all. I want those fucking babies. Give me your babies," she bounced stubbornly.

"Get up. Get off me. Shit. It's coming."

He couldn't hold it. She wouldn't stop. He nutted inside her, panting at every spurt. She was idling on his dick now, keeping it warm as it went soft inside of her.

"Damn," he sighed.

Courtney slowly dismounted with his seed dripping down her inner thigh. She retrieved a key from her dresser and undid his cuffs, sinking onto the bed next to him.

"I might have you for longer than we thought," she smirked.

He wrapped her in his embrace, kissing her hair.

"I can't believe I stuck my dick in crazy," he sighed the second he could breathe properly. She chuckled, reaching across his body to hug him tightly.

"You love it."

"I do. I knew you were crazy when I met you. Scorpios are all crazy. You lucky I looove scorpios." He stretched, letting blood flow through his arms and wrists. "We should roleplay more often. This was wild."

"What we doing next time? And can it also involve liquor?"

"Next time," he smirked, thinking of a good scenario. "Next time, your car can break down and I'll come offer you some assistance."

"Ooh."

"You like that?"

To be continued.

@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @goldieccentric @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybeee-blog @playgurlxoxo @beaut1fulone-blog @blackerthings @syndrlla97 @ladymac82 @browngirldominion

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik killmonger imagine #black panther killmonger #black panther fanfiction #black fanfic writer #black fanfiction #erik killmonger x oc #killmonger smut #spooky szn #kinktober

541 notes · View notes

cyb3rscoups · 11 months

Text

There’s just something about writing a black woman being loved and spoiled that really hits home for me. It is simply unmatched on my happiness scale.

#attuma #alex livinalli #attoye #attuma x okoye #attoye fanfic #black panther #okoye x attuma #wakanda forever #danai gurira #mcu okoye #x black reader #black reader #black woman #black woman writer #black writers

1K notes · View notes

queermentaldisaster · 2 months

Text

“You need to shift, right?” Soap nodded. Ghost continued, “then shift. You're a red fox, you're small, you can rest in my lap while I drive us back to Alejandro's base.”

Guys you don't understand

They

ARGH

#shifter!au #call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty mw2 #ghostsoap #ghoap #soapghost #soap mw2 #ghost mw2 #red fox!soap #black panther!ghost #snippet #fic wip #fanfic wips

197 notes · View notes

revrover · 1 year

Text

The Stranger - Pt. 2

Part One: The Stranger

Part Three

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Word Count: 8k (lol whoops)

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Language, PLOT

Summary: Namor isn’t the only one who has been searching for his general. Thanks to you, Namora’s life was saved -- but when your connection to the two strangers brings you face to face with a hostile group of government agents, you find yourself in the crossfire of a much bigger conflict.

A/N: OMG first and foremost thank you for being here, thank your for coming back, and thank you for reading. This has taken me a bit longer to post because I’ve been pouring over it every day for a month, trying to get it just right. Comments, feedback and reblogs mean THE WORLD to me, so feel free to show some love and as always please be kind!

***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!

There is a growing unrest inside you.

Days have passed since your encounter with Namor after saving the life of his general, Namora. Two mysterious strangers who have left your mind reeling with questions, unrelenting and unquenchable as a flame that dares to spread like wildfire, consuming your thoughts entirely.

You repeatedly play the memory over in your head with no rational way to explain what you witnessed; her blue skin, his superhuman strength; the curious metal that outfitted both of their armor; how they disappeared into the vast open ocean.

"Something on your mind?" A fruit vendor asks, snapping you back to reality. You stand in the middle of the bustling village marketplace, doing your best to orient yourself quickly.

“Your head is — how you say…? — in the clouds, yes?” The vendor asks in her best English, smiling politely at you as she stands next to her cart, eager for you to buy something.

"Is it that obvious?" You joke with a tired laugh. "Two, please."

You scoop up a pair of fresh mangos and hand the woman some change from your pocket. She kindly accepts it with a nod of appreciation. Carefully sliding the fruit into your bag, you return a nod of your own.

You continue to walk through the market, the damp air carrying an aroma of local cuisine and sweat fills your lungs. Weaving your way in and out of aisles created by vendor carts, you feel a sense of calm as you watch the locals interacting with one another. There's beauty to be found in their sense of community.

Typically, you would gather your needed food and supplies and then be on your way back home, but today as your mind wanders, so do your feet.

Meandering down another aisle, your thoughts drift back to Namor, specifically the morning you found him on your front porch. You can practically feel the warmth of that sunrise as you imagine its light illuminating his dark eyes. You picture the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth when you asked him if he would come back, a moment you hold onto tightly. The memory gives you optimism that you will see him again someday and hopefully have the opportunity to ask him more questions.

Lost in thought, you hardly notice a small crate sticking out a few inches further than other accompanying carts in the aisle. Tripping your foot as you walk by, it nearly tumbles you to the ground. You manage to catch your balance and your breath before face-planting into the dirt. Immediately turning to apologize, you find an elderly man seated behind the crate, his back leaning against the wagon behind him and his eyes shut.

The man is slender and his head bald, save for a few wisps of hair above his ears. Most of his body is covered by a knitted green poncho, well-worn and fraying along the hem. To both your relief and surprise, he seems completely undisturbed by your clumsy collision with his crate of goods. Unsure if he’s even awake, you reach down to help reset any items on the crate you may have displaced.

Your jaw drops slightly as you see the contents on display. Spread out on a velvet brown tablecloth sits a small assortment of beautiful books, scrolls, and other documents. Admiring them, you reach out and push back one of the scrolls, revealing a gorgeous hand-sketched portrait of the island.

“Did you draw this?” You ask, impressed by the skill of it.

“Mmm,” He hums, shaking his head, "But I made very good trade with the man who did.”

You find his answer odd, though slightly amusing, considering he never opened his eyes to see which piece you were referring to. As you browse the rest of the items, a particular book stands out to you. It’s different from the rest of the collection — small and bound in leather, although the leather itself is worn and brittle-looking. You pick it up and inspect it closer. The binding is loose, the pages aged and tattered.

“Careful with that one. Very old.” The elderly man says, his eyes remaining shut. “Nearly 400 years. Got it in a trade with a visiting merchant from our southeastern sister islands."

How does he even do that? You wonder as you start delicately flipping through the pages of the book. You make it about midway through when you open to a particular page that makes you freeze, your heart nearly jumping out of your throat. Your eyes widen as you bring the page closer to your face.

It’s a crude drawing — basic, two-dimensional, and very old like the man said, but the likeness is undeniable. Depicted is the figure of a man. He dawns a grand snake-like headpiece and is grasping a spear. His body is adorned with jade and other metals. Sharp ears. Winged ankles.

"Excuse me!” you ask the elderly man with an exasperated breath, practically jumping over the crate as you lean forward and shout, “These!" You flip the book around to show him the open page, pointing excessively at the picture and the glyphs below it. "What do these say?!"

Your voice is eager and desperate, emotions you hardly try to hide.

The man's left eye slowly squints open.

“Only few are still legible.” He says, shrugging.

“Okay, yes, but the ones you can read, what do they say?!” You plead.

He sighs, opening his other eye and leaning forward slightly to get a better look. After a moment, he leans back against the wagon and closes his eyes again.

"King. Serpent. God. Monster."

You hang on to each word he tells you. Turning the book back around, you bring it back up to your face for another closer inspection.

"How much?" You ask, ready to make a deal.

The elderly man cracks one eye open to look at you for a moment as he considers his price, then wordlessly points to your arm with a feeble finger. You follow his gaze down to the small beaded bracelet around your wrist — the last reminder of your life before coming to the island. You hold your arm up to him, making sure you understand correctly. He nods politely, and without hesitation, you untie the bracelet and toss it to him.

"Nice doing business!" He says with a wide grin as he holds up the bracelet. You are already nose-deep in the book as you turn on your heels, quickening your pace as you head home where you can study more carefully.

Maneuvering your way out of the market to the outskirts of the village, you hardly need your eyes to guide your feet home. You take advantage of the remaining daylight to examine the pages as you walk, turning page after page and scanning for any information about Namor and his people. There’s little there, the book seeming to be a very old, mingled account of island history and lore. Seeing as you are not a historian and certainly not a linguist, it’s difficult to decipher. Still, you do your best to piece together what you can from the pictures.

King. Serpent. God. Monster.

The sky begins to dim. You can hear the faint roar of waves as you near the coastline. It’s too dark to see much detail on the pages now, so you carefully tuck the book into your bag as you step over the trunks of palm trees. The path beneath your feet gradually turns from brush to sand, and soon you find yourself walking along the familiar stretch of beach that leads you home. You stare out into the darkness, listening to the rhythmic pattern of ocean waves and breathing in the salty evening air. The moon hovers above the water, burning brightly as countless stars paint the sky behind it.

You continue walking in the darkness, but there’s an uneasiness building in your gut the further you go. You should be nearing home by now, but no lanterns have come into view. You always light lanterns before heading into town. They burn for hours in your absence so, by the time you return, you have light to guide you. All you see now are shadows and silhouettes that dance against the tree line, and every sound and indiscernible movement has you on edge.

It’s not until you are nearly a stone's throw away that the bungalow materializes in the night. Your stomach twists as the wind blows by you, rustling your hair and causing the snuffed-out lanterns hanging from your porch to creak as they swing back and forth. You hear shuffling, and small beams of light sporadically shine through the cracks of lumber that make up the walls of your home.

There is someone inside.

An alarm goes off in your head, screaming at you to get out. As quietly as possible, you begin backing away. Eyes fixed on the bungalow, you take one step back. Then another. Then another. Then — thud.

Your stomach flips and your throat tightens. While you pray you’ve miscalculated and miraculously made it to the tree line in three short steps instead of thirty, you feel the unmistakable presence of a body directly behind you.

“Going somewhere?” A deep voice growls menacingly. It belongs to a man, his tone gruff, although you can’t quite make out his accent. You do, however, feel the blood drain from your face as you slowly turn your head, finding what is quite possibly the largest human being you have ever seen. Dressed in black military-grade tactical gear and armed with enough ammo and firepower to take on a small army, you know there is no fucking way you are getting away from this guy.

The man grabs your arm and forcefully drags you toward the bungalow. Once up the stairs, he pushes you inside and releases his grasp. You rub your arm and look up to find another man standing in your kitchen, his back turned away from you as he stands hunched over your table. He’s dressed in similar tactical gear and has a walkie-talkie hooked to his belt. A lantern burns next to him as he seems to be pouring over some sort of map.

“Sir,” the man behind you bellows.

The man at the table straightens his posture and turns around to face you both. His hair is buzzed and his face is stubbly, with a thick prominent mustache that stretches across his upper lip. He seems a bit older, and by the ‘sir’ formality, you are fairly confident he is in charge.

“Ah, we were wondering when you would be back.” He says in a sly tone, his accent American.

“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?” You respond in anger to the unwelcome visitor.

The man takes a sweeping look around the place, then his eyes come back to you.

“I think we can agree that “house” is a bit of a loose term.” He responds with sarcasm, a knowing look on his face. You continue to stare him down, unresponsive to his quip. The man loosens his shoulders and smiles at you. “Where are my manners? Agent Barrett.” He reaches his hand out, offering to shake yours.

You don’t move a muscle.

There is an awkward moment of silence, then Agent Barrett’s hand retreats. He turns, beginning to pace around your tiny kitchen. The room is in rougher shape than usual, clearly ransacked by whatever search was conducted before your arrival. The agent picks up a small roll of gauze from off the counter and holds it up.

“Tell me,” he says, inspecting the bandage material closely, “have you had any visitors recently?” His gaze quickly flicks over to you, an eyebrow raised.

Your pulse quickens as your blood turns to ice. Your mind immediately flashes to Namora floating wounded in the water; to Namor breaking down your door; to the two of them disappearing into the night. You put on your best poker face and shake your head.

“There’s no one around here for miles,” you explain, trying to be as convincing as possible. “You should try more inland towards the village. Most tourists, if any, stick closer to town or retreat to the far side of the island where—“

“Oh, she’s no tourist.” Agent Barrett chuckles, cutting you off. It feels insulting as if your suggestion were so preposterous it was borderline humorous.

She. He is looking for Namora.

Setting the gauze down next to the sink, Agent Barrett turns and walks over to you.

“You’re certain you haven’t seen anybody unusual around here in the past few days?”

He’s standing much closer now. Something about him makes your skin crawl. You eye the gun strapped to his hip and doubt it is for self-defense. Again, you shake your head.

Barrett sighs and gives you a disappointed smile.

“Okay.” He says softly while nodding his head. He backs away from you as the room lingers in silence. You allow yourself to take a breath, but the relief is short-lived. “Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”

On Barrett’s cue, the large man behind you grabs your shoulder and kicks the back of your legs, dropping you hard to your knees. With his free hand, he yanks the bag off your other shoulder and tosses it to another man who emerges from the doorway to your bedroom. He catches the bag and immediately starts rummaging through it.

“Hey—HEY!” You shout, “What the hell are you—“

“A woman!” Barrett yells. “Pale blue skin. Very skilled swimmer. Four days ago, she single-handedly took down three UN-sanctioned vessels in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic! Three! Now where I’m from,” he crouches down to your level, aggressively getting in your face as he drops his voice lower, “that’s what we call an act of terrorism.”

Adrenaline overtakes your body as you feel your heart beat so intensely it threatens to break right out of your chest. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Barrett’s henchman searches your bag. He pulls out the mangos and tosses them on the floor. Then, he grabs the old leather-bound book. Turning it over in his hand, he looks at it for a moment and tucks it into his belt.

“She was wounded,” Barrett continues, calling your attention back to him, “and our intelligence indicates she washed up somewhere along this shoreline. That's where her trail goes cold. And as you said, there's no one around here for miles. No one, except you."

His implication is obvious.

“This woman, where is she?” He makes a last-ditch effort to convey a friendly tone, but you can hear his patience dwindling. "And please don't make me ask again."

You stare at him coldly, lips sealed together. You’re not telling this man a damn thing.

"Mmmm," is all he grunts, his eyes dropping to the ground. He heaves a heavy sigh as he pushes against his knees to stand up. Once on his feet, Agent Barrett stares at you for another moment before nodding his head to the agent behind you. The next thing you know, you are suddenly being pulled up by your hair, the man’s grip tight against the back of your neck as he turns and pushes you out the door.

Your hands clamor to his as you struggle against him to relieve the painful tension pulling on your scalp, attempting to release his grip on you. But the man is too strong and drags you down the stairs of your porch with ease. You make it a few meters down the shore when he shoves you down to your knees. Your legs make divots in the sand as your hands catch the rest of your body’s momentum. Hunched over, your knees and palms sting from the sand's friction.

You immediately tense up as you feel a gun press against your head, the cool metal barrel hungry to fire. Hearing footsteps approaching behind, you quickly swallow your fear to maintain composure. Agent Barrett walks past, turning to position himself directly in front of you again — only this time, he doesn’t crouch down to your level.

“Look at me.” He demands as he towers over you. His body language makes it clear who is in control. In the only act of defiance you have left in your arsenal, you keep your gaze laser-focused on the water straight ahead of you, refusing to give in to his instruction. Growing impatient, Barrett roughly grabs your chin. He clasps it tightly as he yanks your jaw upward, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“You’re going to tell me about your friend, and you’re going to tell me where she is, right now," he growls.

You stare at him, disdain in your eyes. You momentarily scan your surroundings and count nearly twenty other men on the beach now. It’s enough to make your gaze and your heart sink straight to the ground.

Even if you wanted to tell him, you don't have the answers Barrett is looking for. His face hardens as your lack of cooperation and unwillingness to talk becomes clearer and clearer. Loosening his grip and dropping your chin, Agent Barrett looks at the agent next to you.

“Do it,” he orders, leaving you without another word as he walks back up the beach toward the bungalow.

The gun presses even harder against your temple and you hear the irrefutable sound of it being cocked as a bullet rolls into the chamber. Your heart is heavy as your eyes begin to well with tears. You stare out at the ocean, the night swallowing the horizon save it for the piercing glow of the moon that cuts its way through the sky down to Earth. It’s a better view than most get in their final moments, you suppose. For that, you consider yourself lucky.

Time seems suspended as you feel the ocean breeze blow past you, pouring over your skin and filling your lungs as you deeply inhale these final moments. You savor the way the salty air envelops you like the comforting embrace of an old friend. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try fighting back the tears. Despite your best efforts, one single drop escapes, racing down your cheek as you accept your fate.

Zzzzziiinnng!

Where you expect to hear the split-second ring of a gun firing before getting your brain blasted out the side of your skull, you instead hear a high-pitched whistling through the air and the unmistakable slice of a blade penetrating flesh. The weight of the gun barrel against your head slides limply away, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground next to you.

Your eyes shoot open. You turn to see your executioner now lying dead on his back with a spear pelted through his chest. Your eyes widen in fear, then settle on the spear itself. A spear you recognize — because it’s the same one that was held to your throat only a few days earlier.

Namor.

He's here. Desperately your eyes search the ocean line, scouring the darkness for him.

"We're under attack!" Someone yells frantically from behind you. It is one of Barrett’s men.

"Open Fire! Open fire!" Another one shouts.

You immediately abandon your search for Namor, hitting the deck and covering your head as dueling bullets and spears fly over you. Hearing anguished cries from both sides, you peek out from over your arm and watch in horror as an agent a few meters away looks down at their dart-ridden chest. They drop to their knees, then fall forward onto their face.

Your head whirls around at the sound of another spear making contact with a body and dropping it to the ground. This agent is about ten meters away from you, and while your first instinct is to get the hell out of there — run as far as you can as fast as you can — you notice your little leather-bound book tucked into the belt of the lifeless body.

You tell yourself to leave it. You plead with yourself to leave it.

“Damn it,” you mutter in frustration to yourself. You are getting that book.

Before you can give it another thought, you are already army-crawling through the sand. The sound of gunfire rings in your ears as more weapons return their fire. You scramble to the body, staying low to the ground on your chest and abdomen. Once there, you reach out and grab the book, wrangling it free from the deceased man's belt. You shove it into your waistband when something behind you explodes, causing you to duck your head and shield yourself with your arms.

The battle is deafening and disorienting. The mix of adrenaline and shock threatens to override your entire system as you try to maintain your focus.

Keep moving, you tell yourself.

You lift your head, ready to run, but your breath catches and you freeze. Mere inches from your face, you find yourself staring at someone’s feet and feel the presence of their body hovering over you. You brush the stinging sand out of your eyes, pleading in your mind that this is not the end. Not now. As your vision sharpens, you feel a surge of hope. There in front of you are two winged ankles.

Your eyes shoot up. Standing above you, illuminated by the light of the moon and the rapid sparks of machine guns firing, is Namor.

He looks down at you, his stare intense as his nostrils flare and his chest rises and falls with each breath. Gripping the hilt of the spear, he effortlessly removes it from the body next to you with one pull, his eyes never leaving yours. The ongoing battle on the beach doesn’t deter his attention from you in the slightest. From behind him, a handful of armed warriors with pale blue skin come storming out of the ocean.

“Namora!” He calls, and one warrior immediately splits off from the group. While the others continue to push the team of agents to the far side of the beach, the general comes to Namor’s side and your eyes widen as you take her in. Almost unrecognizable from when you first met her, Namora is a sight to behold. Instead of weak and wounded, she now stands strong and commanding, fully outfitted in her armor of woven jade and metal. Dazzling lionfish spines adorn her head and neck, and she wears the same mesh apparatus over her nose and mouth as before. You are astounded when you squint and barely see a seam remaining where you had stitched her up.

“K'uk'ulkan.” She answers, standing at attention.

Namor’s eyes are still fixed on you. He hands the retrieved spear to Namora and then nods in your direction.

You become nervous, suddenly uncertain if the pair of them have come to you as friend or foe, watching as Namora tightens her grip around the weapon.

“Go.” Namor urges, and a wave of relief washes over you. Friend.

“Where are my goddamn reinforcements?!!” You hear someone shout into a walkie-talkie. You recognize the voice as Agent Barrett's.

“Go NOW,” Namor commands, his eyes flicking up in Barrett’s direction. The expression on his face becomes menacing as he strides past you, his muscles rigid and his pace purposeful. He pulls his own spear out of the larger agent who nearly executed you as he walks past the body, arming himself.

Without hesitation, Namora strides forward and links her arm under your shoulder, pulling you up to your feet and yanking you quickly toward the trees. Before you can reach them, however, more men dressed in black combat gear come pouring out of the thick foliage, ready to attack.

Three surround you as the others rush to provide relief further down the beach. Instead of guns, these agents come armed with batons and other blunt weapons. Namora whips you back behind her, placing herself between you and the approaching enemy. She walks toward the agents, rotating her spear in her hand. You’re surprised by how relaxed her posture is as she waits for the men, each one at least twice her size, to make the first move.

The agent to her right makes the first advance, lunging forward at Namora. She meets him with speed and ferocity, quickly sidestepping him only to grab hold of his shoulders. She uses them as an anchor to whirl herself around him, gracefully landing and her feet and then lodging her spear into his back. The man cries out in pain, but Namora quickly delivers the final blow as she twists the spear in deeper and shoves it upward toward his lungs.

No sooner does his body hit the ground when the two other men charge at her. Like a beautifully choreographed dance, Namora drops to her knees, sliding across the sand between them to duck under their attacks. As she does so, she nimbly summersaults back onto her feet and turns one hundred and eighty degrees. Back on the attack, she runs hard at them. You watch as Namora delivers a combination of charged punches to one agent, then springs back to avoid the swing of the baton from the other. To counter the move, she kicks the man above the kneecap with so much power it sends his whole leg backward and brings him to his knees. She grabs the sides of his head with both of her hands, thrusting it down hard against her knee. You feel the grisly sound of blunt broken bone deep in your core as his skull makes contact.

As the man’s head reels backward, blood pouring from his face, Namora seamlessly transitions between her two opponents, avoiding another attack from the third agent she had previously deflected with punches. Her attention back on him, she trades blows as they fight in more hand-to-hand combat. Between kicks, punches, and counter-punches, Namora strategically inches herself backward until she’s practically standing on top of the first body she dropped. Baiting her current opponent forward, she taunts him with the tilt of her head, exaggerated by her headpiece. It works like a charm. He charges at her, and swooping under him, she wraps around his chest and pulls him over the top of her, flipping him onto his back. In one calculated motion, she pulls her spear from the body of the first agent which is now easily within reaching distance, and drives it into the second.

It all plays out in front of you so quickly when the third agent with the broken nose — well, broken face, really — groans as he gets himself up, ready to have another go at Namora. She engages, but as she moves towards him you see a fourth man emerge from the trees, raising a gun to shoot.

“LOOK OUT!” You yell to warn her, but pure instinct has your feet sprinting forward to stop him.

You don’t process any thought or consider any tactic, you just hurl yourself at him. The two of you collide, crashing to the ground with all the power and momentum you can muster. You scramble for his gun and manage to knock it away, but he barrels you over him and slams your back against the ground. The impact forces the air out of your lungs, temporarily paralyzing you as you struggle for breath. The agent straddles your body, putting more pressure on your chest as he pulls a knife from his hip. With all your strength, you fight to hold his arm back. He breaks through your grasp and takes a swipe at you, but reflexively you deflect it away with your hand. The knife slices open your palm and you cry out as you try to continue pushing his arms back.

When he raises his blade again, a blur of orange lionfish spines come streaking across as Namora flies over the back of the agent and yanks him off of you. They tumble across the sand, but she quickly gains the upper hand by entangling him in a headlock. Clutching your injured hand and still struggling for oxygen, you look on as she tightens her grip around the man’s neck and then abruptly cracks it to the side.

The sound makes you sick to your stomach, but you also feel a sense of relief. And gratitude. Your chest heaves as you finally start to catch your breath, your entire body buzzing. You turn to see the dead agents Namora has so quickly disposed of, their bodies dispersed across the sand. She unwraps herself from her most recent kill and makes her way to you with haste.

As she reaches you, you hear the chaos and fighting continue further down the beach. Then, the faint sound of a helicopter approaching. Barrett’s reinforcements.

“There are too many of them,” you say in distress as you witness more agents pour out onto the sand to fight Namor’s warriors. Even if each one had Namora’s four-to-one kill ratio, they are still outnumbered. As the chopper blades get louder, Namora looks at you intensely, reaching out her hand.

“Come,” she insists.

She’s gotten you this far. You grasp her hand without hesitation and she pulls you to your feet. You edge closer to the tree line where you hope safety and concealment await you, but as you reach the lush landscape something pricks your ears. It’s not gunfire. It’s not the chopper.

Namora tugs your arm as she tries to usher you into the trees, but your focus is elsewhere. A faint, melodic breeze moves past you like a ghost, causing your mind to become hazy. As the sound grows louder, an indescribable melody rings in your ears that is both euphoric and dreadful. You don’t even notice the tension of Namora’s grip on your hand increase as your feet redirect you toward the water, compelled by its call.

“No!” Namora yells at you as she yanks your arm. The force of it snaps your attention back for a moment, and you watch as the agents who line the beach suddenly cease fighting and instead walk undeterred paths straight into the water. Terror fills you as they wade further and further out, the water coming up to their knees, then their hips, then their chests, until they are completely submerged underneath.

You shoot a glance to Namora, petrified and confused. Whatever is happening, she seems unaffected. Your thoughts and vision begin to cloud again, and you feel like someone else is controlling your body as the ocean summons you along with the others. Every part of you feels entranced by the chorus of voices in the air as their notes overwhelm your senses and leave you disoriented. Namora grabs you, practically throwing you over her shoulder as she runs into the trees. You become hard to carry, so she pulls you both into the cove of a sheltered root system at the edge of the foliage. Huddling next to you, Namora tightly wraps her arms around your head to cover your ears with her hands.

Pupils dilated, you desperately try to hold onto any shred of active consciousness before giving in entirely to the song. Your mind becomes infiltrated by it and begins to process what you see in pieces; men in the water, drowning themselves; gunfire raining down from the night sky; Namor, spear in hand, leaping into the air, taking impossible strides toward a chopper; the chopper spinning out of control.

You feel the heat against your face as the chopper crashes to the ground, exploding on impact. The last thing you remember seeing is Namor in the distance, standing on the sand. Illuminated by the raging inferno that burns behind him from the destroyed chopper, he is fierce, incredible, and terrifying.

A god. A monster.

The haunting chorus melody continues to consume your mind. Even with Namora’s help, you feel your body shift as it involuntarily attempts to get up. Namora squeezes her palms over your ears with even more strength and restrains your movements.

"No." She whispers fiercely.

You squeeze your eyes shut, covering your hands over Namora's as tightly as possible. Blood pours from your hand down hers, trickling onto your shoulder. The noise is too much, and as you feel yourself begin to scream, everything goes black.

——

Your feet drag through the cool sand.

That’s the first thing you see when you finally become conscious again. Your head hangs low in front of you, pounding as it bobs up and down. It’s still dark out, but you find your home lit up by more lanterns as you approach the pathway to your porch.

You glance to your right and left, discovering you are being assisted by two people on either side of you — Namora on your right and a much taller blue-skinned man on your left. His shoulders are wide and his head is outfitted with an armored hammerhead skull. Arms slung around both of their necks, your body is in a state of pure exhaustion as they get you up the stairs to the door.

As you start to step with your own feet, they are alerted by your recovered consciousness. Quickly, the man unhooks your arm from around him, steadying you against Namora. He retreats as you find yourself gaining feeling back in your body. Namora patiently waits for you to get your bearings, and when you do she opens the front door for you, ushering you to go inside. You follow her instruction, and there waiting for you in the bungalow is Namor.

Namor stands against your kitchen counter, the same place you stood when he first came crashing into your home. His arms are folded across his broad chest. Although his head is down, his eyes are flicked upward toward you, watching your every move. The flame of a lantern on the table glints off his irises, illuminating the dark stare that hovers just below his furrowed brow.

“Please, sit.” He says with a stern voice, his open palm gesturing toward a chair at the table.

As you sit down, you hear the front door close behind you.

Silence.

"Those men," he finally says, pushing himself away from the counter as he stands up straighter, “they were seeking information?"

You only nod, afraid to say too much.

“It’s safe to speak here. I’ve made sure of it.” He promises, sensing your reluctance to engage in conversation.

“They wanted to know about Namora." You answer cautiously.

Namor's expression grows even more serious. He subtly shifts his weight from side to side before settling back into the center of his powerful stance.

"And even with your life on the line, you said nothing."

You are unsure if he is making a statement or a question.

"Why?" He asks through a clenched jaw.

"Why?" You repeat back to him, caught off guard by the question. "Does it matter why?"

"Yes,” Namor says directly, raising his eyebrows. “Because I need to know if I put my spear through the right person.”

The seriousness of his statement hits you like a brick. Your mind flashes back to the beach, you on your knees with a gun to your head as Namor’s spear plows its way through the man next to you. How easily, you wonder, could he have changed his aim by just a few degrees if you had decided to open your mouth and spill what little information you did know to those men?

As you think about it, you also begin to ask yourself why. Why did you keep your mouth shut? Why did you help Namor and his people?

You take a deep breath as you consider your reasons, then lift your gaze to him.

“You barged into my home, broke down my door, and threatened my life. But even then, the motives behind your actions were clear — the love and concern for your people. These men,” your eyes trail away as you feel a wave of anger build up inside, "these men were driven by self-interest and self-preservation. It wasn’t hard to choose a side.”

His face is stoic as he listens to your answer.

“Plus,” you add, “I promised you I wouldn’t say anything. Twice.”

Namor looks at you the same way he did the night you met him. The look that tells you he is debating whether or not you are telling the truth. You are a witness testifying on the stand, and Namor is your judge and jury.

“Well, that is twice now you have saved my people. Again you have my gratitude." He says with a sigh, his expression softening.

You give a small smile, but it disappears when an unrelenting ache pounds inside your head, pulling you out of the moment. You reach up to rub your temple and suddenly feel a surge of pain coming from your hand, instantly reminding you of the injury you sustained from your face off against one of the agents on the beach.

“Shit,” You exclaim, pulling your cut, bloodied palm away from your face and looking at it.

"Here," Namor says, grabbing the roll of gauze off your kitchen counter as he moves in your direction. Pulling up a chair, he sits down directly in front of you so your knees are practically touching. He gestures for your hand. “May I?"

You consider his offer as you stare at the thick veins protruding from his forearm, binding themselves to his defined muscles like vines around a tree. Eyes darting back up to his, you cautiously nod your head to accept his help while simultaneously extending your arm to him.

Namor takes your injured hand gently in his own, cradling it as if it could shatter into a million pieces. Amazed by how his hand dwarfs yours, you feel a surge of energy in your chest when his thumb begins to rub along your wrist. He takes the roll of gauze and begins carefully wrapping it around your palm.

Calmly maneuvering each layer of the bandage, Namor's brow furrows ever so slightly as he slips deeper into a state of concentration. His grasp is firm but gentle, rotating your hand in tandem with the bandage and you take comfort in his touch.

Studying his face, you admire each feature and detail closely. You see the traces of salt against the rich tones of his skin, and soon your willpower gives way to a desire slowly being coaxed inside you as you allow your eyes to trail from his face to his broad shoulders, down his muscular biceps, and finally to his strong hands as they work to take care of you.

Namor begins humming softly as he continues wrapping your hand. There's a warm timbre in his voice that resonates in your ears, drawing your gaze back up to his face.

"That song..." your voice trails off as you grow more entranced by it, unable to find the words to describe its intoxicating melody. But a surge of fear runs through you as you recall another tune, the one from the beach, its haunting cadence prickling the back of your mind.

"My people have many songs," Namor says in a tone equally rich to his humming, calming you instantly. "Each one with a meaning and purpose."

"What is the purpose of that one?" You ask quietly.

Namor’s hands stop as his eyes wander up to yours.

"It's a lullaby, meant to bring the soul peace." His eyes flutter back down as he resumes wrapping the bandage around your hand. "My mother would sing it to me when I was a child."

"It's beautiful." You say reverently.

A smile spreads across Namor's face, but there's a hint of sadness in it. He leans down to your hand and you can feel your heart beat faster as his mouth hovers mere inches above your skin. The warmth of his breath rushes against your wrist, sending shivers through you. With great care, he tears the gauze with his teeth before tucking the loose end into a fold of the bandage.

"It is," he agrees, staring down at your hand which he now holds carefully between his own. "Especially in a world where peace is scarcely found."

His voice is gentle, but there is a bitterness brewing beneath the statement.

"I have spent my life ensuring peace for my people. Protecting it. Preserving it."

Namor looks back up at you, letting go of your hand as he sits up straighter in his chair. The room is quiet as his words sink in and you drop your gaze to think. As you do so, your good free hand migrates to the leather book still tucked in your waistband, your fingers fiddling with the binding.

“What is it?” Namor asks, snapping your eyes back up to his. You swallow nervously, unsure if you should share what is on your mind. Then again, you may not get another opportunity.

Slowly, you pull the book out from against your side, opening it to its marked page before pushing it across the table to him.

“You say you’ve spent your entire life protecting your people.” You preface, hesitating a moment before asking your question. “Is that... you?"

Namor stares at the book in front of him, tracing the outline of his likeness delicately on the open page with his fingertips.

"A version of me." He answers.

"How...." you rub your temple as you do the unnecessary math in your head, already knowing the hundreds of years difference between the book and the man in front of you doesn't add up. "How is that even possible? That book is centuries old, I mean," you are at a loss trying to wrap your head around it all, coming up short with any logical explanation, “who are you?"

Namor looks up at you, then his gaze descends back onto the open book. He gives a sad smirk.

“You are one of very few to ever ask who I am instead of what I am." He strokes his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. "The answer to neither of which will be found in your book." He says, shutting it and sliding it back toward you. You reach for it, only he doesn’t take his hand off the leather cover right away.

"You must always be weary of your authors.” He warns. “The preservation of one's opinion over time does not make it fact, no matter how long ago it was written."

He relinquishes his hold, you finish sliding the book back to your side of the table. Namor searches your face as his eyebrows pull closer together, a rare look of vulnerability in his eyes.

"I wear the mantle of king and am the protector of my people.” He begins. “They are my responsibility by birthright, a charge I’ve dedicated my entire life to upholding.”

Namor proceeds to tell you the story of his people — how they were driven from their home by Spanish conquistadors, and how their gods provided a remedy for a foreign disease that led them to seek sanctuary in the ocean itself. He explains that his mother was among them, pregnant with Namor at the time, and how the remedy herb altered his very being in the womb. Mutant is the word he uses, the reason for his strength and abilities, as well as his slow aging. He then describes the horrors he had seen upon returning his mother’s body to the surface world after her death, and the vow he took to keep outsiders away from his people and his beloved city he calls Talokan.

"So you see," he says leaning forward as he places his forearms on his knees, his face even closer to yours now, "I am no god. Nor am I a man. What I am is a leader who loves his people. If that makes me a monster, so be it. I will see the world burn before I subject my people to its sins and savagery.”

It’s a lot to take in. You study Namor’s expression as his stare now lingers away from you, his mind somewhere in the past. You can’t even begin to comprehend all that he has seen or experienced, but you do feel a clearer understanding of why he is the way he is. Filled with compassion for him, you cautiously reach up and cradle his face with your non-bandaged hand.

"You're not a monster." You reassure him gently.

This brings Namor’s attention back to you immediately, his dark eyes searching your face earnestly as he takes a deep breath through his nose. The bristles of his scruff are rough against your palm, creating a warm friction when he leans into your touch. Namor closes his eyes and lets out a sigh so deep it's as if he's releasing a weight from his shoulders, one that he has been carrying for far too long. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing it deeper against his cheek.

“K’uk’ulkan,” a voice calls from behind you. You drop your hand back down to your lap as Namor glances over your shoulder. The man with the metal hammerhead skull stands at attention in the front doorway, his body so large it consumes the space entirely. Namor nods at him, then looks back at you.

"It's time," he says, pushing himself up to his feet. “More men will be coming. Namora is outside — collect what you need quickly, she will take you to a safe place.”

The realization sets in, and your heart sinks. Your home is no longer safe and you can’t stay here.

Namor offers you his hand, helping you out of your chair and onto your feet. In doing so, he pulls you into him and tucks his hand delicately under your chin. He’s impossibly close as he tilts your face upward toward his own.

"I am sorry." He whispers, a soft and apologetic tone in his voice. He gives you a remorseful look, but all you can think about is how little space currently exists between his lips and yours. Namor’s gaze flutters down from your eyes to your mouth, but the moment is fleeting as he drops his hand from your chin and takes a step back.

“Go.” He says, encouraging you to get your things. It’s his last word before walking past you and exiting out the front door.

Left alone in the empty bungalow, you make your way over to your bag still on the floor from earlier that evening. You take it and march into your room, grabbing some clothes, your toothbrush, and other small essentials. You don't have much in terms of possessions in the first place, so it doesn’t take long for you to collect what you need.

As you exit your bedroom, you get ready to leave when you look over at the small book on your table. Namor insisted it held no answers for you, but you go to retrieve it anyway, stuffing it in your bag along with the rest of your belongings.

You take one last look around your home, once an unfamiliar broken place that over time became your haven and sanctuary. It breaks your heart to leave, but you know you must.

“Thank you,” you quietly whisper to the room, hoping in some way its energy or spirit or anything can hear you. You make your final exit, walking out to the front porch just as the dawn is starting to break over the horizon. Warm hues cast shadows of orange and red across the island, and you breathe in the early morning air. As you look out across the beach, you are surprised by what little evidence remains of the night’s events. No bodies. No fires. Just large divots in the sand and some smoke along the tree line from a few singed palms.

Namora is standing at the edge of the pathway leading to your porch, waiting for you. Descending the stairs, nerves prompt you to tighten your grip on the shoulder strap of your bag as you brace yourself for the unknown.

“I’m ready,” you say when you reach her.

Namora looks at you seriously, then nods her head. Reaching up to her face, she carefully removes the apparatus from over her nose and mouth. It is the first time you have seen her whole face, unobstructed by the peculiar covering. She’s just as striking without it, and you notice a beautiful jade ring pierced through her septum, echoing Namor’s. She turns the mask in her hand and guides it onto your face, sealing it against your skin.

“Come,” she tells you, turning toward the ocean.

You take one last look back at your home, then fall into stride behind Namora as the two of you walk into the water.

-- -- --

Tag List (I think this is how you do it? Sorry if not, still figuring this whole Tumblr-thing out): @looneylikesbooks @omgsuperstarg @chixkencxrry @vainillasmil157 @demoiseller @sodonuthideout @shoutaaizawas @stany0url0calwh0res111 @hjjks @duckwithsunglasses

#namor #namor x reader #namor x you #namor x gen!reader #Namor x y/n #mcu namor #namor fluff #namor fanfiction #namor fanfic #namor imagine #k'uk'ulkan #black panther wakanda forever #namora #namor of talokan #Wakanda forever #fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

nellycanwrite · 1 year

Text

A Request

Part 1 of the “The Request” Series || Attuma x Talokanil!Princess!Reader

Summary: As the daughter of the feathered serpent god, you had always felt the pressure of living up to your father’s name. But you never had to worry; Attuma was always there to quell your fears and follow your will to the ends of the earth.

Or, in which Attuma swears his undying loyalty and love for you, even if it meant being as shameless as to declare his love to a princess when he was but a mere warrior.

Rating: 16+

Word Count: 10.9K

Warnings: None. Just pure fluffy goodness. If you include a slightly overprotective Dad!Namor then yes, he’s the warning. Maybe a little bit of childhood friends to lovers. A whole lot of Princess x Warrior.

Note: It is worthy to note that I have not included any deep Yucatec Maya phrases (besides the terms of endearment) despite the Talokanil speaking in their native tongue as respect to their language. Therefore their mother tongue shall be labeled with italics.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

K'uk'ulkan had never felt as much loss as he had the day he had lost your mother. Yet there lay bittersweet joy; for the heir to the throne of Talokan had breathed their first breath and let out a cry so strong it beckoned the creatures of the deep sea to their bidding.

You were born a wee thing; weak and fragile as the old shells that littered the floors of the sea. Yet you held strong in the arms of your father as he witnessed his wife lifelessly lay in their shared chambers. The handmaidens and wet nurses all wept and mourned at the loss of their queen, the ocean swayed with the waves of its people's grief. You cried with your father's subjects as if you had understood the passing of Talokan's queen mother, but K'uk'ulkan never shed a tear, no.

He was a king to his people. He was the protector of his nation. A God was he revered by both land and sea.

He was your father.

And he dared not to weep in front of the children he held so dear—for even in the heartache of his loss does he remember the weight of his divine majesty and countenance to his people.

“The queen of Talokan has passed,” K'uk'ulkan swallowed the lump that formed on his throat as he bit back bitter tears. Tears that he will never show his people in a sign of great weakness, “yet she would not have wished for us to mourn in sadness. She brought us a gift that none could ever compare. She would have wished for us to celebrate in her absence for the birth of our child—Talokan's first heir.”

The you who had been presented with a crown and a scepter of your kingdom's rule since your birth inherited your father's features; the ears that pointed to the heavens as a sign of the divine blood that flowed through your veins, the golden skin that the sun had seemed to kiss in great exhalation to your birth, and the wings of heaven bestowed upon your ankles.

You were undoubtedly his child. The heir to K’uk’ulkan’s great nation.

You were loved by both land and sea, perhaps a gift from your late grandmother's love for the surface, for when you visit the land and take gulps of air do you stay breathing and when you step into the rocks of your father's study do you remain kissed by the sun. You did not change into the color of the sea like the maids that have cared for you, instead, you remained the same color as your own father when he sits idly on dry land.

At the tender age of seven did you realize the weight of the name of your father. You aspired to become like him, to fly like him, to lead the people like he did in childish wonder. He showed you the land that your ancestors once owned, the burial sight of your late grandmother, Fen, and the beauty that came with your motherland.

You yearned for the sights of the surface world, craved for the sun that illuminated the sky—not the one that your father had curated all those years ago, but the one that sits amongst the clouds of the surface—and you whispered wistful wishes to walk into the luscious green of the land that was unknown to you.

But your father forbids you to go further than the coves of Talokan's entrance. The sole heir to the throne of your nation should be safe. Protected. You were only allowed to go up into the surface every three months, a leniency that your father had so mercifully given you, and stare at the land dwelling wildlife that would so cross your vision.

You were merely stuck in the watchful eyes of your guards as you gazed with great longing at the mountains so far from your reach and the forests that would call your name.

Despite the love that you had for the beauties of the surface world, you loved your people and your great nation of the deep sea. You loved your father and tried your best to live up to the name of K'uk'ulkan. At the age of eleven you were made aware of your duties to your people. You had made sure that those duties were fulfilled despite the protests of your elders for being so young; that the beloved princess of Talokan need not to carry on the mantle of her royal duties just yet. But you worked hard to outshine your peers to preserve the honor of your father.

K’uk’ulkan could not be any prouder than he is now.

But the pedestal that you stood on was lonely. You did not have many friends, not because your father was protective of you and had guards at your beck and call, but because you were always so nervous to converse with the other Talokanil children.

What if they didn’t like you? What if they decided that your status as a princess would hinder their relationship with you? What if they didn’t see you as a prospect to rule them in the future when your father passes the baton of his majesty to you?

How ironic must it be for the princess of a great nation cower before the idea of friendship to her own people.

But that had changed when your father let you meet two Talokanil children; Namora and Attuma.

You knew Namora as your relative—your father’s cousin, to be exact—and sometimes came and went into the palace when you studied. But you never did get the chance to talk to her. You were far too anxious to try and talk to someone whose aura was as intense as hers, even when she’s just a few years older than you.

“They said they wanted to be your friend, in waal.” my child, he said. Both of them shifted nervously from where they stood, toy spears hidden behind their backs as they fidgeted in place. You noticed how Namora elbowed the boy Attuma on the ribs. He glared at her albeit playfully and said nothing as he behaved.

You have always noticed the two of them from afar when you studied near your father's throne. They were always rowdy, always hitting each other with their spears clumsily. Despite this, they always laughed and took everything in a merry stride. They never ceased to amaze you.

Even though Namora was far smaller than Attuma (or any other Talokanil child your age, really), she always won their little play-fights. Their roughhousing caused other children to stay clear of them, but you always found them fascinating. You never knew they wanted to be your friends. You have never as much as held a proper conversation with them except for a few nervous waves and panicked scrambling on your part when they caught you staring.

“My…friends?” It was your turn to fidget nervously, your hands clasping together and your thumbs twiddling against each other whilst you looked down. You felt the water shift as your father swam towards you, his tender gaze calming you down when his figure covered you from the curious eyes of the Talokanil children.

“That's right. They want to play with you. I'm sure you were wishing for the same, no?” He chuckled knowingly. You felt heat rise from the back of your neck and crawl up your cheeks—your father had seen you staring at them while they were playing almost everyday!

Nervously, you nodded ever slowly. There was no lie to his claims. You truly did wish for them to become your friends.

Attuma's patience must have run out when you were taking your time to reply to your father. You shrieked in surprise when you met the biggest grin you had seen in your life from just above you, an incisor clearly missing in the front of his mouth. K'uk'ulkan laughed and gently coaxed the boy down to your level, his hair flowing gracefully with the water as your father grabbed his ankles and lowered him in front of you.

“Wanna play with us?” You blinked at his straightforwardness. You glanced at your father for help, but he merely chuckled and gestured for you to answer.

“I—well—um…” He was too close to you that you felt like fainting from your own nerves.

“Attuma, don't be rude,” Attuma grunted when Namora appeared by his side and delivered a firm whack to his head with a toy spear. You breathed out a centering exhale before shooting Namora a thankful look. She huffed at Attuma, “you might scare her. And you just swam over the king!”

“I do not mind. But be more mindful next time, Attuma. You must not swim over your elders.” K'uk'ulkan chuckled endearingly at the children's antics. He already knew how rambunctious they would be whenever he passed by them play-fighting.

Attuma nodded with a gapped-tooth grin but K'uk'ulkan doubts he would really listen to him. But that was alright—he has plenty of time to learn respect. The king of Talokan wishes for these children to be their mischievous selves a little while longer and enjoy their carefree lives as young Talokanil.

K'uk'ulkan notices you fidget once again when Namora turns her attention to you, just as eager to make you their new friend. You try to make out words with broken sentences, yet there was no right greeting that would come. You would deflate when Namora would hold the reins of the conversation again. You failed to introduce yourself proudly and your embarrassment made K'uk'ulkan coo—how precious could his princess be?

He chuckles and patted Namora and Attuma on the crowns of their heads, successfully diverting their attention away from you and into his benevolent smile.

“She's a little nervous, but she has a good heart. She also wishes to become your friend. But remember that you have to listen; it is the makings of a great warrior.”

“A great warrior?” Namor's eyes sparkled. Attuma stared at his king with wonder similar to the spark of Namora's eyes.

K'uk'ulkan chuckled and nodded. You chose this moment to swim to your father's side, hiding half of your body behind his own. You looked at Attuma and Namora curiously while they waited for their king's next words.

“A great warrior not only takes a spear and protects their people, but they listen as well. They listen to their people's cries and act upon their needs. It is also your duty to listen to your leaders—for they hold the burden of choice. Never forget that, my young warriors.”

Your father rubbed your back soothingly and pushed you gently forward. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest as soon as you were in close proximity with the two Talokanil children.

“Now this is your first task your king asks of you; listen to what the princess has to say, understood?”

They were eagerly waiting for your next words, their bodies barely holding in their excitement. You would have swam away right then and there, but you steeled your resolve and took a deep breath.

You said your name with a stutter, but that did not deter you. Your father gave you a reassuring pat to your shoulder. It filled you with more confidence to look them straight into the eye and say;

“I—I wish to be your friend, Namora. Attuma.”

The children gleamed happily, the water shifting as they circled you in excitement. Attuma had it in himself to wrap his arms around you and giggle with such carefree mirth that it covered you in a sense of welcome. Of belonging.

“You don’t know how long we wanted to become your friend, princesa!” He exclaimed, his arms still wrapped around you firmly. His toy spear now lay discarded on the ocean floor but he didn’t seem to mind.

Overwhelmed with the attention, you stuttered and twitched in his embrace. But you didn’t feel uncomfortable; it was a pleasant feeling to finally have a friend. But you weren’t used to physical touches just yet.

A large hand pried you off of Attuma, your hair whipping around you as you were now brought back to your father’s side. You saw him smile cordially at the boy, albeit strained, as his eyes twitched ever so slightly.

“Now, we have to be gentle with the princess. There shall be no sudden touches in her presence, especially with you, Attuma.”

Attuma blinked and cocked his head to the side, but he didn’t question his king’s instructions.

Years have passed since you have befriended the rowdy young warriors that K’uk’ulkan looked upon with great fondness. You, along with Namora and Attuma, have trained under the wing of your father in the ways of the spear much to your new friends’ joy.

As the next heir to the throne of your nation, you always did your best to meet the expectations that came with the name of the daughter of the feathered serpent god. You would go to the fields of your farmers to oversee harvest, weave baskets with the elderly to help the storage of the new batch of produce, and join the scholars that studied vibranium so you would further verse yourself to the mineral that grew in abundance in your ocean floors.

They were once such a tedious task for you; something that you did out of necessity. But Namora and Attuma made it a point to follow you everywhere you go, help you with the work and doubling the yields of your effort, and they made you smile when you were far too tired after your duties.

Attuma had made it a habit to make you cling on his back as you swam back home. There was no reason for you to get more exhausted than you already were, he told you. And despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself falling into a habit as well.

You found your royal duties far more enjoyable with them by your side, and you absolutely awaited the time of the day where you were relieved of your duties to go and spend your time with them.

“Don’t you find studying boring?” Attuma asked you one day, his meticulous hands polishing his training spear near the drop of the deep trenches. You tilted your head as soon as you seated yourself beside him, your legs dangling on the steep edge.

“I don’t think so…the language of the surface dwellers is fascinating. I find it enjoyable to learn.”

“You’re better off not knowing their language,” Namora huffed as she emerged from the bottom of the trench, a small lamp containing bright vibranium sustaining you with much needed light. She held her training spear proudly by her side, freshly decorated with shells that she found down below, “you know what they did to our grandmothers and grandfathers. I don’t see why you want to learn so much about them.”

“It is my duty, Namora. Once I take the throne I might need to talk with the surface dwellers one day,” you looked down on your lap and fiddled with the jade bracelet your father had gifted you on your fifteenth birthday—one that once belonged to your grandmother, “and I’m just preparing…just in case.”

“We’d be dead before we let any of those surface dwellers see you, princesa,” Attuma nudged his shoulders against yours and grinned, “we’ll make sure you don’t even have to talk to them as long as we’re there to protect you.”

“Did father tell you to say that?”

“What? No!” You gave Attuma a squinted eye stare and hummed. He averted his eyes nervously, his hands now working on his spear with more fervor than before. You and Namora snickered at his plight.

“He did.” Namora confirmed your suspicions. You sighed but left it be. You knew your father was just trying to protect you, so you let him do as he pleases. Although you did not fully understand the depth of the weight of his responsibilities, you could still recognize the great sorrow that came with his hate for the surface world.

And you had kept quiet about your longing to go up into the land; for you knew how it would pain him to know that you bore as much love for the surface as you did for the love you had for your nation.

Attuma cleared his throat and straightened his back, the spear he had decorated with the teeth of hammerheads now lay by his side. He stared at you with such conviction that rendered you speechless in his presence, and the light from the faux sun that your father had created casted him in a glorious light that made your breath hitch in your throat and the feathers on your ankles bristle in anticipation.

“I’ll do my best to train hard, princesa. I’ll become strong enough to protect Talokan—to protect you—so that you won’t even have to worry about any surface dwellers by the time you will inherit the throne.”

You felt more heat rush from your neck and now up to your eyes, his words giving you so much joy that you could possibly even imagine.

You had a friend far more loyal than any of your own guards from your father’s command. And if there was one thing you had learned from your duties as princess, that was the honor that came with a loyal subject.

Your flustered surprise was eventually replaced with giggles when Namora hit Attuma on the head with the brunt side of her spear, her face contorting to one of lighthearted teasing.

“Do you really think you’re the only one training to be by the princess’ side? You’ll have to go through me first.”

“Then I’ll just have to train harder to beat you, Namora,” Attuma glanced at you and gave you a grin, “I’ll be the one to stand by the princess’ side.”

“You’ve never even beaten me once.” “There’s a first time for everything.”

She scoffed. “In your dreams.”

You stopped their little play-fight before it got too heated by pulling them closer to your side, your arms around their necks and laughing with such elation. You were thankful that they came into your lives and became your closest friends, and you would not ever want to see them change as you slowly aged with the sea.

“While the both of you train to become warriors, I’ll study even harder so I could be a queen that both of you will be proud to serve under. I don’t want your efforts to go to waste and serve a leader that’s incompetent.”

“You don’t have to do that, princesa. We shall follow you through the ends of the earth if need be. We already know that you outshine any ruler that came before and will come after you.”

“My father would not be too pleased if he heard you say that, Attuma.”

“He feels the same way, don’t worry.” Namora spoke in turn for the boy. You giggled when Attuma gave you a cheeky grin.

The three of you laughed with glee, unspoken promises now drifting with the currents of the outskirts of the capital city of your great nation.

It’s almost been a century since you have befriended them. A century since you have made your closest friends and aides. Namora and Attuma were always stuck by your side even when there were calls from their king to gather his strongest men. They gave you counsel, they gave you peace, they gave you protection in your times of need.

Nowadays, though, Namora has frequented your father’s side more likely than not—mostly because she was his cousin and his most exemplary warrior. Attuma was only second in skill compared to Namora, but he was still powerful in his own right.

You wondered when would your father hail them as generals; they deserve to be given the title for their service and their wit. You, as the princess of Talokan, can vouch for their competence.

“Where shall we go today, princesa?” Attuma asked you, his gait slowly inching closer to your own.

The boy you once knew had grown into a fine man. He had honed his body to withstand the greatest blows, turned himself into a living shield for your purpose and disposal. You did not want him to go into such extremities, but he always insisted. He even went as far as to hunt hammerhead sharks on his own and nearly killed himself in the process. The bites of hostiles were lodged firmly into his stomach, and the scars that littered his skin became trophies of his successful exploits.

You cried and cried beside him as you told him how stupid he was, how foolish he was to do everything in your name. How could he throw himself into danger just to train himself for your sake? It did not make sense to you, and you reckon that you will never understand the mind of a great warrior like Attuma.

Despite this, he comforted you and held you close to him; told you that he would welcome any sort of pain just so he could protect you from harm's way. You cried again and punched him in his abdomen—you were sure to tell your healers that you would be the one to patch up your reckless guard as an apology.

You felt his warmth from the water that surrounded you as it shifted when he tucked a strand of hair behind your pointed ears. You smiled.

“You can call me by my name, Attuma. You know that.”

“How dare I ever utter your name so casually?” He asked you almost incredulously. You sighed.

“We have been friends for over a century. You can be comfortable with me,” you turned to him with a pout, “please?”

“Is that an order?” He asked you, a trace of amusement from his quirked lip. You huffed and crossed your arms.

“You know I don't like giving orders, Attuma.”

“Then I shall continue calling you by your title, princesa.”

“And what if I ask you this as a request?” You swam closer to him, your pout breaking out into a knowing grin.

Attuma stayed silent, his head turned to avoid your piercing gaze. He felt heat from the back of his neck at your proximity, but he didn't dare move away from you.

You huffed.

“You're no fun.”

Attuma resisted the urge to chuckle. You looked at him in the corner of your eyes and smiled; you knew he couldn't resist it when you tried to make him laugh.

“And what of your errands today?” He asked you, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. You blinked and swam towards him, pling his large bicep into the direction of your father's study.

“We've wasted much time, Attuma. Now come, we are going to the surface.” He nodded in affirmation and led you towards the entrance of the underwater cave systems your father introduced you to as a child. It was one of your favorite places, but your duties called you to the deeper parts of the sea to tend to your people.

As soon as you ascended, you saw the figure of your father dressed in his cloak as he painted murals upon the walls. Beside him was Namora, her mask on her face and her pallor now blue for being in land. You regarded your father with a bow, gestured him with the sign of your people’s respect, and slowly ascended into his study.

“Father.” you called out to him. He paused from his painting and smiled at you, his eyes filling with so much love that it was unlike the name the surface dwellers cursed him to be.

“In princesa,” my princess, he greeted you, reaching out to wipe the saltwater away from your eyes, “what brings you here?”

“It is the time of the year to visit the surface, father. I was just here to let you know before I went.” His face steeled much like the other months across the century you had told him. But it was not in a place of anger—it was in a place of worry for your well-being.

“I trust you to remember all that I have taught you. Return as soon as possible, understood?” You nodded and grabbed his hands, squeezing them tight in assurance.

“You do not have to worry. You have taught me well. And Attuma will be with me while I am out, so I shall be safe in his hands.”

K’uk’ulkan glanced behind you, now regarding Attuma with a nod of acknowledgement as he placed his mask on his face. Attuma bowed his head in respect and tightened the hold on his spear. The king’s brows furrowed.

“If you bring Namora with you—”

“Father,” you cut him off, “I will be alright. I will not do anything to endanger myself nor Attuma. I will merely visit the borders of the reef, is all. I’m sure our warriors have already scouted the area before they were called back.”

“In waal…”

“We always go through this every three months. I do not doubt your worries, but place your trust in me and the warrior I have chosen.”

Attuma straightened his back a tad bit, his chest rising in pride. He met eyes with Namora and grinned behind his mask. Namora simply replied with a silent roll of her eyes.

K’uk’ulkan swallowed a lump on his throat and sighed. He knew you were right. He trusted you enough that you would be safe, especially when someone as skilled as Attuma were to be by your side. It was the surface that he did not trust. It took so much from him and his forefathers even before Talokan came to be. He did not want to lose you to the claws of the surface world.

He would have volunteered to come with you, to make sure you were safe, but one look from Namora was all he needed to know that he was needed in the council in just a few moments.

He sighed. There was no stopping you when you had your mind set on a task.

“Stay safe.” He gently held the back of your head and ducked down to meet your forehead. You hummed and closed your eyes, squeezing his hand in assurance.

“You sound as if I am going to war,” you joked, “I shall return safe. I promise. It is not something that I have not done before.”

“You know your strengths, my daughter. But be wary, still. Negligence is the first sign of weakness,” he separated himself from you and turned towards the wall mounted with spears. He took one of his own and gave it to you, the vibranium of the weapon shimmering under the light of the luminescent algae. It felt balanced. Powerful. He then smiled, “and never forget your weapon.”

You chuckled and bowed your head in respect, the spear now by your side.

“Yes, father.”

K’uk’ulkan turns to Attuma and beckons him forth. The warrior obeyed with no hesitance and bowed before his king. You watched as your father nodded to himself and placed a hand on Attuma’s shoulder.

“She’s a bit of a handful, so look after her, Attuma.” You gawked at him.

“Father!”

“I will do as you say, in ajawo,” my king, he said. The warrior dared to look up and showed his conviction to his king, “I will keep her safe—even when she is a handful.”

“You did not have to agree with everything my father says!”

Namora cleared her throat and cheekily chimed in. “K'uk'ulkan is our king. Whatever he says we agree to, princesa.”

K’uk’ulkan ignored your huffs of protest and Namora’s silent laughter as he squinted at the man, the hand that lay on his shoulder now tightening in warning. Attuma held his ground and did not yield to his king’s hold. He knew the reason for his king’s aggression; it came from a place of protectiveness. You were his only daughter after all.

And Attuma was a man who held a century-long love for you, something that K’uk’ulkan wasn’t particularly fond of.

But you were too stubbornly attached to him that no scheme that K’uk’uklan thought of would separate the two of you. He was far too wrapped around your fingers to fully say no to your whims. The king’s only saving grace is the fact that you were far too oblivious to notice the affections of your own guard.

K’uk’ulkan felt a sliver of sympathy for Attuma. Just a tad bit.

He narrowed his eyes. “And there shall be no…detours along the way, understood? Keep the princess safe, no more than that.”

“Yes, in ajawo.” With a final nod, K'uk'ulkan released his grip from his warrior's soldiers and bid a final farewell before being led out by Namora to the depths of Talokan. She gave Attuma a knowing glance and bowed her head before you.

“Be careful, princesa. The world will incur K'uk'ulkan's wrath if you return scathed.” She joked. But knowing your father, you did not doubt that he would burn the world if you would come back harmed in any way; more reasons for you to stay careful for your visit.

You smiled. “I will be careful, Namora. Do not worry. I have Attuma with me as well.”

She nodded and followed after her king to the water, now disappearing into your view. You faced Attuma and gave him a grin.

“Let's go visit the surface.”

You knew the underwater caves like the back of your hand. You weaved through the dark waters, greeting the guards hidden by the rocks. They bowed their heads and regarded you with the gesture of your people, a courtesy fit only for the daughter of their god and king.

You smiled to yourself when Attuma swam forward when sunlight peeked through the entrance of the surface, his spear drawn and ready by his side. He looked so focused and attentive, his whole body on high alert. You giggled as you reached him and held his hand, squeezing it tightly while looking into his eyes.

“You are too stiff. Nothing will harm us here.” You told him. He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head.

“I am your aide. It is only natural for me, in princesa.”

“I only wish for you to be at ease, Attuma,” you tugged him to the direction of the light, the sun now making itself known to the both of you. Attuma squinted at the sudden brightness; he wasn’t used to seeing something as intense as the real sun, after all. It was his first time visiting the surface world, “you will love the sights, I promise you.”

Attuma felt wrong to be swimming beside you like you were equals. No aide of the high blood of Talokan should even dare to swim in stride beside a warrior who bore no rank. But by your side, he felt safe and welcomed.

He did not feel fear despite it being the first time he had ever visited the surface world. Rather, he felt it to be…intimate, in a way. You trusted him wholeheartedly, put your safety in his hands as you ventured outside the safety of your own kingdom, and shared the experience that he knew to be significant to you even if you did not tell anyone your sentiments.

But he knew. He always knew.

And he would protect you in great fealty as you explore the land that you so loved, even though he knew it would anger his own king to grant your taboo affection for the surface world.

Away from the prying eyes of the other Talokanil, he allowed himself to indulge in his selfish desires and swam closer to you; your shoulders almost touching, hands tightly intertwined, and his heart finally free of the formalities that came with being your guard.

He let himself become a man whose soul reached out to you in longing.

Your heads broke through the water and were hit by the rays of the golden sun. You let Attuma adjust to the light for a few moments, his hands shielding his eyes as he tried to view the sun from between his fingers. You watched his skin slowly turn blue as the air hit his skin, and you had to smile ever so slightly as you watched him marvel at the green forests just across the beach.

“Your mask.” You reminded him, the hand that was intertwined with his tightening in your hold. He nodded albeit meekly, seemingly embarrassed to have forgotten to equip himself in the midst of his awe, and let go of your hand to make sure his mask was secure.

Attuma already missed the warmth as soon as he willed himself to part from you in a respectful distance, now aware how shameless he was to have succumbed to his own desires.

You guided him to the rocks that overlooked the beach, just by the edge of the corals that your people have grown to create a border for those who visited the surface. It was a reminder on how you were never truly free to roam the surface and discover the riches beyond your own kingdom.

The stories your father had told you plagued your mind, but beyond the violence that your forefathers have witnessed, robbed of the land that was yours by birthright, you wanted to see for yourself the motherland that your grandmother loved. You were angry at the surface dwellers, yes. You raged at the thought of the conquistadors that tainted your ancestral home.

But you never did loathe the surface. You just wanted to connect to the land of your ancestors that you were stripped of.

You were broken from your thoughts when you heard the squelch of water on rock. You looked beside you to see Attuma in full attention, his visage that of a man in full guard. You would have laughed if you saw him so serious in the midst of such a peaceful afternoon, but you knew how much his duty to you and your king meant to him.

Attuma stood by your side whilst you leaned back and rested your feet on the water. You patted the space beside you, but he shook his head. You pouted.

“Join me to rest. You are not bound by the rules of my father here,” you told him, your face cracking into a mischievous smile, “be at ease, Attuma.”

“Is that an order?” He gave you a glance, his eyes twinkling under the sun. Only now did you appreciate his dark gaze. It was as intense as it was full of life. You giggled and patted the empty space beside you once again.

“A request.”

He stared at you for a few moments, his eyes locking into yours and sending shivers down your spine. You held his gaze, the water on your skin turning cold when the breeze hit your flesh. With a huff, he put down his spear and sat next to you, his hand dangerously close to your own.

“If you’ll allow me.”

In silence did you bask in the beauty of the faraway beach that should have been inherited to you by your ancestors. The lands that stretched across the plains and the jungles of vivid colors would have been yours to rule by your father’s side. It pained you to know that you cannot even set foot on those beaches.

It was the order of your father. The order of your king.

An order to protect you from the surface dwellers that took your grandmother from him.

It only served to remind you that—despite the feathered ankles that promised you freedom—you were caged in this lonely corner of the earth, away from the adventures that you wanted to experience in full.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You asked your guard, your eyes following the birds that idly preened themselves on the branches. Attuma stared at you from the corner of his eyes, his lips turning into a smile as you leaned forward in interest.

“Quite so.” His heart skipped a beat when your eyes twinkled in amazement, your gaze never wandering from the land.

“Would it be shameless of me to long for the surface?” You asked him suddenly. Attuma shook his head quickly.

“Never.”

“Speak your mind. I did not ask you to indulge me and curry my favor,” you sighed and wrought your fingers together, your hand now leaving the proximity of your guard’s own, “I ask you for counsel, Attuma. You are one of the few people that I trust.”

Attuma was silent as he mulled over your question. An aide to the heir of the throne must only listen and follow their whims. The will of their masters were the will of their followers; he dare not disobey such courtesy.

But in the freedom of the duty that binded him to such rules by your order, he granted himself full autonomy.

“It might be so, in princesa,” you looked at him curiously. He held the urge to submit to you, to take back the words of his own opinion, and continued on, “you are the heir to Talokan, the nation built on the suffering of our ancestors who fled the land to hide in the sea. To long for the surface is a defiance to their dying will.”

“But we were robbed of our ancestral lands. What if I long to get it back? To let our people walk in the motherland that we once came from? To let them see this; the beauty that they were deprived of when we were chased off our own inheritance?” “Then you should be prepared for war.”

He looked directly into your eyes, ones that held such young wisdom and hope. But he knew from the countless battles he fought that to reclaim the stolen land you wished to rule is to declare a fight that you were far too merciful to lead.

“To reclaim the right that we once owned…you must be ready to shed blood; both the blood of the surface and the blood of your people. But to declare battle you must reveal our nation. Our king’s will shall not allow such a thing.”

Attuma watched as you lowered your head, trapped in the swirl of your thoughts as you continued to deliberate the weight of his words. He flagrantly allowed himself to reach for your hand first, draw circles on the back of your hand tenderly, and scooted himself closer so his hulking gait would protect you from the prying eyes of the world.

You squeezed his hand with yours, your breath stuttering at your next words.

“And what if I still desire to reclaim our land back, Attuma?” You looked up and held his gaze, your eyes now steeling itself to one of conviction.

He smiled.

“Then I shall shed blood for your will, in princesa.”

You searched for any sort of hesitation in his strong features, to try and coax out any sort of loose ends of his loyalty. But you saw nothing of such sort; there only lay pure faith to your very existence, one that you recognize as unyielding.

You stared at him right in the eye. It was piercing, cold. One that beckoned utmost honesty from your aide. It was not a simple decision to make—even the words you have uttered this very moment would be considered blasphemous. Outright treacherous.

“Even if it means to defy the orders of your king?”

He did not waver as he replied.

“You are the one that I serve. My loyalty lies with you.” He took his spear and knelt before you, his one knee digging into the rock in which you lay. He pierced his weapon down into the earth, took your hand to rest upon his cheek, and presented himself to the utmost fidelity.

“Have you not sworn your service under the name of my father?”

“I have sworn nothing,” he practically growled, his grip on his spear tightening, “I long for nothing more than to swear my piety to you. I am indebted to K’uk’ulkan; I revere him as my god and king. Yet I cannot stand the thought of offering my loyalties to anyone else but you.”

You felt your heart throb against your chest, your eyes stinging with wet tears. It was a feeling foreign to you. The waves usually wipe your tears away at the bottom of the sea. But here on land, you wore your heart on your sleeve. It was an overwhelming feeling, one that urged you to cover your mouth to stifle your joyous sobs.

In the face of the man you had grown up with, in the presence of such undying loyalty did you fail to mask your elation. Yet your head was muddled with confusion—why was he always so devoted to you? Why would he risk being cast out when your father still sits on the throne and swears his loyalties to you? Why was he so willing to defy the orders of his king for your selfish whims?

You knew the weight of a warrior's oath. It was not something to be taken lightly. Warriors would swear upon the names of leaders who have fought countless battles, led the charge to warfare, and those who were considered gods like your father.

You were none of those.

You were not your father.

“Why?” You asked him, your hands trembling against his cheek. “Compared to my father, I am nothing. Why would you swear your loyalty to me when I have nothing to give you in return? It will still be years—centuries, even—before I could inherit the throne and bear the title of queen mother. So why?”

Silence fell between the two of you, the waves of the high afternoon playing the symphonies of its motherlands. You felt like you were suffocating despite the beauty that surrounded you while you waited for him to speak.

Finally, Attuma slowly raised his head and kissed the palm of your hand. It brought a wave of heat from the back of your neck to your cheeks, and even the tips of your pointed ears warmed at the gesture.

“Will you allow me to speak out of turn?” He asked you, his voice uncharacteristically soft. You blinked back the tears that obscured your vision and nodded.

“Speak your mind, Attuma.”

He breathed in a stuttering breath, the hand that held yours tightening and trembling. It made you nervous; a warrior such as he, the embodiment of a shield that protects his nation, stuttered and shook in your hold. He could overpower you at any second, purge the world of your existence, but here he was, weak and vulnerable in your presence.

He locked eyes with you, those gorgeous oaken eyes stared deep into your very being without reservation. You found yourself feeling faint, as if you have fallen into a pleasant trap that you weren’t too keen on getting out of.

And with a steady voice he said;

“I love you, in princesa. I always have since we were children. I only breathe to serve you, only live to please you. If you so asked me to burn the world and slay your enemies, then I will show you the ashes of their bones on a jaden chest. If you asked me to become your shield, then I shall parry every blade for you and protect you with my last breath. If you asked me to become your spear, then the blood of your foes shall dye the sea in red…”

He paused as he drew closer, the heat of his body enveloping you in a sensation of great adoration. He gripped your hand tighter, his lips lingering on your palms as he leaned further into your touch.

“...and if you asked me to become your beloved, then I will become the most faithful man you would ever lay your eyes upon—for your joys are my joys, and your sorrows are mine to bear.”

You felt your throat constrict, the heat from your face now traveling down to the tips of your fingers down to the very ends of your feathered ankles. Your wings bristled and shook, your breath hitching at every breath, and you felt the sudden urge to look away from those unwavering eyes. But the gravity of his own magnetism was enough to drive you back in; to never tear your gaze away from the man that confessed his love for you.

Though this begs the question; did you love him back?

Attuma must have misunderstood your silence for rejection, so he slowly removed your hands from his cheeks and bowed his head in shame.

“I have spoken out of turn. I apologize,” he held his spear tightly, but he never removed himself from his bow—a sign of his submission to you, “whether or not you accept my feelings, I will still stay by your side. I will serve under you, make my oath in the witness of K’uk’ulkan of my loyalty to you. I will ask for nothing more.”

Your heart broke at how easily it was for him to apologize. No person should ever apologize for the feelings that they bear. It only proved how devoted the great warrior was to you; for him to present his feelings of love to you and still offer his loyalty in the face of rejection.

You recounted the days of your youth down to the decades worth of memories with him. How could you have been so blind to have ignored the signs of his affections? How blinded were you with your duties that you allowed yourself to turn away from the subtle declarations of his feelings for you?

How foolish were you to actually dismiss your own feelings for him? You love Attuma. You always have.

“Why have you not said anything in the century we have been together?” You asked him, your voice low and meek. You did not want to lose the warmth of his skin, so you gently lifted his head with both of your hands and let him meet your eyes.

You saw the gaze of your warrior waver.

“My duty is to protect you. How dare I be so impertinent as to bear feelings for the daughter of my own king?”

You shook your head and leaned in to rest your forehead against his. You heard the clatter of his vibranium spear on the rocks and into the water below. But you simply did not care at that moment.

“You are never impertinent, not when I bear the same love for you as you have for me.”

You heard his breath hitch. The hands that lay dutifully to his side now flying up to your face and hold your cheeks so delicately. In the large and dependable hands of your warrior did you feel safe and loved. It was unlike the other times that he had shown you affection when you were merely just friends.

What were you now, you wondered, now that you and him share the same feelings.

In that moment of solace did Attuma realize his place, but he did not dare remove his hands from you. He ghosted his fingers over your pointed ears, tangled his hands with your wet hair, and held you tight like you were the most precious thing in the sea.

He was but a mere warrior—a shameless peasant whose hands had brazenly touched the skin of his master.

“I am just a warrior without a title. You cannot possibly love me as I am.”

“But I do. I just have never realized it sooner, in yakunaj.” My love, an endearment that made Attuma’s heart flutter and weak against your hands.

“And when we are in the eyes of scrutiny, what then should you do?”

“It matters not, my dear warrior.”

“But your majesty—!”

“Am I not the heir to the throne of Talokan? Am I not the princess whose rule is imminent in the witness of your king? Of whom I shall love is a matter of my own choice that not even the feathered serpent god could refute.”

You drew in closer and wrapped your arms around him. He was strong and powerful, but in your arms did he surrender himself. He was not the warrior you knew him to be. In your arms, he was just a man who held a century worth of ardor.

“I dare not disgrace you, in princesa. I have nothing in my name but the battles that I have fought as a mere soldier.”

He removed himself from you and held you tenderly by the cheeks. You leaned against his touch, completely surrendering to the feelings that you have long since ignored since the beginning. He inched himself closer and continued to speak with great affection.

“But if I would be so bold to ask for you to wait; wait for me to garner titles of my own, build the foundations of my exploits, and ask you again to become mine, would you be so merciful as to grant such a plea?”

You stared at his resolve, the gaze of the man you have realized you have loved now asking you for the mercy to wait. You cupped his strong jaw and caressed his cheek with your thumb as you said;

“I will grant you mercy, in yakunaj, only if you fulfill my wish.”

He became alert, his body ready to grant your desires.

“Anything, in princesa. Anything for your majesty.”

“Then I wish for you to call me by my name, I beg you. We bear more than just pleasantries of warrior and royal.”

He gave you a smile, one that even his mask could not hide, and leaned in to touch his forehead against yours.

“Is that an order?”

You smiled.

“A request.”

It was merely a few decades later that the great capital city of Talokan was abuzz with the whispers of a great blessing bestowed upon their royal heir. It lit the fire of pride within the citizens of the hidden nation, a pride that K’uk’ulkan wore with high regard as he descended to present himself on the forefront of his throne.

Their darling princess, the radiant pearl of the deep sea, was ready to assume the throne of K’uk’ulkan’s legacy.

As your citizens have revered your father as the god king of your people, they have revered you as the same; a deity whose hands extended to the waters to create a shield of protection, a divine being whose mercy radiates the warmth of a thousand suns, the daughter of the feathered serpent god whose wings carried you through the winds of battle through the century. Your chest bloomed with unending bliss when you realized you've lived up to the name of your father—an entity that you've molded yourself into the likeness of.

You had held the expectations of the name of K’uk’ulkan to your very heart, and you were thrilled at the fact that your father had acknowledged your efforts in the witness of your people.

Your kingdom cheered and praised your name as you descended into the throne room from above, the feathered headpiece similar to your father’s symbolizing your authority as heir apparent of Talokan. Your father extended his hand for you to take, and you had done so with such grace befitting of your title as radiant pearl of the sea.

And there he had presented you with a throne of your own, just below the teeth of the monster of the deep oceans that he had slain many years ago. It was decorated with the finest of jade, vibranium, and gold with the likeness of an open shell. Compared to his throne that was decorated with the splendor of his long battles, yours was the embodiment of the abundant riches of your nation.

It was a symbol, perhaps, that the toil of your father’s work had borne fruit of great wealth to Talokan and passed down to the generations that would come next.

The radiant pearl of the sea had finally assumed her reign as heir apparent after a century of her rule by the feathered serpent god’s side, and there was no one in the kingdom who would oppose to the majesty of K’uk’ulkan’s daughter—not because she had the blood of their king in her veins and the feathered ankles that proved her divine lineage—but because of her love for her people and the duties that she had so diligently carried with grace.

K’uk’ulkan swam to your side and guided you to rest upon your new throne. It was a new feeling for you, one that could not compare to the childish wonder that you had just sitting on the lap of your father when you were still a wee babe. In the high seat of your throne did you overlook the citizens that had adored you, watched as they bowed their heads and put their hands in the likeness of a serpent’s mouth as respect to your inauguration.

As much as you loved to see your people acknowledge you, you could not find a glimpse of your best friend and secret lover. To you, their opinions were the only ones that mattered. It would not feel as joyous as it is if they were not to witness your greatest achievements.

Where were they, you wondered. They promised to be here in time for your ceremony.

“Something troubles you, in waal.” your father beside you, the feathers from his headpiece tickling the sides of your cheek. You gave him a smile, one that masked your worries, and found comfort in the hands that gripped yours reassuringly.

“Namora and Attuma are not here,” you supplied him, your eyes scanning the crowd of your people, “I worry for them. They promised they would come.”

K’uk’ulkan smiles and brings his hand to caress the base of your neck tenderly and rest his decorated forehead on your own. Your breath, which you didn’t realize had become labored, instantly calmed at the mere comfort of your father.

“Quell your nerves, my daughter. They will come.” With a knowing smile, your father separated himself from you and swam up to sit in the jaws of his own throne. The people all cheered while chanting the words of praise to Talokan’s honor.

K’uk’ulkan puts his hand up slowly and everyone falls into a hush. The air was still buzzing, the water under your command feeling the energy of everyone’s bated breaths as they awaited the words of their king.

“We honor the place of my only child as the rightful heir of Talokan. She has proven herself worthy of such a title for a century, and the seas have blessed us with such excellence that no one could dare defy. The future of Talokan is bright.”

Your people cheered and hollered, yet your eyes still strain to find your best friend and lover. You tried your best not to feel upset, but you felt a painful twist on your heart.

Where were they? It was unlike them to break their promises, especially your beloved warrior, Attuma.

“Not only do we celebrate the coronation of my daughter’s place in my council, but we celebrate the oath of our two new generals.” your father continued, your head snapping up at the familiar silhouette of your secret lover up the grand entrance of your underwater throne room. Your heart settled and you smiled in great pride as your father presented them at last.

“Namora and Attuma, the new grand generals of Talokan.”

They extruded such power as they descended ever so slowly, the light of the vibranium sun creating a halo of light around their bodies. They wore new armor that suited their character; the likeness of the spines of a lionfish adorned the body of your best friend, Namora, and the skull of a hammerhead shark and the spikes of its teeth littering every crevice of Attuma’s plated armor. Both of them held their respective weapons made of vibranium, and you could only smile at how proud you were for them.

You couldn't help but ogle at the sight of your warrior. You had kept your word and waited for him to finally gather his own accomplishments before asking for your hand. But that did not stop you from sneaking off and relishing yourselves in each other’s company. No one had ever suspected anything yet, but you gathered that your people were still under the impression that Attuma only bears one-sided love for you.

Oh your poor love, you didn’t mean to make him wait for so long.

You wondered when he would finally ask for your hand, to finally make your blooming romance known to your father and your citizens. It filled you with warmth just thinking about the possibilities.

You and Attuma locked eyes as soon as they had finished their descent, his eyes raking across your figure sat on your jeweled throne. He felt the need to kiss you right then and there, a privilege he had not yet taken across the decades of your secret romance in respect to his promise. He dared not touch you so inappropriately when you were not yet his, but he was sure to finally claim you as his own.

You were a jewel in Attuma’s eyes. A gem fit to be heralded around in great praise to your charm. Although your beauty spoke wonders of your outward appearance, you were a strong warrior, maybe even as strong as Namora. You are wise like your father, and you cared for your kingdom in the ways that a mother would.

You were crowned princess of Talokan, heir to the throne of K’uk’ulkan’s majesty, and the future queen mother of your nation.

Attuma could not even begin to describe in words such a blessing that fell into his hands so tenderly.

As soon as they were done taking their oath, bowed before you and K’uk’ulkan to swear their undying fidelity to your nation of Talokan, Attuma and Namora shared one look before your warrior ascended alone, careful to keep his gait below your eyes and on the feet of your throne. Your people fell into a hush, the momentary celebration ceasing to wait for Attuma’s next words.

“In princesa,” he started, his eyes looking up to lock eyes with your father, “K’uk’ulkan. If I may speak.”

“Attuma,” he regarded the warrior, his head held high in authority, “what do you wish to say?”

“My fealty lies with no one but the princess,” he bowed low and presented presented his spear by the jewels that adorned your throne, “the oath I shall take is one reserved to be of service of her, and if she wills me to serve under you, K’uk’ulkan, then I shall do so with no question.”

You waited with bated breath as your father stood from his throne and descended to stand in front of your warrior. Your heart thumped in your chest as you saw your father inch closer to him, his hand now resting on his shoulders and urging Attuma to rise.

“You have done a great deal for the name of my daughter, but the decision is hers to make.” K’uk’ulkan started, his voice carrying nothing but tender command. He turned towards you and beckoned you forward. You did so without question and swam beside your father.

“Do you accept his oath, in waal?”

There was no other answer for such a question. It was something that you had dreamed of since the beginning of your blossoming romance, the fantasy that you had always dreamed to come into fruition.

With a smile that would outshine the stars of the night, you eagerly replied.

“I shall accept your oath with open arms, Attuma. My dear warrior.”

Your people broke into joyous cheers as Attuma rose from his bow. You turned to pick the spear by the feet of your throne and presented it to him with a proud grin. He replied in kind, kissing the vibranium shaft that touched your hand as soon as he had received it. Heat traveled up your neck and into the tips of your pointed ears at the gesture, your fingers wringing together in bashful fluster.

K’uk’ulkan smiled at the exchange, but he could not help but urge you away from the warrior and back to your throne. He could not help himself—you were far too precious to be in the presence of a man who fancied you all his life.

The king turned to Attuma and regarded him with a nod and gesture of Talokan’s respect, the warrior replying in kind.

“Serve her well, Attuma.”

Before K’uk’ulkan could return to his throne, Attuma rose high and proud, brandishing his weapon only he could ever wield with such power. A show of strength, if you will, that left the people at awe at the display of his prowess.

“My king! If I may be so bold, I have something to ask of you.” He declared, his voice loud and strong. Your brows furrowed in confusion at such a statement; what else did Attuma need when he had already pledged his service to you?

You held the urge to giggle when your father turned with an amused chuckle of his own.

“What is it?”

Attuma turned towards you, the both of you locking eyes. And in that moment, he sent you an affectionate grin.

And then realization hit you.

He wasn’t going to—!

“I wish for your permission to court your daughter, the princess.” Murmurs and excited gasps spread across the hall. You see Namora grinning to herself staring at Attuma, impressed. Your cheeks burned with heat, your chest pounding at how incredibly mad Attuma was for declaring something as bold as a courting during your coronation as crown heir.

But it was something that you absolutely loved about your warrior, no matter how insane he was to declare his desire to court you in front of the entire kingdom.

Your father stiffened, his eyes steeled and ready to pounce at Attuma. He had to hold himself back—there was no reason for him to needlessly attack his finest warrior just because he expressed his desire to court you. He could not even dismiss such thought; the titles and the achievements of Attuma held far more worth than any man in Talokan.

From where it stands, and with your close relationship with the warrior, he was by far the only man worthy of your affection.

And so, with a reluctance that held every possible threat in the world, K’uk’ulkan replied.

“Prove to me your worth, Attuma, for the radiant pearl of the sea does not need an incompetent suitor to court her.”

“Father!” You hissed quietly. You felt your father’s animosity course through you in waves. You had to resist the urge to groan and sigh; he was so protective of you.

But Attuma did not seem phased as he spoke steadily.

“By your will, K’uk’ulkan.”

In the eyes of your people did you swim beside your father and held his arm reassuringly. His steely gaze finally fell as he looked at you, and you allowed yourself to swim to the level of his ears and whisper, “Please be gentle with Attuma, father. I also bear feelings for him.”

He looked at you like he was betrayed, but he was not surprised. How could you not have told him about your budding feelings for the warrior?

Then again, he knew the throes of a woman when it came to sharing their romantic feelings, so he did not blame you for keeping it a secret from him, your own father.

“How long have you known?”

“A few decades,” you smiled sheepishly, “do not be so hard on the warrior that I have chosen. He means it in good faith, and he has done nothing to cross any boundaries set by your command.”

“Are you sure?”

“I swear it upon my name and crown, father.”

Your father pondered on your words for a little while longer and resigned with a sigh. You pressed your forehead against your father’s and giggled.

“Thank you for your leniency, my king.”

You separated yourself from your father and swam forward to Attuma. He gave you a cheeky grin, one that screamed unapologetic mischief. You shook your head, amused as his antics, as you raised your hand to cup his cheek.

“My father has given his word; prove to him that you are worthy of my hand so we will be together, my dear warrior.”

He dared cup your hands that feathered along his strong jaw and leaned into your touch. You could feel your father’s piercing stare, but the both of you ignored it, too engrossed in your own little world in the watchful eyes of your nation.

“Is that an order?” He asked you, his eyes boring into yours with such intensity that would have sent you immediately to your knees.

You leaned in close until your lips met the base of his mighty headpiece, the jagged teeth of the hammerhead shark that he had slain digging firmly into the skin of his forehead. When you parted, you stared into his eyes; the eyes that held nothing but veneration to your glorious name.

And with a tender whisper to your beloved, you replied.

“A request.”

Anyone up for a Part 2? >:))

Taglist: @haideehaids @xnodamsel

1K notes · View notes

devilishcupid · 1 year

Text

THE KING'S PROPOSAL | Namor

☆ premise: centuries since the calling off of your engagement, namor comes back and proposes once more.

☆ pairing: namor x fem!royal!reader

☆ warnings: romantic history between namor and reader, tension between namor and reader

☆ a/n: genuinely down bad for this man. i love him so much🤧

"Be my queen, and I will be your king."

The room was suddenly filled with the laughs of your advisers. Even you found it amusing. Who knew Namor, the Feathered Serpent God, would be in standing in the middle of your throne room right now, proposing an alliance between your kingdom and his through marriage?

After all, not only did your kingdom have a bloody history with Talokan—you and Namor had history yourselves. Centuries ago, you were old flames whose relationship's end nearly caused a civil war between your nations.

"If I may speak, my queen," one of your advisers appealed. Giving your nod of approval, she turned to the Talokanil King. "Attempts to form an alliance didn't work the first time. In fact, it only ended up dividing us further. Why should her majesty accept your proposal a second time?"

Your eyes narrowed at the steely glint in Namor's eyes. "Because if you don't, a time will come where your people will regret not having Talokan by its side."

The room became quiet as tension filled the air. Millions of thoughts ran through your head. What were his intentions? What did Talokan have that your people did not? Was there truth behind his words? Or was he merely bluffing?

Finally, you spoke. "Leave me with him."

Your advisers were about to protest, but your glare silenced them into submitting to your command. Namor's own advisers, Attuma and Namora, followed suit after a nod of approval from their king. With the last person closing the doors shut, it was only you and Namor in the throne room.

You descended from your throne, your footsteps echoing until you stood in front of your former flame. Looking up at him, you said, "This is the first time we've met since the unfortunate calling off of our engagement, and the first thing you do is threaten me under my own roof."

"Whether my words are a threat or an act of good faith will depend on whether or not you accept my proposal for marriage."

"What you just did was asking for my hand in marriage? You've gotten more romantic since we last met, Namor." You remarked, sarcasm dripping from your words.

A low chuckle left his lips in response. "And you're still the same as always, In yakunaj."

Your eye twitched at the term of endearment he used to reserve for you. "If you think you can charm me into marrying you, I assure you it won't work."

"It did the first time." He quipped, an eyebrow raised suggestively.

"Yet it ended disastrously, did it not?" You shot back, before returning back to your former demeanor. "What do you really want, Namor? We don't make contact for years and now you want me to marry you and unite our kingdoms. Why?"

"Talokan has shown itself to Wakanda," Namor revealed, as your eyes widened at the revelation, "and we have formed an alliance that will be of great help when war arrives."

"Strengthening your nation in preparation for battle. So that's why you've come." You concluded, sighing and shaking your head. "Did we not decide that the surface dwellers will end up killing each other anyway? That we will watch those fools burn without us having to light the fire?"

He scoffed at your words. "That would be true, if they hadn't gotten stronger. I wouldn't had revealed my people's existence to Wakanda if the surface world hadn't threatened Talokan's safety."

Namor leaned into you, one hand gently taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger, while the other rested on your waist. "And I wouldn't be here if your safety hadn't been threatened as well."

You gulped, your chest heaving as you stared at him. The two of you were completely silent, save for the sounds of your breathing, neither of you breaking eye contact.

You caught yourself leaning closer to his face, and you immediately pulled away from his grasp. You turned your back to him, cheeks tinged red from how close you were to kissing him. Even after all these years, he still had the same effect on you.

"I won't accept your offer. Not now, at least." You said after composing yourself. You turned around to face him once more. "I'll consider your proposal, but I can't promise my nation's compliance."

"Then I'll leave you to deliberate, your majesty." Namor handed you a large shell, which you recognized as a Talokanil communication device. "Tell me of your decision as soon as you have made it."

You nodded, and Namor headed towards the exit. He stopped in his tracks when he reached the doors, making you raise an eyebrow. "What is it, Namor?"

"I was right. You haven't changed one bit."

"What made you reach that conclusion?"

"It's been years yet making you fall for me still is no hardship."

#˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ doll's fics #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #black panther #wakanda forever #namor #namor x reader #mcu x reader #namor fic #namor fanfic #namor imagine #namor the sub mariner

2K notes · View notes

mermaidchansons · 1 year

Text

Touch Me

dom!Shuri x brat!Fem reader

Summary: Reader is feeling neglected as Shuri takes on responsibilities as both the Black Panther and the leader of the Design Group. Instead of talking it out, she tries to get Shuri’s attention in other ways.

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: SMUT! 18+ only! WLW SMUT!!!

Author’s Note: First time writing some wlw smut! I will never get over Shuri’s undercut, she’s too fucking sexy. Guess how many times I’ve seen BPWF?

Taglist: @tchallasbabymama @tgigoldie @muse-of-mbaku @chaneajoyyy @ghostfacekill-monger @soufcakmistress @szalipcombo @tchhairbandhere

Translations: sthandwa (my love), uxolo (sorry), nkosazana (princess)

“Griot, what is Shuri’s location?” Yawning, you stretched your body to shake off the sleep.

“The panther is in a meeting with the Design Group, in the lab.”

Turning on your side, you reached out your hand to the empty side of the bed and took in the coldness on the silk sheets.

“Thank you, Griot,” you sighed.

Being in a relationship with the leader of Wakanda’s design group was not always easy. Shuri had no set schedule, it was not like a 9-5 where she would have time to wind down and spend time with you like clockwork. She was constantly working on some new invention or approving blueprints or improving old tech. Your initial attraction to her was mostly because of how crazy intelligent she was(but also because of how sexy her smile was). However, now her intelligence was getting in the way of you two spending time together. And it had only become worse once she restored the mantle of the Black Panther. She would leave meals early or eat them in the lab while she worked; leave for the lab at 4am when she woke up with a new idea.

For a whole week, she hadn’t even been in bed when you drifted off to sleep. The big plush bed felt empty at night. And the only way you knew she’d slept next to you was because the imprint of her big head was left on her pillow. Frustration had already begun to creep up your back as she had barely touched you in almost two weeks. How could she train your body to yearn for her touch and deny you the release that you’ve missed? You had to do something about this.

You walked into the entrance of the lab, saluting the Dora Milaje on guard as you passed them by. The Dora was always so strong and graceful, characteristics you wished you possessed. You made a mental note to take Okoye up on those sparring lessons she once offered. Griot announced you as you walked in.

“Panther, Y/N, daughter of Asante is here.” You chuckled as you looked at the yellow orb on the screen.

“Thank you, Griot” You stood next to Shuri as she wrote Wakandan code on an interface.

“Sthandwa, what are you doing in the lab? You never come in here unless I call you,” she mumbled, still too preoccupied with her work.

“That’s not true, you just don’t notice me,” you eyed her as she continued her work. “Shuri, stop for just a moment!”

She looked at the pout on your face and put the stylus down, swiping the interface away. Pulling you into a hug, she squeezed your waist and peppered your cheeks with kisses. You giggled and felt her smile against your cheek in between the pecks. And for a moment, it felt as if all was fine. Being in her arms once again made everything feel right. But you could not break now.

“What can I do for you, my love?” Shuri kissed your cheek once more before picking up her stylus once again. You missed her embrace as soon as she let go of you.

“You weren’t in bed this morning.”

“Uxolo, we had an early meeting.”

She walked to the other side of the lab and began to tinker with her gauntlets. Your brow furrowed with frustration. Why wasn’t paying attention to you?

“Maybe you should take a break. You could get away—“

“I can’t,” she shook her head, cutting you off, “I have a field mission in 48 hours and the reconfigurations on my suit must be done before I leave.”

“Shuri, you haven’t been in bed all week. I’m starting to think you might be cheating. I mean, you obviously don’t care about me,” you lied.

She set down her gauntlets and gave you a skeptical look. Your words were chosen with intent. If she wouldn’t pay attention to you when you were playing nice, you knew you’d have to get under her skin. You shrugged, smirking at her as she walked over to you. She leaned down to match your height, her lips dangerously close to your ear.

“I see what you’re trying to do, Y/N. Don’t make me have to discipline you in front of my staff.” Her threat made your core pool with desire and you choked down a moan when she moved to softly squeeze your throat.

“Nkosazana,” Shuri said lowly, keeping her eye out for onlookers, “ I know I’ve been busy and I miss you terribly but behave for me, okay?”

You nodded and she smiled, taking her hand from around your throat and holding your face gently.

“Good girl. Now go, I’ll meet you in the garden in an hour for brunch.” You squinted your eyes at her in suspicion and she chuckled.

“I’ll be there, go.” She turned you around by your waist and slapped your ass, making you jump a little.

“Okay, okay, I’m going!”

An hour and a half had passed when you grew impatient. Maybe there was a threat she had to tend to, you thought. But if that was true, one of the Dora would have alerted you.

Another 30 mins had passed and in that time you had counted the flowers in the garden twice. You had already picked over the food on the table and ultimately decided you were too upset to eat. A ping from your kimoyo beads pulled you from your thoughts.

“Y/n, the panther sends her apologies. She is attending a meeting with the tribal elders and will have to reschedule your brunch.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

You rolled your eyes and sighed loudly, “Thanks, Griot.”

You got up and gathered the rest of the food, taking the leftovers to the kitchen. Once back in your living quarters, you decided to do your hair. It had been a minute since you switched up styles and you needed to shake off this disappointment.

After setting up your workstation with packs of hair, a crochet needle, rubber bands, eco gel, and a rat tail comb, you put on your favorite show. The style you were going for was going to take quite some time and you were glad to have access to all the episodes; Shuri had created a VPN for your devices once you moved to Wakanda full time and you wasted no time putting it to good use. Raising your arm, you used your kimoyo beads to take a photo of your setup and sent it to Shuri. She opened the photo but didn’t respond.

10 hours later, your arms felt as heavy as bricks. Not even the food breaks in between could lessen the pain. The soreness had started to set in and your body wanted to give up. Section after section, you paved your way through your thick curls; taming them and finishing out the afro-bubble braids. After decorating your hair with gold adornments, you looked at the clock. 11:55 PM?!

One painful clothing change later, you stood in only your sweatshirt dress and stretched out your limbs.

“Griot, is Shuri still in the lab,” you asked, stepping into your slippers.

“Yes, y/n. She has asked not to be disturbed.”

Oh the fuck well, you thought to yourself. You planned on doing much more than just disturbing her.

The blaring drums of afrobeats sounded through the entrance of the lab. Turning the corner, you saw Shuri working intently. Her clothes were different than what she wore this morning. She wore a sleeveless black crop and a matching pair of joggers. Your eyes traced down her toned arms and caught sight of her exposed midriff. Memories of your bodies entwined in intimacy flooded your mind, causing your mouth to go dry.

“I can see you, nkosazana,” Shuri said, disrupting your thoughts of arousal.

You shuffled in and sat on her desk behind her.

“I thought I had Griot inform you that I did not want to be disturbed.”

“Eh, you missed our brunch so maybe this is payback?” She only chuckled in response and you crossed your arms in a huff. Swiping away the interface, she turned to face you. The look on her face as she walked towards you made your stomach tighten with anticipation.

“What would you have me do? Leave Wakanda to its own defenses with no tech to protect them? All because you’re a needy little brat?” You watched as she slid her hand up your calf.

“Well, I miss you when you’re not there—“ your breath hitched as she opened your legs, settling between your thighs. You watched her hands roam your thick thighs.

“You miss me? Or do you just miss my touch?” Shuri slipped her hands under your dress and gripped your hips; pulling you to the edge of the desk. She moved in closer, her lips just a whisper away from yours; silently challenging your sense of control.

“I just miss you.”

“Hm. Your hair looks beautiful. Did you do that just for me?”

You whispered a yes as her roaming hand finally reached the end of its journey, touching where you needed her most. She swiped a single digit up your dewy slit and you bit your bottom lip to quell a building moan.

“So wet for me already, sthandwa. Is this what you wanted,” she asked, rubbing painfully slow circles around the jewel between your lips. You nodded hastily and held onto the desk for dear life. She smiled widely at your movement.

“All you had to do was ask. Are you going to be good for me, Y/n?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be good.” She took your words as a promise and lifted the dress over your head, leaving you exposed and dripping with desire. She grazed her hands over your breasts, kneading one of your erect nubs between her fingers. You moaned in delight at the feeling and crashed your lips into hers; nipping and sucking on her bottom lip.

Shuri pushed you back and you shivered from the coolness of the desk against your back. Her fingers returned to your pussy, inserting two fingers and pumping them in and out of your velvety walls. Your body clenched around her fingers as she built a steady pace. A loud whimper of her name escaped your mouth and echoed in the empty lab.

“You sound so beautiful when you say my name like that, sthandwa. Let me hear it again,” she practically moaned with you, reaching her free hand to grab something out of her desk. A buzzing noise sounded in your ears and you felt it before you could question it. Shuri moved the vibrator around your clit as she built up the pace of her fingers. The lewd squelching of your pussy was like heaven to her ears.

“Fuuuuuuck, I don’t think I can hold it, baby.” The vibrating on your clit was threatening to undo your very being. The build-up was beginning to be too much as the familiar coil in your middle continued to tighten. Your release was just within reach and you needed it desperately. Shuri leaned over you, kissing your neck and whispering into your ear.

“I want you to cum for me, nkosazana, but I don’t know if you deserve it,” Shuri uttered before moving down to take your left nipple in her mouth, sucking on it intently.

“Shuri, please!” Your back arched as her finger scissored in and out of you, hitting your g-spot. She trailed kisses along your chest before slowing her pace to a stop; taking the vibrator away as well. Your complaints fell on deaf ears and she grinned smugly. Your throbbing clit only added to your annoyance.

“Don’t give me that face. I told you about disobeying me,” she said, pulling you up to a sitting position. Shuri helped you put your dress back on, being mindful of your fresh braids.

“Baby, that’s not fair—“

“I don’t want to hear it. Now go sit over there. This last algorithm should only take a few minutes.” She lifted you off the desk, her hands lingering on your ass. You rested your face on her shoulder and groaned in discontent, causing her to laugh.

“If you would just behave, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Graphic Divider by @firefly-graphics

#black panther #shuri x fem!reader #shuri x reader #fanfic #shuri smut #mcu shuri #black panther shuri #black panther x reader #black panther wakanda forever #wakanda forever #bpwf spoilers #shuri x black!reader #shuri udaku #shuri x you #vibranium strap #dom!shuri

2K notes · View notes

inklore · 1 year

Note

Dilf! Namor...so tempted to write hcs for that

well let me inspire you with this hot mess bestie 👀

pairing: dbf!namor x (f)reader warnings: eighteen+ content, unedited because it’s late and i’m lazy so beware of hella spelling mistakes, lowercase, sexual tension to the max, alcohol mention, pining, and kissing, that’s literally it but it’s more inner monologue and tension heavy than anything honestly. note: bro this was supposed to be multple hcs but turned into one long ass tension filled mess lmao, i’m sorry but dbf!namor took over, it’s just perfect for him!!

part two | feel free to send me thots on these two!

i saw a gifset where tenoch was riding a motorcycle so obviously that's dbf!namor get's around, and he's giving brooding, grumpy, man who is always scowling at you and you're not even sure if he really likes you. if he is only polite for your dads sake

but one night you go out with your friends and have a little too much to drink-and using uber right now with your vision blurry and fingers key punching so bad your messages look like a toddler did them-namor is the first person you think to call. why? you're not sure. and you almost regret it, retreat into yourself-sober up-when you hear his rough voice answer, the "hello" landing heavy in the pit of your stomach

it take you a few deep breaths and closing your eyes to steady your tipsy mind on why you even called, your name on his lips sounding stern, adjacent to being worried you think

"where are you? stay where you are." and he's there before you realize it. the loud rumble of his bike as he pulls up in front of you making your entire being vibrate with nerves. "you need better friends." he says as he hands you the helmet that was just on his head, pleasantries dead as always

"what about you?"

"just get on." it's a command, rushed, demanding, as he helps your wobbly limbs onto the bike. wordlessly pulling your wrist to have your arms wrap around his midsection. and it's probably the liquor in your system that has every bump, the vibration of the bike, the wind whipping against the tops of your thighs-or maybe it's the heady affect his cologne that engulfs the inside of the helmet-how you almost feel completely compliant and light to lay your head on his shoulder. to let your palm spread flat against his rib bone

the heavy thump of his heart matching the same speed of the thumping that leads from your chest cavity to regions it has no right to be in. and when you expect him to fix your hold on him, to shrug off your head from his shoulder, he gives you no reaction. something that both makes your nerves burn and grow cold at the same time

when he pulls into your driveway, pulling himself off of the bike first, his fingers rubbing against your chin as he undoes the clip keeping the helmet steady on your head. helping your drunken hands pull it off your head-there's a moment where his eyes catch on your outfit. like he's really taking it in now, letting his eyes drag along your exposed thigh, before that signature scowl is pulling a shadow over his eyes again

"your father home?"

"no."

"do you need help inside?"

yes. is the first thing that comes to mind. yes, please. a heat bringing itself to your cheeks when you internally shame yourself for it. lock away somewhere in your brain that tipsy you cannot be trusted to think clearly-normally. and there's a split second where you think maybe he's shaming himself for something, that the two of you are sharing the same thought, the same link to something that maybe has always been there but you've stuffed away because it was better that way-proper, normal. with the way he's just staring at you

"no." you say again. your tongue feeling heavy and dry in your mouth as you swallow and force yourself to look away from him. brace your hands on the bike to pull yourself from it but end up catching your foot and ending up where you shouldn't be: in his arms. your palms once again finding themselves pressed to his front as he wraps an arm around you to stop you from planting yourself on the harsh pavement

"let me walk you inside." he says low and gruff against your temple. your insides turning into liquid compliance as you nod without a second thought. his breath heavily fanning itself across your skin as it takes a minute, two, three, before he's pulling you from his chest and holding your wrist to help you inside

once you're inside he drops your wrist, doesn't speak, just watches as you move on wobbly legs to the stairs. the pathetic thought to trip, to plummet yourself down the steps in hopes he'll touch you again, is volleying itself back and forth between just running up the stairs and sleeping this off and waking up to whatever this tension-filled-air-and insanity going on in your head-is gone

"thank you," you send over your shoulder as your fingers have a death grip on the railing. forcing yourself to surface a smile that you know probably looks as ridiculous as it feels to your burning cheeks

namor hums, nods, keeps his eyes on every step you take up the stairs, hype focused incase you fall-you assume. "do you need me to stay?"

you know he means it politely. not in the way your body is currently taking it, he's your dads friend, besides tonight he's barely shown you a kindness besides a pressed smile. you really need to sleep. need to reset your mind back to normal because his words shouldn't stop you in your tracks. have your body internally clenching at the intensity of his stare, from the glint in them that you're definitely imagining when you watch him move closer to the bottom of the steps-because you probably look like a tripping hazard right now

"do you want to stay?" the words leave your mouth before that last sober cell in your body can stop them-stop you from making a fool out of yourself

"i want you to be safe." he replies simply. you don't know why the answer only fills you with disappointment. i'll be fine, leaving your lips as you quickly take the rest of the steps up to your room. ignore the way you feel foolish and silly as you slip into bed

a silly feeling that still lingers when you walk down stairs the next morning to see a rumpled sheet and blanket on the couch deserted, and the smell of food coming from the kitchen. a sticky note stuck to a plate covered in foil on the counter: eat. simple. to the point. but still bringing a smile to your lips and those silly feelings imbedding themselves into your marrow

turning into something burning and aching when you see him again. when he drops something off for your dad and he's nowhere to be found in sight. when the two of you are stuck in the kitchen together, a heavy silence weighing down the air that seems to suck itself from your lungs the longer the two of you just stand here. the longer he keeps looking anywhere but you as his grip tightens on the neck of the beer you offered him-mentioning your father would be home any minute now

"thank you for staying, and for the food."

a nod. curt. ever him.

"you didn't have to help me-"

"think so little of me?"

"that's-i didn't mean it like that-i-" you want to state how he's avoided you like the plague before that. how his face morphs into a scowl when you enter the same room as him. how you are certain he hates you, still think that, just maybe a little less after helping you

"you need better friends." he repeats himself from the other night. making an annoyance shift your emotions

"so does my father."

the snort he lets out from under his breath shocks you, as does the pull of the corner of his mouth in the smallest-genuine-smiles you've ever seen him give you. it makes your stomach swoop

"i'm glad you called me."

"that's hard to believe. i'm confident this is the most you've spoken to me in a span of minutes." you joke, the corner of his mouth pulling into a full grin that makes you upset you've never seen him smile before this-has he always been this handsome?

"and here i thought you were a smart girl." the words would wound you if he wasn't staring at you like that over the bottle pressed to his lips. how even when he sets it back on the counter his eyes are still boring into your very being, right to that part of your body that you're understanding now has always wanted him. that you slowly realize, after much analysis to everything that happened the other night: the look in his eyes, the grip he had on your body to make sure you were kept safe, how he didn't even second guess or ask questions when you called, just demanding to know where you were, and to wait for him-that he was coming to get you and that was that

and it’s like a domino effect because now all you can think about is the stolen glances you’ve let go unnoticed, that you’ve chalked up to some festering dislike he may have had for you. how quickly his eyes shifted away from you when your father was in the room, how you’d look over and see him already looking at you when your father was distracted-that scowling coming back, the swivel of his head away from you almost something you’d see a frustrated animal do

maybe you weren’t as smart as either of you thought. or maybe being blind to something you both ignored was better than doing something you’d possibly regret later

if it were that, the fear of betrayal and regret, it didn’t seem to have any place in the room as you watch him finish his beer, walk around the counter to stand in front of you. reaching past you-your chests touching for half a second, your breath getting caught in your lungs-as he sets the empty bottle beside the sink behind you. and when you expect him to move away, to bid you goodbye, you feel his finger under your chin lifting your gaze from the floor. his deep brown eyes sucking every last potential breath from your lungs, your back digging into the edge of the counter as you try to ground yourself, try to settle the burning nerves that are making it hard for your brain to function right now

“if it was only me, all this time, tell me right now.”

you don’t need him to elaborate, there’s no need for explanation, you read through his words, the knowledge sitting heavy in your lower belly; the fear of shaking your head and having him stop touching you stops you from moving, a barely audible “no. not just you” falling from your parted lips

lips that his thumb presses into, your bottom lip met with the pad of his thumb as he rubs along it. throat bobbing with a hard swallow, eyes flashing from your mouth to your eyes. you want to ask why now? what changed? why throw both your dignities to the wind and say fuck it? but the look of stern-protection he showed the other night each time he looked at you, like he was fighting with himself with being upset at himself and upset at you for not having better friends, for putting yourself in a potential bad situation. you know why now

“if i keep touching you-if i let myself cross that line-i’ll never stop.”

“what if i don’t want you to stop?”

“you’ll have to beg me to.”

“i won’t.”

his front is completely pressed to yours, a thigh between your parted legs, forehead on yours as you see the internal battle going on in his expressions, in his heavy breaths, in how he keeps dipping his mouth down to yours only to pull it away at the last minute, “you need to.”

“i need you.”

and it’s those magic words that have him cupping your face in his hands and pressing his lips to yours in a rough kiss of passion-every lick into your mouth, every bite at your bottom lip, the moans he swallows down from your throat, speaking silent words of how long he’s waited to have you like this.

#namor x reader #namor x you #namor x y/n #namor fic #namor x fem!reader #namor headcanon #namor x f!reader #namor imagine #black panther fanfic #namor headcanons #black panther imagine #namor fanfic #namor fanfiction #black panther fic #dbf!namor

2K notes · View notes

starcrossedxwriter · 3 months

Text

Wicked Fantasies Part 8 (MBJ x OC)

A/N: This gif has nothing to do with anything other than I thought it was hot as fuck... and baby boy gets a little... rough and ruthless this chapter (in a good way LOL) Enjoy!

***

Michael’s hand lazily grazed the length of Raven’s spine as they laid in bed, limbs tangled and sheets disheveled from their wild night together. It was their first night back since their trip and jet lag spurred Michael to finally introduced ropes into their play and fuck, Raven had been in heaven. Of course, now her body was sore and aching from hanging from his set up and the only plans she had the next day were to sleep. But it was worth every ache and pain she felt and she would gladly sign up for it over and over and over again.

“You ever think about marriage… kids?” Michael asked, knowing the question was random but it had been on his mind since before it was appropriate to envision that life with her. And with whatever Tasha had planned barreling down on him, something in him yearned to know that she saw a future with him, that she wanted a future with him.

“Yea. I mean I didn’t think it would happen for me. I think about marriage a lot. Kids are… tough,” she muttered, her nails grazing against his skin, so lightly it made him feel almost ticklish.

“You’re afraid of not being there for them?”

Raven shifted uncomfortably on his chest. She rested her head against his heart, the soft thumps of his heartbeat soothing to the anxiety coursing through her. She had thought about all of these things with Michael but it was still impossible to believe she truly deserved them, that he truly wanted them with her. And she hated how easily he saw through her, saw her deepest fears and insecurities as if she had just spelled them out for him.

“Yea, I guess… I wouldn't wish my life on any kid and there’s a lot of all this we have no control over. How much time… when yours is up. It’s always been hard to think about the future though… plan for it. I’ve just always felt like I was being chased and assumed that one day it would catch up to me? This is the first time in my life I don’t feel that… since I met you. So now I suppose I should think about the future.” She paused. “I think I’d like it… not sure how good I’d be at it. Being a mother. Your mom is the closest example I have of a good one. But the chance to build my own family? One with all the things I never had, all the things a child deserves? Yea, it would be nice.”

“What do you think about building that family… with me?”

Raven perked up, shocked to hear those words come out of his mouth. She did not know why but she had not considered the conversation taking this turn for some reason. The idea of him wanting to marry her was about as foolish as wishing diamonds to cascade from the sky like rain. It just was not realistic.

“In my wildest fantasies. But…” her voice trailed off.

“What?”

“I love you… adore you. But I guess there’s still a piece of me that doesn’t believe this is real. That believes you’ll wake up one day and remember that I was the girl you paid to have sex with you. You know… can’t turn a whore into a housewife. And you wouldn’t be wrong, I’m not exactly wifey material. And hell, I’m probably the last person you should want raising your kids. Not a role model, nothing to aspire to. My life is a mess.”

Michael knew a few months would not undo years of self deprecation but it felt like a physical wound to hear her count herself out like this. How could she not see how perfect she was? How amazing she was?

“You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that, baby. And should give yourself more credit. You are one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, you’re a survivor, hardworking, gentle, nurturing. That’s everything I want in a wife… and a mother for my children. You’re so much more than whatever your dad or idiot sister convinced you were. You’re everythin’.”

“You don’t mean that,” she whispered, turning away her head to face the opposite wall. She could not let herself believe that. They had not been together long and Raven was still waiting for the honeymoon phase to end and the other shoe to drop. She knew he would walk up one day and realize he could not build anything real with her. He would hurt her and disappoint her just like every other person in her life. She desperately desired to be wrong but she also refused to let herself have too much hope. Because of all the things and people she survived in her life, Michael was the one thing she knew had the power to actually destroy her.

He pulled her deeper into his chest and kissed her forehead tenderly. “Aint ever told you shit I didn’t mean, baby girl. And I get why you don’t believe it or trust it. But I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you. I’m here for the long haul, we’re gonna build that life together, I promise.”

Her response felt lodged in her throat, too painful to release into the space. She tried to get them out but saying them out loud would make them too real. So she just pressed her lips into his chest before turning over and closing her eyes. She knew she did not need to say anything for Michael to know how she felt. He always knew.

As he watched her attempt to sleep, Michael thought about his meeting the next day with Alex. He had spent his entire trip and tonight so wrapped up in his girl that he almost forgot Tasha was threatening to destroy their bubble. He had to figure out what to do because he saw that future with Raven as clear as day and no one and nothing would stand in his way.

***

“I can’t believe you,” Alex muttered to herself as she paced around her office. “You know… one day, I would just love it if you summoned me or came down here with good news. You saved a fuckin’ family of puppies from a would-be murderer, helped an old lady cross the road, saved someone from a burning building… solved fuckin’ world hunger and told someone. But nooooooooo. It’s never that. It’s always some problem because you literally can’t keep your fuckin’ dick to yourself. Have you ever heard of masturbation?? O-Or a fuckin’ fleshlight??”

Michael groaned as she ranted about his recklessness and foolishness.

“So you gon’ keep yellin’ at me or tell me how to fix this?”

Alex scoffed. “Fixing the fact that you got involved with, not one, but TWO prostitutes, proceeded to fall in love with one of them like this is some nigga’s version of Pretty Woman, causing the other prostitute to get so jealous, she is extorting you for money is so far above my pay grade, it isn’t even funny.”

“The amount I pay you?? Ain’t shit above your pay grade,” Michael muttered under his breath. “Look, I don’t know why you’re mad at me! I’m the victim here. Blackmail is a crime!”

Alex could not keep the shrill laughter that bubbled to her lips from spilling over. “Oh fuck off. ‘I’m the victim,’” she mimicked with a vicious glare. “You're not the victim. You’re the fuckin’ unserious superstar idiot I’ve saddled my entire career to. But you sure as fuck aren’t the victim. The only victim here will be Raven. And me when I die prematurely from dealing with your bullshit. But mainly Raven when this girl tells the entire world she made her living getting paid for sex. They’ll rip her to shreds. You wouldn’t understand it because you’re a man and your privilege insulates you. You’ll be a punchline on late night tv for a few weeks and move on but she won’t come back from this. The world won’t let her come back from it.”

“Didn’t come for a feminism 101 lecture, Alex. I know this fucks her over more than me. How do we fix it??”

Alex threw her hands up in the air. “Fuck if I know? This is why I don’t like PR relationships, Michael. It always falls apart eventually, secrets don’t last in our world. To be honest, if it’s gonna come out anyway, I'd just admit the truth about how you met before Tasha could. You could own the narrative that way at least. But Raven isn’t going to agree to that, no woman in her shoes would.”

“So aside from giving her more money, how can I stop this?”

“Wait more money? You already gave her some?”

Michael shrugged. “Yea like $10k. Why?”

Alex shook her head. “Well she’s not gonna stop at $10k. Honestly, that’s light work for how much I would’ve demanded. Now we’re dealin’ with a fucking stupid extortionist too.” She threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. “Eventually, it won’t be money she wants, Mike. She wants you and if you don’t want her, then I don’t know how to fix this.” she paused. “What did Raven say about all this?”

Michael grimaced. “I… haven’t told her.”

Alex’s eyes grew wide. “Annndd that’s why you schlepped your stupid ass all the way down here instead of having me come to you. You can’t keep this from her. It’s her name and reputation that’ll get dragged to hell and back if Tamara or whatever this fuckin girl’s name is, decides to skip her happy criminal ass to Page 6. You have to tell her, Michael, and let her know that you’re still in contact with this woman. I can sell water to fish in the goddamn ocean, I can spin anything out there. But I won’t be able to mend your relationship if she gets upset that you lied. Tell her and get ahead of this.”

“I need a plan first. Raven is the strongest person I know, don’t get me wrong. But she’s been through too much shit for me to dump a problem I created on her doorstep. No one… no one in her life protects her. Protects her feelings and body and…” he ran his hand over his face. “I tried countless times since we got back but she’s finally happy, Alex. Finally has some peace. Is it that wrong for me to just pay Tasha and keep it movin’? Raven never even needs to know.”

“It’s not wrong… the instinct isn’t wrong but it’s not right either when that peace is fiction. It’s not real, Michael. She deserves to know something that affects her life as much, frankly more than yours. Your reputation will recover, it always does. I’m not sure hers will. And maybe she would… make a different choice about your relationship if she knew that.”

“You want her to leave me?”

Alex raised her hands in surrender at his sharp tone. “No. I don’t want her to leave you. I actually really like her, certainly more than the other idiot instagram girls you paraded around here as your girlfriends. She did what I thought nothing could… she turned you into a serious person. But… maybe you two do need a break until this Tasha person is willing to let you go. She might decide that protecting her name, her peace… her ability to move through life without a modern scarlet A on her chest is more important than whatever feelings, however strong, she has for you. And you… your directorial debut is out in March. We’re about to start a press run in a month. Award season starts next Sunday, for which you are a highly anticipated nominee. Any scandal detracts from the biggest moment of your career. Look, I’m not telling you to do anything. But I am saying, it’s the only path I see that doesn’t destroy you both. And if you love her as much as you say you do, you’d take the short term hit to save her. Or at least present it as an option.”

Michael heard everything she said and in his heart, he knew she was right. But what she was asking? His heart and soul would not allow him to do it.

“I can’t lose her, Alex. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I won’t lose her. I know Tash… she’s all bark, no bite. I give her some attention and throw some cash her way and this’ll all blow over.”

Alex sized him up for a few moments before shrugging. “Well I hope for Raven’s sake, and mine, you know what you’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doin’, Alex. I promise.” Michael knocked his knuckles against her desk before standing up to leave.

“Are you really that good at sex?” she mused, glancing at him up and down as if she was trying to imagine it for herself. “I just can’t imagine anyone, especially a man, is good enough in bed to warrant all this.”

“I know it ain’t your cup of tea,” he offered with a wink. “But what can I say? I’m blessed with hella talents.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “Alright, well get your hella talented ass outta my office.” However, before he left, she called out. “Oh! The Golden Globes… need to know if you’re taking Raven so they can finalize the sitting chart.”

Michael rolled his eyes. His least favorite part about his job: award season. An unbearable time of year made worse by the fact that he was nominated at every single one save the Tonys this year. He did not have the energy or desire to sit for hours on end, starving and be forced to smile and wave and pretend to be happy if he lost. But he knew the unbearable practice would be made a bit more bearable if Raven was by his side while he did it.

“Shit. All this shit goin’ on since New Years, forgot to ask her. Tell them she’s goin’. I just gotta get them to pull her a dress and shit. Thanks for the reminder.”

And with that, he started to walk out. As he reached his car, he pulled out his phone and texted Tasha to meet him at the St. Regis tomorrow night at 10. He was going to end this as soon as possible.

***

Michael paced the length of his hotel room, wearing a hole in the carpet as he went.

“This is a bad idea,” he mumbled to himself a couple of times. But this was the least of about 100 bad ideas in his mind and it was the only bad idea that protected his girlfriend’s peace. He knew Alex was right and it was wrong but he was determined to keep Raven as far from this situation as possible.

However, even he had to admit to himself that his reasoning was not just to protect her peace. He also did not want to admit that he had still had conversations with Tasha before they were official, that he had made promises to her and then broke them. Raven was one of the few people on this planet who saw him as a good person and he refused to ruin that image. Protecting Raven and, selfishly, how she looked at him was all that mattered to him. What people said about him in the media and on Twitter did not.

A soft knock on his door jolted him out of his thoughts and his limbs to move. He felt uncomfortable even meeting Tasha here but she had demanded their first meeting be in person. So here he was.

When he opened the door, Tasha leaned against the door frame with a triumphant smirk painted on her face. A year ago, he would have pulled her inside and tore her clothes off with lightning speed. But today? He had never been less attracted to someone in his life, less enthused to see someone.

“Hey baby.”

Her arms snaked around his broad shoulders as she leaned in for a kiss. A kiss that Michael artfully and skillfully dodged. He twisted out of her embrace and pulled her into his hotel room, sparing a quick glance down the long hotel hallway to ensure no prying eyes lurked before slamming the door shut.

“You don’t seem happy to see me, baby.”

Michael could hear the teasing in her voice, could tell she enjoyed whatever power trip she currently had over him.

“Why would I be happy to see someone blackmailin’ and threatenin’ me?” he mumbled just loud enough for her to hear him.

“Forcing you to follow through with the promises you made to me is hardly blackmail.” She sat down on the edge of the expansive bed and leaned back slightly on her hands.

Michael had hoped to keep this “meeting” as brief as possible. He did not want to be in a room with her for any longer than he needed to. He walked over to the bed and grabbed two envelopes he had sat on the bedside table. He tossed the thicker one, filled with cash, at her before walking across the room and leaning on the desk to watch her.

“Another $10k at your request. Now, tell me a number.”

“A number for what?” she asked innocently.

“A number big enough to get you to sign this,” he tossed another envelope at her. “Standard NDA and an agreement not to contact me or Raven again.”

Tasha let out a low humorless chuckle. “All this… for that basic nobody. You never did a fraction of this shit for me…” she mused as she unfolded the papers and read them silently.

Michael scoffed. “I did everything we agreed to. Flew you out, bought you more shit than I could count. The only thing Raven got that you didn’t was my heart and I’m not apologizin’ for that. What we had was business, Tash. And our business needs to end now. So what’s the number?”

Tasha stared at him for a few minutes before discarding them on the bed. “Fine. I’ll deal. $50k and one more night. The two of us. And I’ll sign them. That’s the price.”

“Not happenin’, name a number.”

Tasha merely shrugged. “Nope. You want me out of your life? That’s the price. Both things.”

“Why? Let’s cut the bullshit, Tash. You don’t love me, you don’t want me. You want my money. So name a higher number.”

“You’re absolutely right. I don’t love you… I’m not Raven, an idiot who falls for the first client I get. I love your money and the comfort it provides. But one thing I don’t like is disrespect. You dropped me out in the cold with no warning like two years of fucking you meant nothing. Like I meant nothing. So yea, maybe months ago, it would’ve just been about the money. But now, it’s about so much more than that.”

“So what? You blackmail me into fuckin’ you one more time and it proves what?”

Tasha laughed. “Doesn’t prove anything except that you ain’t shit, which I already knew. I don’t need proof of anything. See you and Raven were built on a lie and honestly, watching the two of you fall the fuck apart will bring me far more joy than a couple extra bucks. Fuck me and the guilt will eat that good boy you bury deep inside alive. Eventually, you’ll crack and Raven’ll find out. Or I dunno, maybe I’ll tell her. Either way, I could smell the insecurities on that girl from a mile away. She’ll never forgive you and your relationship falls apart. Don’t fuck me and I tell the world you did anyway and that she was a prostitute. And then your relationship definitely falls apart when her life gets ruined. Either way, I get cash, you end up alone and Raven learns what so many girls before also learned the hard way: don’t fuck with what’s mine. I was thinking of calling TMZ the week of the Oscars? That’ll sure spice up the biggest week of your career. Or maybe right before the Creed III premiere… any preference?” At his silence, she merely shrugged. “Well, just let me know. Feel free to keep booking this room for us until you decide. I always liked this view.”

As Michael watched her, he quickly realized how he wholly underestimated her in every possible way. This was not a woman who was willing to let him go. Ever. And both of his “choices” were specifically designed to hurt Raven. There was no scenario where she came out of it unscathed. And it was really all his fault. Had he simply cut Tasha off at the onset or been smarter about how he handled her, they would not be in this mess.

Michael stood and walked toward the door.

“I’ll call you to book our time next week. Maybe you’ll change your mind. Or maybe I’ll change my mind and call TMZ before then,” she called after him as Michael slammed the door behind them.

As he stood in the barren hotel hallway, he resisted the urge to punch a hole in the wall before his security whisked him away to the service elevator to take him outside to his car. He was thankful Alex had been willing to book the hotel under her name and credit card. He would not have considered it originally but after that conversation, he would not have put it past Tasha to add the hotel receipt to her arsenal of blackmail.

He slammed the door of his jeep with such force even Allen jumped slightly at the sound.

“My bad,” he mumbled as he slouched back into his seat. He could not remember the last time something had frustrated him to this degree. He was fucked. They were fucked. Tasha had him by the balls and he knew there was no move that would get him out of this mess without throwing Raven under the bus.

He refused to cheat on Raven. Not just because he knew it would just give Tasha another thing to hold over him but because that was simply not him. He played the role of the bad boy, terrible guy but the one line he had never crossed with a girlfriend in his life was to cheat on her. He knew that pain intimately and he vowed to never inflict it on someone else. He had never even been tempted to cheat. And Raven would certainly not be the woman he broke that vow on.

And because he knew he would never sleep with Tasha or any woman who was not Raven again, there was no end to this in sight. He would just have to sit and wait for her to lob a grenade and blow up his girlfriend’s life. And that made him feel like more of a failure than any flopped movie or failed deal ever had. He was supposed to be the one person in her life that protected her and he had failed her, just like everyone else.

“Bad night, Mr. Jordan?” Allen called from the front seat.

“Somethin’ like that.” He sighed. “Fucked up and not sure it’s fixable.”

Allen glanced back in the rearview mirror and nodded. “Is it not fixable or do you just not like the consequences of fixing it?”

Michael bowed his head. He adored Allen but lately, he hated him and his meddling, correct but unsolicited advice. However, he would never say that to him.

“Mixture of both. Really just no way to fix it that doesn’t hurt someone I love.”

“Raven?”

“That transparent, huh?”

Allen smiled to himself. “You always were, sir. If all the answers hurt her, then you have to decide which path causes the least harm to her. And then you just hope she forgives you when it’s over. That’s all you can do. Or you find another path that doesn’t.”

Michael’s head thudded against his seat’s headrest. He knew Allen was right, just as Alex had been. There was no fixing this situation, no silver bullet that would solve all of their problems and save Raven’s reputation in the process. All roads led to the same destination: the world finding out he and Raven lied. But there was one path that bypassed Tasha, put more of the media focus on him and his terrible decisions, and allowed him to control the when, where, and how of it all. And it did not hurt that this particular path would also allow him to hold Tasha accountable for all her shit in the process.

“Thanks, Allen.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and found Alex’s number. It was late but she was, thankfully, just as much of a night owl as he was.

“Finish your date with your favorite extortionist?” Alex joked as she picked up the phone. He could hear her munching on something as she spoke, likely popcorn.

“You always got jokes. Listen… I think you were right earlier. Let’s control the narrative.”

He could hear her shifting around as if she were sitting up at his words. “Ok, I’m intrigued. Raven? You gonna ask her what she thinks?”

He shook his head. “Nah. If we do it right, she never needs to know.”

***

It was after midnight by the time Michael arrived back home. However, he and Alex had worked out a foolproof plan during the drive. A plan they felt would allow Michael to take the biggest hit while Raven’s name would be a mere footnote by any reporter who doesn’t want to be accused of misogyny. It did all hinge on Tasha dragging out her games for longer than a week. But Michael had a feeling she would. She clearly enjoyed watching him squirm. They’d get past the Golden Globes and then he would seek help from someone whose only motivation in this world was money, someone who - for the right price - would do exactly what he asked.

He said a quick goodnight to Allen before running up the stairs to his master bedroom. He was surprised to find Raven curled up on his side of the bed, her face buried in his pillow. Her preferred sleeping position was literally on top of him and he knew, when he wasn’t home, this was the best she could get.

He laughed lightly at her kindle which was half hanging out of her hand, the young woman clearly having fallen asleep reading. She had not even put her scarf on the giant pineapple of curls on her head or taken off her reading glasses, which told him she had tried her hardest to stay awake till he got home. He watched her, like a creep admittedly, for several minutes before he moved.

He had never felt love like this a day in his life. He had always accepted that he would never find it, never find someone who could and would love him unconditionally. But she did, she loved him even though he was not sure he deserved it. And everytime she looked at him, touched him, curled into his side to sleep, he felt the depths of it in his very being. Their love was pure and he refused to let anyone taint it.

He moved as quietly as possible to the bed and took the kindle out of her hand and slid her glasses off. Thankfully, she slept like a rock. However, she only stirred as he tried to gently tie her scarf around her edges to protect her hair. She stretched and let out a deep but insanely cute yawn as she blinked a few times.

“H-Hey babe. S-sorry, I tried to wait for you.”

Michael leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “Don’t apologize. I didn’t mean to wake you. Just knew you’d be pissed if you woke up with no scarf on.”

She chuckled. “You’re right about that. H-How was your dinner meeting?”

“Fine,” he waved his hand dismissively. He hated that he had lied to her but it was the only excuse he could think of that did not bring more questions. Raven was generally inquisitive but she tended to understand the often secret nature of some roles and Hollywood meetings so she did not often pry for information he did not offer up. “Might have a role for me but shit is still in flux. We’ll probably need to meet again to iron out some details.”

She nodded as she forced herself into a seated position. “I’ll never understand you Hollywood types. Who wants to have a dinner meeting at 10 pm?”

“Logistics are easier for later dinners. It’s a whole thing.” He rolled his shoulders a bit, the tension of the day making his entire body ache.

“You ok? You seem so tense, baby.”

He studied her for a moment, taking in the genuine care on her face. So few people looked at him like that, like a human with needs and feelings. They just saw him as a product to sell or an ATM to get their needs met. But not Raven, never Raven. Even when he was quite literally paying her to be there. She saw him for him. And in that moment, he realized how close he was to losing that, how at risk this precious peace they both had found was. And that terrified him. Losing her terrified him. And he knew that whatever path he chose, that was the risk. And that filled him with such an overwhelming sense of dread.

He rarely felt overwhelmed by his own feelings. But right then, he felt like he could not even think straight enough to answer that simple question. And he knew that simple question was his out, his chance to tell her the truth about what tension he was feeling and why.

So instead of speaking, he used his impeccable strength to pull her into his lap. Her fingers played in the coarse hair of his beard as he stared at her, concern filling her eyes as she took in the solemn and stressed look in his.

“Hey… baby… what’s wrong?”

“N-Nothin’. Nothin’,” he lied, his courage deflating like a popped balloon. As soon as the words left his mouth, his lips crashed into hers, stealing her breath right out of her mouth. He could not talk, could not have a conversation. He just needed to feel her, all of her.

He could not bring himself to do it, to ask her for her permission to do what he knew had to be done. All roads led to the same destination and this was the only one he could see that left them with the least amount of bruises. He did not have the heart to tell her that the only path forward for them was to destroy her reputation now or have Tasha do it later. He did not have the heart to tell her he failed her, that he could not protect her from this.

Raven could feel everything in that kiss, his own stress and tension and pain. She wondered if more had gone on tonight at his meeting than he was willing to let on. Typically, Michael was the emotional rock, holding her up and giving her space to fall apart. But tonight, she was reminded that sometimes the strong ones need that too.

She broke off their kiss to catch her breath before whispering, “Take what you need.”

Michael rested his forehead against hers. “You sure?”

“Consider me your stress ball,” she joked with a half smile. “Do your worst. I trust you.”

Trust you don’t deserve, a cold voice inside hurled at him.

Michael said nothing as he flipped Raven over onto her stomach. There was no love or sweetness in the way he handled her as he arranged her lethargic limbs in the position he desired, ass high and face pressed into his comforter. He did not give her any warning as he sheathed himself inside her with one thrust, Raven squealing at the sudden and rough intrusion.

“Fuckkkkkkkk,” she moaned as he bottomed out inside her. She did not understand how his size and girth still managed to leave her breathless.

“You always this wet for me, baby?”

“Y-Yes,” she whimpered as he gave her a brief moment to adjust to him.

“Yes what?” he demanded with a sharp and painful slap against her plump ass. “Yes daddy,” she amended quickly. She could already tell she would be bruised and sore by the time he was done with her. But she could not hope to care. Whatever he needed, she would gladly give.

They rarely did quickies, Michael enjoyed the warm up far too much to skip it. But tonight, he needed the adrenaline of rough, uninhibited fucking. He needed to hear her screams, the slaps of his hips against her ass. Needed to feel the soft skin of her hips beneath his hand as he rammed into her. He needed to let go of the stress of the last 48 hours with the woman he loved, let go of the feelings of objective failure he felt. He needed to get lost in her.

Raven was in pure bliss as Michael fucked her at a pace and intensity she had rarely seen from him. She could not even keep up with him to match his thrusts into her. All she could do was lay there and scream out as he took her.

“Shit, shit. J-just like that,” she moaned as his hands dug into her skin. Her fingers curled around the softness of his comforter as she used it to muffle the screams of her orgasm.

“Fuck, this pussy feels so good gripping my dick, baby. That’s right, cum for daddy.”

Her body instinctively shied away from the overwhelming feelings of pleasure and pain he provided, causing his grip to only grow tighter so she could not escape him, as if she would disappear right before his eyes if he loosened his grip on her at all.

“The fuck you runnin’ for?? You said do my worst right? So take this dick!” His voice was commanding as he spanked her, the sound reverberating around his bedroom.

“I-It’s too m-much,” she moaned out as she felt another orgasm start to build.

“You can take it. I know you can. Be a good girl for me.”

Hearing the words “good girl” on his lips were almost enough to make her orgasm right then on the spot.

Her upper body collapsed as another orgasm hit her like a train of endless ecstasy. Only Michael’s brute strength held her up as he chased his own release. Her body felt like putty in his hands, completely pliant and under his control.

“You gonna cum again for me, baby?” he demanded.

Raven felt as if he was fucking her into another dimension, was she even on Earth anymore? She could barely form thoughts let alone words to answer his questions. And as the silence stretched on and only her moans and squeals punctuated the sound of his thrusts, Michael knew she needed an incentive to remember the rules.

He wrapped his fist in her hair, which had unceremoniously fallen out of her scarf and pulled her up so her back was flush against his body. He wrapped his hand around her throat and squeezed lightly, loving how Raven’s eyes rolled back into her head and a long moan escaped her. He noticed the tear tracks on her cheeks and almost wondered if he was pushing her too far.

“Need me to stop?” he asked quietly, not slowing down his pace or movement as he asked.

Despite how overwhelmed and exhausted she felt, Raven could not comprehend the idea of him stopping. She had offered him this and she wanted it too. “D-don’t stop… p-please don’t stop.”

“Ok then. When daddy asks you somethin’, you fuckin’ answer!”

He let her body fall forward before he started spanking her with every ounce of strength he had. The pain radiated through her entire body but it was a delicious hurt, one she wished she could have all the time. Michael’s spankings were one of her favorite parts of their sex life. But now she knew that he was holding back some of his strength on her account. And she did not want that ever again. If this was him totally uninhibited and unrestrained, she would be his stress ball every day of the week.

She shook her head as tears slowly trekked down her face. “I-I c-can’t…”

Whether that was to convey that she could not speak or couldn’t come again, Michael did not know nor did not care. Until he heard a safeword cross her lips, he would drain them both of everything they collectively had.

“Yea, you can. Cause daddy demands it.”

His fingers found their way to her clit and roughly circled it, Raven’s entire body tensing as she reached her peak for the third time. He thanked the good lord he had had the forethought to soundproof his bedroom when he built this house years ago. That way he nor his parents had to be scarred for life. But even he wondered if her screams of pleasure would test the limits of that particular design feature.

However, they were the perfect symphony that pushed him right over the edge. He increased his pace, as if that were possible, hammering into her before he pressed her hips tightly against his form as he came inside her with a loud moan of his own. He collapsed next to her prone form for a moment as he tried to catch his breath.

He ran his hand through her hair, the young woman letting out a soft, appreciative whimper that acknowledged his touch and gentleness but let him know she was utterly spent.

He pushed himself out of bed and started a bath, adding some epsom salt to the water in hopes that would soothe whatever aches he caused. He returned to his bed and rubbed her back to get her attention.

“Bath,” he whispered, before he scooped her up into his arms as if she were a small child. He carried her into the bathroom and quickly redid her hair and scarf before settling her into the tub.

A moan slipped past her lips as the hot water surrounded her limbs. Michael positioned himself behind her, his arm pressed into her breasts to keep her flush to his chest.

“Was I too rough?”

Her heart warmed at the question. She would not have offered her body to him if she had not wanted rough but she appreciated that he still cared enough about her to check in, during and after.

“No, I love it when you get lost in it. But you’re sure you’re ok?”

“Yea… think the stress of the awards and the press tour next month are just getting to me. I’m good, babe.” A cop out but it was all he could offer.

Though it was difficult to get her limbs to move properly, she shifted so she could turn around and look at him. She chewed on her lip for a moment before saying, “You’d tell me if… something was wrong, right? Like you’re always there for me and my problems, listening and fixing. A-and well… I know I can’t like fix whatever it is or anything or probably even understand it. But I hope you know you can trust me with stuff. I just d-don’t want you to think you can’t… if you ever need to o-or - ”

Michael leaned forward and captured her lips, silencing the sweet ramblings his girl was known for.

“Yea I know, baby.”

He felt her entire body sort of deflate with relief before she settled back against his chest.

“Good. I’m glad.”

They sat in silence as Michael’s hands slowly and methodically massaged her body, starting at her shoulders and working their way down at a deliciously slow but tantalizing pace. He took his time, kneading each of her muscles until the ache she felt subsided. His hands were massaging her thighs, which was doing more to work her up than calm her down, when Michael

“Be my date on Sunday.” He kissed her on the neck.

“Sunday? What’s on Sunday?” she asked, not even opening her eyes as she enjoyed the work of the Lord Almighty he was doing on her thighs.

“The Globes.”

Raven immediately pushed off of his chest in shock. An award show? Those glittery and glamorous programs she had watched as a kid?

What’s my fucking life right now?? She asked herself as it hit her, for the first time, that things like this would be a regular occurrence now that she and Michael were serious. This was the big leagues and she was going to be standing right beside him.

“The Globes… as in THE Golden Globes?? You’re kidding right?”

He laughed at the look of utter shock on her face. “Yes, those Globes. And nah, why would I joke about that shit? I want the sexiest woman in the world on my arm when I win.”

Michael did not want to be ruled by fear of when Tasha would lob her grenade at them, if she even had the chance. They deserved to just have a fun and extravagant night out together. This would be the biggest night of his career and if their names were going to be thrown into a scandal either way, he could at least enjoy a night out with Raven before it does.

Raven shook her head, though her heart and childish brain screamed at her for doing so. Why was she pushing back? Every fiber of her being just wanted her to yell “YES, YES, YES!”

“B-But what about your parents?? Maybe you should take one of them o-or your siblings? I mean I’d love to go. Like seriously THE Golden Globes with like every entertainer I adore and love? But this is such a big moment in your career. Don’t you want to spend it with… I dunno, the people who’ve been there for the ride? I just got here,” she chuckled. “Don’t ask me out of some obligation. If there’s someone else you’d prefer, I won’t be offended. I didn’t expect an invite to all these anyway, you know? Figured you take family or your friends or someone more important to you… What if you look back and regret not taking one of them? You should -”

“Babe!” he cut her off, his palm cradling her cheek to keep her gaze on him.. “You said all that in one breath. Breathe for me, baby girl.” Raven appreciated that he could always see when she was spiraling and stop it. She forced air into her lungs before nodding for him to speak. “My family’s been to hella award shows, they’ve seen as many of them as a single person could ever want to. But even if they hadn’t, you’re the most important person to me right now. So I want to look out if I win and see you there. You are the most important person in my life.”

“You’re sure?”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t, promise.”

“Then yes. I’d love to.” She turned fully and straddled his hips, kissing him deeply. Her hips instinctively grinded against him, a smile gracing her features as she felt his cock start to grow hard beneath him. She did not care that he fucked her into near oblivion a mere 10 minutes ago. Just him offering to take her to the biggest award show of his career to date filled her with such joy and happiness. And now, she had no interest in going to sleep. Now? She just needed more. More of him and his love, attention, and care.

“Not too sore, baby girl?” he asked as he pulled one of her nipples in between his lips and sucked gently before biting the swell of her breast, Raven’s head falling back with a small cry.

“Never… I need you,” she whispered in his ear as she sucked on the soft skin of his neck. “Please.”

“Get up here and ride daddy’s dick.”

Raven did not need to be told twice as she positioned herself over him and slid down.

“Enjoy it cause then it’s my turn again.” He winked at her with the most wicked glint in his eyes that let Raven know she would not sleep for hours.

***

“So how does it feel? Mr. Golden Globe winner??” Raven asked for the 100th time as she and Michael walked back into the condo. The condo was really only used now when they were at events super late. And staying out until 3 am meant neither of them were all too interested in making the trek back to his home.

Michael chuckled, “The same way it felt 10 minutes ago, Rae.”

She gave herself a playful facepalm. “I’m sorry, I’m being annoying. I’m just so excited for you! I mean tonight was amazing and magical and you were amazing and everyone was literally singing your praises. And I’m just…” she turned and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. “I’m really proud of you. No one deserves this moment more.”

“Thank you. It was even better with you by my side.”

Raven let out a childlike squeal as Michael picked her up in his arms, her after party dress bunched up in his hands. However, before she could tell him to be careful of the fabric, he merely smirked. “It’ll be on the floor in a minute. Don’t worry bout that shit.”

She merely rolled her eyes as he playfully tossed her onto his bed and launched himself on top of her. She let out a loud oof as his weight pushed her deeper into the bed and laughed.

She moaned as he kissed her before she had to stop him for a brief moment. As much as she loved being glammed up by his team, she could not deny that the full glam and fake lashes they put on her were not as comfortable almost 10 hours later.

“Let me hang up the dress and wash my face before you ravish me? These lashes are killing me and it’s gonna take me a few minutes to peel these spanx off.”

He seemed wholly uninterested in letting her do any of those things until the phone in his pants started to ring. He knew only one person who dared to call him this late. The disgruntled huff he pushed out made her cackle but he rolled off of her, allowing her to get up.

“Fine, I’ll allow it. But only cause Alex would only call this late if it was important.”

As he answered the phone, she disappeared into the guest room where all of her clothes were stored. She made quick work of stripping down to her panties and ensuring her dress was stowed properly in its garment bag. It had been a delicate yet gorgeous gown and she had not trusted Michael not to accidentally destroy it in his quest to get it off her. She knew he could afford to pay for it but she did not even want to know how much a Valentino dress would set him back.

She joyfully ripped the fake lashes on her eyes off before washing her face several times to get off all the makeup she had on. She looked stunning, as she always did when his glam team got a hold of her. But she also would rather do this tedious task now than in a few hours when Michael was done with her.

She thought about slipping into some lingerie as she pulled off her nipple covers. But she figured it would take more time than necessary to put any of it on and Michael would likely just rip it off her within seconds. So she made her way back to his room nearly naked with just her thong on.

However, when she returned, Michael’s mood was far more subdued than when she left. She raised an eyebrow as she straddled his hips, his hands barely touching her hips, a departure from his usual grip on her.

“Everything ok?”

“That was Alex. We… got a problem.”

“Ok?”

He rubbed her lower back as he spoke as if that would calm her for whatever was about to come out of his mouth. “She got a call from TMZ that they have a source… that told them about us. How we met and… that we lied to everyone about it. And they are gonna run it sometime tomorrow.”

Raven scratched her forehead, the joy she felt moments ago dissipating almost immediately.

This can’t be happening…

“W-what?? B-But… N-No, no. She’s… I-is she sure?”

“Baby, calm down. It’s gonna be ok. Apparently, the angle he took was favorable to you? It doesn’t shame you or anything. It’s just honest about the circumstances of how we met.”

Raven felt as if her whole world had just come falling down around her as she leapt off his lap. “It’s favorable to me?? That’s a super small comfort w-when you just told me that the entire world is about to find out I was a prostitute, Michael! C-Cause no one’s gonna care that you were date number like 3 in a series of failed dates o-or that you were the first guy to even pay me for sex. They’re just gonna care that I did it. This reporter doesn’t need to shame me when the whole fucking world will.” She paced up and down beside his bed as she tried to will her panic to subside. “I-Is there anyway to stop it?? W-why is this even happening?? I mean it’s been months. Who would even care enough to c-come out and say something now??”

Michael stood and grabbed her by the arm, he pulled her into his embrace but he knew it would do little to soothe her. “It could’ve been anyone? Employee at the hotel, someone who works for Helen. Alex is trying to find out who and more about the story so we can figure out what to do. And this person probably realized that now, with award season and Creed, would be the most profitable time to release shit about me. I’m sorry, Rae. I should’ve seen this comin’. It’s my fault.”

The clear guilt in his voice cut through the haze of panic she felt and caused her to stop thinking about herself for a moment.

Fuck, how selfish are you? A story like this could potentially ruin his career and all she could think about was how it affected her. Michael could lose work and deals and prestige because of a story like this. What did she have to lose? A family that already hated her and she had cut off? A reputation that, at least in the industry she was once in, was already tarnished?

“No, d-don’t apologize. I'm sorry. I’m over here freaking out and you’re the one with an actual career to lose. I just… I guess when it didn’t come out initially, I assumed it wouldn’t? A-and I just… freaked out. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t make it all about me.”

“It’s cool. And ok to be upset. I’m used to shit like this… you aren’t. Good thing is, shit like this stays in the news for a few days and then it passes. Alex and I’ll work on a plan tomorrow once it’s out and fix this shit. I promise.”

All Raven could make herself do was nod as she let her forehead fall onto his bare chest, a sudden wave of exhaustion hitting her. Even with Michael, there was always something. There was no true peace in her life, or least, none that lasted long enough for her to enjoy it.

An uncomfortable tightness grew in her chest as she realized what was barreling toward them both. And for the first time in a long time, Michael’s arms did not bring her the comfort she needed. In fact, they only added to her stress. She wanted to be with him but she also knew that her presence would be a distraction. He had to figure out the best response for his career without feeling the need to cater to her emotions and she wanted to break down and cry and scream without being worried he would feel guilty.

Which meant she could not be there with him when this story broke. She needed space and alone time to process this.

“Do you think Allen could take me home?” she whispered. “I n-need to be alone.”

“Rae, stay. We should talk about this.”

She could see the panic bloom in his eyes and it made her adjust her statement. “I’m not m-mad at you, baby. You don’t have control over who talks to the media and when. I know you would stop it if you could. I just… knowing it’s coming out is a lot to process and I need to do that alone in my own space. And you need to be focused on your career, not me and my feelings. I’ll check in with you tomorrow but I d-don’t want to talk tonight. I just want to be alone.”

Michael pressed his lips to her forehead before walking over to his dresser and pulling out a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt that she had stored there. He helped her get dressed before calling Allen to come back to take her home. He knew she was not upset with him but he could not help but feel disheartened at how she retreated into herself. He could see all the emotions she felt painted on her face and that made him want to demand she stay so he could help her through it.

But he knew that was not fair. If she said she needed space, he had to respect that. The reason she was feeling this way was his fault anyway.

“You’re sure you’re gonna be ok? I can come with you?” He tried one last time when Allen texted that he was downstairs.

“Positive. Just need a couple hours to myself to get my head around everything. I’ll come to the house tomorrow evening after it's out and we can talk. Just give me a few hours, please.”

He nodded, silently acquiescing to her wishes, despite every piece of him wanting to protest.

Raven offered him a peck on the lips before heading down in the elevator, desperate to scream or yell or throw something across the room. She supposed she always knew there was a chance it could come out. After all, there were a handful of people that knew the truth. But she had just lulled herself into believing it wouldn’t, that their peace would be safe.

Her head felt like it was spinning when she finally laid down an hour later in her own bed. She had only taken the time to switch into one of Michael’s sweatshirts that she had commandeered from his house so she could curl up in his scent. She wrapped herself tightly in her blanket and let out a shuddering and shaky breath.

He’s gonna leave you. A voice finally said the fear that gripped her since he told her the news. She had not wanted to admit it but she knew it was coming. He was going to leave her.

How could he possibly stay? Why would he want to stay? His entire team would demand he cut ties with her. There was no other option. She knew it and he likely knew it too. His safest bet was likely to paint her as a woman who manipulated him or a gold digger after his money. She spent enough time on social media to know what the media and everyday people would say about her. They’d call her a slut and a whore, never mind that she was only doing what she had to do to survive. That would not matter to them. And then the dogpilling would begin. Some internet detective would find out she was also a stripper and this would give her sister the perfect chance to shame her like she always wanted to.

‘There are always other options than selling yourself’ they’d say. They’d question his manhood for even wanting to be with her in the first place. And it would not matter that prostitution was the oldest profession in civilization or that Michael was her first real customer. Her doing it with him would be enough for them to brand her with every terrible name women avoid being labeled.

She hastily wiped away the few tears that fell as she stared at her ceiling. These would be her last few moments of peace in her life and she realized that tonight was likely her last night with Michael. She felt her heart break at the idea. However, she would walk away, she realized. If that was what it took to save him and his career and this moment in his life, she would walk away from him. It would cut her deeper than any wound but she would do it for him if he asked.

And now, every second felt like a countdown to that moment. When she would arrive at his house tomorrow afternoon and be greeted with the cold slap of rejection. She would just have to prepare herself.

She reached into her nightstand and pulled out a bottle of old sleeping pills she used to use when she first lost her writing contract. She had struggled so much that her doctor prescribed them. It had been almost a year since she needed them but tonight was an exception. She just wanted to fall into the deep, dreamless sleep they provided so she would not have to sit awake and think about how everything in this world was designed to destroy her. She popped one in her mouth and snuggled up with her pillow while her tears fell, the protective blanket of sleep covering her within minutes.

Tag List: @readinghere2023 @blackerthings @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @physicxal @purplehairgawdess @miyuhpapayuh @rueruesclues @geemamii @certifiedlesbianbaddie @pipsqueak-98 @nyifly22 @destinio1 @twocentaur @gopaperless @musicisme333 @roguekiki @majesticbrownjawn @taurusqueen83 @mysteryuz @miamormilan @itsknor-thedeep @naj-ay444 @mads-grace4 @nayaesworld @kholdkill @msniaimani @nccu-rnc @apenasumlug4r

***

A/N: Welp... Michael's keeping secrets, Tasha is smarter (kinda, maybe?) than Michael thought and poor Raven's completely in the dark. Drop a comment and let me know who you think this "source" is and how you think these two are going to react to the article! And so exciting - chapter 9 is like 1/3 done lol so it'll be out in the next two weeks. Would be sooner but I'm on vacation next week. Thanks for reading, commenting, liking... all the things! :)

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x oc #mbjordanedit #black panther #michael b jordan x reader #michael b jordan fanfic #creed 3 #adonis creed #creed iii

226 notes · View notes

itaintenough · 1 year

Text

m’baku, under his breath: future husband says what

namor: what?

m’baku: [screeches internally]

#m’baku was down bad for him #he was literally reading fanfics of him #up in the mountains #black panther #black panther 2 #black panther wakanda forever #m’baku #winston duke #jabari #wakanda #namor #tenoch huerta #tenoch #kukulkan #talokan #black panther incorrect quotes #incorrect black panther quotes #black panther imagines

1K notes · View notes

acontrariis · 1 year

Text

⸺ alta mar

r. Namor x Mutant!Reader

wc. 4.2k

d i s c l a i m e r. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Mentions of human trafficking. Mentions of physical and mental abuse. Death. Mutant Powers. Pining. Third Person POV.

n o t e. highly recommend listening to The Lighthouse - Halsey, big inspo for Reader.

→ a o 3 [link]

⸺ gif credit [here]

The sea is quiet tonight.

Too quiet for his taste, in fact. The wandering fishes seemed to be hiding in the dark, afraid to be seen, to make too much noise. The life in Talocan went on as usual, the people relishing in the comfort the well-earned peace brought. Yet, there was an uneasiness in his heart, a warning that something was happening close to his home.

Namor had the practice of roaming the ocean, he made it part of his routine to explore and help wherever he could, to make the underwater life as better as it could be. After hundreds of years on this planet, he felt a connection to the ocean as that of a limb, a part of him he prayed never to lose. So, as any other night, he made his rounds in the deserted land. This time, paying close attention to everything in sight. It didn’t take long for him to find the source of his worry.

A foreign cargo ship stood on the motionless tide. The engines off, the place deserted. As his head came out of the water, he noticed the lack of breeze. It was as if time had frozen. He would almost think there was no life inside, an abandoned boat in the middle of nowhere, had it not been for warmth still present in the walls from the force of the movement, and the frantic heartbeats that echoed inside. For a moment, he simply stood there, floating in the salty water. It was not for him to meddle in the affairs of the surface, and he didn’t particularly care for them, as long as they didn’t affect his people.

The quietness, however, ended as abruptly as it had started. In a fraction of a second, the winds picked up with herculean strength. The ship rocked violently as the water shook furiously around it, giant waves started to form. He started in awe, quickly moving away from the chaos, flying to safety away from the grasps of the ocean. It was not missed how the commotion centered in one place, an invisible line separating the ring from the rest of the ocean. He couldn’t pinpoint where the culprit was, except that they were inside the wrecking ship.

The screams filled the air, along with the metallic scent of blood. As if the hands of the goddess herself emerged from the depths of the ocean, the waves ripped the vessel in two as a dozen armed men fell into the water, dragged down without a chance to ever come out for breath again. Another dozen or so of chained women and children fell into the water, their lifeless bodies floating in the storm and in the middle of the commotion, a single body stood out to him.

Her turquoise eyes glowed like gems in the dark of the night, the most beautiful color he’d ever seen. Deadly glimmer. Her own body fell and as she struggled with what he thought were certainly her survival instincts kicking in, a grin adorned her face. He could hear the loud pumping of her heart, almost reaching its limit. She didn’t have long to live, and the blood pouring out of her mouth was proof of it. With the last of her strength, she made sure every man in uniform was engulfed in darkness, before her piercing eyes shut the light he was so desperate to catch.

⸺

Darkness and the whooshing sound of the wind was all her senses could pick up. As if waking up from a deep sleep, her limbs numb and too weak to even try to move, little by little her consciousness started to awaken. The burn in her eyes and the dryness of her mouth tells that she wasn't as dead as expected. The woman could feel the blood pumping through her veins, the beating of her heart accelerating with every shallow breath she took and as she finally managed to open her eyes, the panic started to take over.

Unable to move, she could still feel everything: the cold stone surface she was lying on, the soft cloth covering her, the dull ache from the previous beatings she had taken not long ago. A pair of hands came to her aid, as her mind was starting to drift into hysteria, they covered her shoulders and softly spoke in a calming voice. The words weren’t something she could decipher, as it was a language unknown, but soon she found herself mimicking the unknown woman’s breathing, her smile a soft approval. What she assumed was medicine was poured down her throat and for a moment she allowed herself to relax, tears of relief rolling down her cheeks.

It was impossible to tell how much time passed, there were zero changes that could give away the time of day, let alone the passage of it. The only constant was the caretaker, she didn’t know her name and after several failed attempts to communicate, she decided she didn’t really need to know. Several days could have passed, a routine now formed: wake up, drink the medicine, eat whatever she could. Her wounds healed faster than ever before, the constant pain now a faint memory. Everyday they would wash her, clean the scratches left on her body and dress her up. After that, they would help her up and start “exercising”.

The movement of her limbs didn’t come as easily as one would expect. This is what she imagined rehabilitation would look like. It was strange. On one hand, she felt better than ever. The bruises on her body were fading, her skin softer, she didn’t throw up everything that was fed to her anymore either. On the other hand, her body felt foreign, like an infant learning the basic functions, she stumbled and fell in the arms of the women surrounding her. Celebrating each little victory, picking up new words and expressions to get through the day and feeling a pair of watching eyes monitoring her every movement.

After the relief settled and she reluctantly accepted perhaps these people won’t hurt her, the questions started to pile up. She knew she should be dead. She had made peace with it. As she made sure all the bastard’s had their lungs filled with salty water, she decided to join them in hell. Anything better than being stuck in that tin cage and being used as a circus trick. So then, how did she end up here? And where (and what) exactly is here? What if she was actually dead? What if this was just some sick dream before she started to burn for her sins or something like that? What if this was like her personal purgatory? What if they were feeding her so they could sacrifice her to some weird god in a volcano?

Needless to say, most of her questions remained unanswered for some time. Apparently, this place was called Talocal and, at least for now, they would not turn her to their god. K'uk'ulkan. No volcano for now. She was introduced to some women who spoke English, and as her recovery progressed, her understanding of her surroundings also improved. Soon enough, she was walking on her own, the long desired sense of independence little by little took root in her, feeling safe perhaps for the first time in her life.

There was one thing she desperately wanted to ask, what everyone seemed to intentionally avoid: how did she end up here? They filled her days with stories about their god, the old legends and the bedtime stories that embodied pieces of their knowledge. They also taught her how to tell time in there, and informed she had been in Talocan for two weeks now, half of it was her deep in slumber, while the worst of her injuries had still not passed.

It was easy to notice how they never truly left her by herself. Even if they allowed her to explore some rooms and ask some questions, it was very clear there were lines drawn. That, and the constant feeling of being watched. She couldn’t quite pinpoint where exactly it was coming from, but she knew there was someone, not human, watching every step she made. It took another week for her to get the answers she was looking for.

⸺

The day started ordinary, as any other. Her wounds had long been healed, and her condition far improved, so the women around her felt more like babysitters than caretakers now. As part of her new found routine, she sat by the little pond that connected the cave to the ocean. She had been warned not to dive in, for her body couldn’t withstand the pressure. By now, three weeks had passed since she arrived, and as grateful as she was for their attentions, it was still unclear why exactly they were giving them to her. Frankly, she was starting to feel like an animal in a cage, a feeling she was well accustomed with and to which she refused to go back.

In one of those rare moments where the women’s attention wasn't on her, she decided it was time to test what’s the worst that could happen. She knew someone was watching, but it wasn’t those she could see. So, what would it do if she tried to go into the water? Will it show itself or let me die? Letting me die after going through all this trouble seems unlikely, and it’s about time I find out what exactly these people want with me. Trying to make as little fuss as possible, as if it was simply a little stretch, she took one deep breath and jumped in the water, the exalted shouts left unheard.

Swim, just swim.

It was hard to see, pitch black as it was the deeper she dived, but that feeling never left her. She knew they were there with her. Now, her body seemed okay, something she didn’t really question, as focused as she was in trying to find something, anything besides the dark that engulfed her. Just when she was starting to panic, not knowing how long it had been since she took a breath, he appeared before her. At first she didn’t see him, a mere silhouette as her eyes tried to get used to the absence of clarity, she felt his hands surrounding her. A familiar presence that, without her knowing how to explain why, brought her calm.

She wasn’t sure how, but she heard his voice, instructing her to open her mouth, let instincts take over and stop holding her breath. Before stopping to question it, she did as he said. Scientists would have a field day with her now. There was no clear explanation, but she was okay. Her lungs weren’t filling with water, her bones were not being crushed by the pressure, her eyes were adapting to the darkness as if her body was slowly adapting to this new environment and she couldn’t help but let out the bubbled laugh of ecstasy. She could swear she saw him smile, even if for just a second. It’s what she thought as he quickly pulled them back to the cave and out of the water.

He didn’t let her out of his arms for a second, calmly carried her through the corridors and into a bedroom she had yet to see before. The murmurs in the background, no doubt discussing her latest transgression, were mere noise as she observed him. He didn’t look like anyone she had ever seen before, there was a softness in his eyes as he returned her gaze that made her feel like she could stay in that position for all eternity. It almost made her smile, if she didn’t think she would look like an absolute lunatic she maybe would have. Reluctantly, he let her go once they reached the closed quarters. Signaling her to move to what she assumed would be a bathroom, she quickly changed out of her wet clothes to go back to his side.

The former naked figure was now covered too, his towering form an intimidating image. She didn’t know what to say, and he watched her as if she were an unstable animal, too much pressure and they would break. Curiosity soon won and she broke the silence.

“K'uk'ulkan?” The hesitance in her voice was not missed by him, a clear tell along with the tilt of her head.

“That’s one of my names, yes. It’s a pleasure to officially meet you. I see you’re doing better.”

“My guess is that’s thanks to you? I… There’s a lot of holes in my memory. For one, I do not understand how I can possibly be here… alive… I have considered that this is just some sort of dream and I’m actually dead somewhere in the bottom of the ocean.”

She tried to pass the last part as a joke with an awkward smile, but he didn’t seem to like that.

“I will explain everything in due time. First, I need to know what you are. I saw what you did back there, those people on the ship… There wasn’t a single survivor, but you. I need to know if you’ll be a threat to my people.”

She avoided his gaze and walked around the table, setting some space between them. Her hands softly caressed the material as a sad smile adorned her face.

“You brought me here without first making sure I wasn’t dangerous? Sloppy, sloppy.”

The comment hit him like a lance through the chest, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t already heard from Namora and Attuma, but an outsider questioning his behavior made it that much worse. He didn’t sense any hostility from her, though. Her snarky comments may be a way to buy some time, it couldn’t be easy to talk about what happened. So he would take it, the comments, the attitude… Hell, she could hit him if she wanted, he would take anything she was willing to give him.

“They said something about a mutation in my blood. I never met my parents, so I don’t know where it came from or why it started, I just know it happened at a very young age.”

As she started to explain, the tension in her body worsened. He wanted to calm her down, he wished she would make another comment to annoy him, anything but the pained expression. If he was truly honest, he wanted to see her eyes glow once more, he wanted to see her smile full of life, just for him.

“The… The boat… We were being transported to a new facility. They didn’t say where, but I assume it was the same as the others, some underground establishment where they sold the precious goods”

Waving at her body, a sigh left her. Namor clenched his teeth, for a moment he wished they’d survived so he could kill them again.

“What you saw was the first time I used it like that.” She explained how in between the daily beatings, one of the electric rods came into contact with her collar, causing a malfunction that allowed her to use her powers.

“I didn’t mean to hurt the others too… but we were all dead either way…”

As the explanation progressed, he asked her what her powers entitled, and she told him it was better to see it. Her eyes glowed as the joyful shrieks coming from outside filled the place.

There was snow.

It was snowing.

In a cave.

In the caribbean.

In the middle of the ocean.

“What? You thought you were the only freak in town? I mean, maybe in this town… Hate to break your bubble, big guy.”

With his astonishment, her smile had returned, the previous tension put aside. He cleared his throat, a rebel smile forming in his face.

“Well, there are some conditions to this arrangement we have to discuss.”

“What arrangement?”

“…Me saving you.”

“I don’t remember asking you to do it, though.”

The baffled look on his face almost made her laugh, it’s not that she was ungrateful or that she was against any and all conditions he wanted to set. He helped her and she would never forget that or take it for granted, but she needed to make her point.

“Hear me out. I sincerely thank you for what you did, but I never asked for it. This is not an arrangement, you made a decision on your own and now have to face the consequences. I didn’t make any deal with you.”

The annoyance was clear on his face, and the more she spoke the more that turned into silent rage.

“So would you rather I leave you there to die?”

“I didn’t say that. I just want you to acknowledge it was you who decided that, not me. You cannot forever treat me as someone who is indebted to you, when I didn’t ask for anything. I am not one of your subjects out there, I don’t know anything about you, so why should I follow along with whatever you ask?”

Her attitude was absurd to him, and he truly hated to admit she may have a point. It had been centuries since someone challenged him like this. Even Namora, as doubtful as she could be at times, always followed his commands. It was sort of… refreshing… and infuriatingly annoying.

“I don’t see how you have much of a choice now that you’re here. I cannot let you leave as you please.”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“So what exactly are you saying?”

He was exasperated and she was having fun, he could see the glint in her eyes and the way she bit her lower lip trying so hard not to smile. For a second he wondered how her soul survived all the pain she undoubtedly suffered. Her humor was wickedly clever and had a hint of innocence that gave him comfort. He couldn’t help but thank whatever it was that kept her alive, and not the empty shell of a broken woman.

“I would like you to start by explaining to me what happened, why you brought me here and what exactly it is you’re expecting from me.”

He couldn’t admit the instant attraction he felt for her. He couldn’t say that, that night it felt as if a voice was calling for him and it guided him right to her. He couldn’t tell her he wanted her since the moment his eyes laid on her. And he most certainly couldn’t tell her how desperate he was for her to stay here with him, forever. So, he stuck with the facts, she was the only survivor of a tragedy, there was no one else he could have saved had he wanted to (which he didn’t).

He felt intrigued by her strength and the resolve she showed in what could have been her last moments. Due to the gravity of her wounds and the grave blood loss, she was given a transfusion of his blood, which proved to be effective in healing her and that would explain how she didn’t die from going into the ocean without any protection.

“Now, there is one condition to me saving your life…”

“Mmm, here it comes.”

His glare met her smile as she blinked feigning innocence.

“… You must reside here. Without my direct permission, you cannot leave Talocan.”

A minute of silence turned into two, and the longer it passed, the stiffness of his body worsened. He expected her to fight, she knew nothing about him or his world, she wouldn’t care about it, she could leave, but he couldn’t let her, he couldn’t risk it, but what if…

“Okay.”

The short response took him by surprise and stopped his spiraling thoughts.

“Okay?”

“Sure.”

He didn’t understand and the mistrust showed on his face, almost making her laugh. She shrugged her shoulders as she looked for the best words to explain it.

“I’ve been a prisoner my entire life. My first memory is of me being asked to twirl the water in a glass, and then being hit with its shards after I accidentally broke said glass…”

He flinched at the story and she smiled, knowing he empathized with her, felt somewhat warm.

“…So it’s fair to say, my memories of the surface are far from pleasant. If anything, they can be quite triggering. In addition to that, I was ready to die.” She pauses so he understands she means every word and his jaw clenches at her resolve. “I never expected to live any other life than the one I was living, because every day I prayed it would all end and I could finally get some rest. So this…” She waves at their surroundings “…was never a possibility I considered.”

“Still, you could wish for your freedom… Travel to different places…”

“But I can still do that, can I? You never said I could never leave, you said I needed your permission and, as it turns out, I can be very convincing” The wink she gave him almost made him cave in, but he still couldn’t bring himself to trust she would stay. It couldn’t be that easy.

“You’ll just be a prisoner here. A different type of prison, but it can come to trap you too and you’ll hate it. You’ll hate me for it.”

That made her pause, he sounded almost… afraid? She understood the mistrust, but fear of being hated was unexpected.

“Then say, will you imprison me? Decorate my body with pretty purple bruises and chain me in a room until you decide you wanna be entertained by the freak?”

“Of course not!” His answer came as a roar, the floor beneath them shaking

“There’s your answer.” She took a breath and stared directly into his eyes. “What I’m saying is, I’m deciding to trust you. So you should try and trust me a little bit too. I don’t think you will ever betray me, for the simple fact that you know I can destroy this entire place, even if I have to die in the process, and you will never risk your subjects like that. So, we can work together. Deal?”

She extended her hand to him, his eyes never leaving her, his piercing gaze examining her. After what felt like an eternity, the awkward silence filling the space, he took her hand in his and shook her, starting their new life together.

⸺

As he established his conditions, so did she. She would need a teacher and a guide, they already confirmed she wouldn’t die from the pressure or lack of oxygen, so she wanted to fully explore his kingdom. She also wanted to learn the language, so she would need someone to teach her. She also wanted to be given a job. Preferably something that helped her learn more about their system and the way they lived. Lastly, she wanted to explore the outside world at least once a month, for a full day, but this could start once he started trusting her a bit more. Namor was pleasantly surprised at her demands, a chuckle leaving him as she listed them.

It was surprisingly easy for them to fall into a routine. Namor wanted to spend as much time as he could with her, so of course he became her companion. He taught her everything there was to know about the way they lived, their customs and traditions, the love and respect they had for their home and for each other. Little by little, they became essential parts in each other’s lives, even if they refused to admit it. Unfortunately, the nightmares that were once kept at bay by the medicine, quickly came back when she least expected it.

The first one came like a storm, wrecking the delicate sense of peace she had come to feel during the past weeks. The engulfing darkness gave her an added loneliness, her body shaking in anguish as her sobs echoed through the walls. The tortuous tossing and turning made her fall, the hit not strong enough to wake her terror. The cloth covering her body now entangled with her limbs, a different form of restraint. Her broken cries, similar to a wounded animal, soon awoke Namor, who ran to her side.

He quickly took her in his arms, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, trying to calm her down even when she resisted and fought. The bindings of her legs were undone, her hair moved aside, her burning forehead wet as drops of water rolled down her body. Unsuccessful in his efforts to calm her, he picked her up and swiftly moved outside and into the water, just enough for it to cover her legs, he sat by the entrance and held her, reassuring her she was safe, he got her now, nothing would happen to her here. After what felt like hours, her breathing slowed down, her eyes focused on him as the sobs faded into soft hiccups.

His relief smile blinded her and for a moment, she couldn’t say a word, as he wiped the tears from her snot filled face.

“You’re back?” A soft hmm was all the response he received. He didn’t let go of her, they could’ve stayed there for hours, eventually she drifted back to sleep, at peace in the arms that were holding her.

comments and reblogs are very much encouraged! ♡

#namor #namor fanfic #namor x you #namor x reader #mcu namor #namor angst #namor x y/n #black panther #black panther 2 #mcu fanfiction #marvel #namor imagine #tenoch huerta namor #black panther x reader

2K notes · View notes

henneseyhoe · 1 year

Text

Erik takes readers virginity

Killmonger X BLACK!FEM!reader

WARNINGS: SMUT, heavy daddy kink, oral, unprotected sex, mentions of virginity, Bestfriend!Erik, slapping.

SUMMARY: reader gets tired of being a virgin and asks her bestfriend; Erik to be the one to do it.

Ps. Don’t let !!anyone!! pressure you into giving away your virginity. It should be YOUR choice on when and how you wanna do it and who you wanna do it with. don’t let anyone shame you for being a virgin no matter your age, there is NOTHING wrong with being a virgin or saving yourself or whatever the case may be. This is fiction and strictly for fantasy, it does not depict how losing your virginity actually is, simply because it’s different for everyone…and also because this is fiction lmao. Okay, enjoy<3

——

“And you sure you wanna do this? Cause once I get goin’, ain’t no turning back” Erik asked . He had a slight smirk on his face as his tall frame towered over me, making me look up at him and nod. “Yes. I just wanna get it over with” I responded timidly, fiddling with my hands behind my back.

Me and Erik had always been friends since the third grade. He was sort of a bully, but he also protected me all throughout our school years, so I always stood by him. It wasn’t a secret that I had a small crush on him either, and he always made it known that he knew by poking fun at me getting shy any time he’d compliment me, or when he’d hug me as a greeting and sneakily snake his hands down to my lower back just to make me tense up and push him away.

Because of my shyness, this is also what landed me being a virgin at age 20. Since me and Erik were best friends, I told him everything, so he knew that I was still a virgin and made fun of that anytime we’d talk about anything sexual, no matter if it was a joke I giggled at or just a simple conversation in general. Saying things like “why you talkin’? You don’t know nothing ‘bout this” or “virgin Mary over here laughing but I doubt she get the joke”.

It wasn’t like I lacked simple sexual education or anything, I just never did anything. I tried porn, but it got boring fast. I tried masterbation, but I could barely rub my own clit for more than 8 minutes without feeling an odd sensation that made me stop. I understood that it was most likely an orgasm, but the feeling felt like l was ascending to god himself, my entire body becoming too sensitive to ever finish.

When I told Erik about that, he bursted into laughter, almost shedding tears as I explained to him how I didn’t understand how to finger myself correctly either. I probably shouldn’t have told him anything, but in my defense he asked if I ever “stuck a finger up there”, so I just came clean, which was a mistake. And let’s not forget the on going joke he made up with our entire friend group with how he would be the one to take my virginity.

Everyone laughed, including me at one point, thinking it was a joke. Difference was, when he laughed, he was dead serious. Secretly he’d been plotting since senior year when back to school started and I suddenly came back with a little weight that went straight to my ass and thighs, switched my bifocals out for contacts and learned how to lay my edges correctly.

Not only that, but even with all the changes in my appearance, I never switched up. I never decided to fuck with some popular niggas cause they was all barkin’ at me, I never went off an pretended like I didn’t know nobody after the slight boost I got in socials after my ass got fatter, and that just made it better for Erik.

It eliminated all of the niggas that could have potentially broken me off and made me a freak before Erik could get his hands on me, but he knew it’d take some time for me to get on his level.

“So…is this the part where I get naked?” I asked awkwardly, rocking on the heels of my feet. Erik chuckled and shook his head “look, I’m not just gon’ fuck you like that and you don’t get nothin’ out of it. I wanna teach you a lil sumn while we at it” he admitted, crossing his arms, making his muscles press against his fitted black shirt.

“Are you-..are you flexing?” I raised an eyebrow as my eyes trailed to his biceps, the man taking his finger and lifting my chin so I was looking back up at him. “You off topic. Get on your knees”

A shiver ran up and down my spine as he spoke and touched me, a second heartbeat appearing between my legs.

If you told yesterday me that I would be on my knees in front of my bestfriend of ten years, with his dick down my throat and his hands on the back of my head to hold me down till my I was begging for air, I would have laughed in your face and walked away. Maybe even would have called you delusional.

“Move your hands and use your mouth” Erik grunted while thrusting his hips into my mouth shallowly, my hands being wrapped around the rest of his shaft, prohibiting him from going any further.

“What did I just say? Move your damn hands”

His gruff voice boomed to show he was serious, making me clench my thighs together tightly. He spoke with a new tone, a tone that had authority and control. An authority and control that I’ve never heard in this instance before. It turned me on.

He tugged at my box braids, making me wince and hesitantly remove my hands, slowly placing them in my lap.

“Good girl. Now open that pretty mouth up for daddy. Just a little wider”

I moaned at his self given nickname and tried to follow his instructions, opening my mouth wider while he slid deeper down my throat. I gagged strongly as he touched the back of my throat, my shoulders shrugging and drool dripping from my mouth whilst he retracted himself a little before easing back in, repeating those motions.

“Breathe through your nose and relax that throat, baby”

he removed one of his hands from my hair and placed it under my chin, helping me gain control of my gag reflexes that decided to be completely against me at the time. I let out a sigh through my nose, finally figuring out how to regulate my breathing as he touched the back of my throat once again, this time pulling back out quicker than what he did before.

“Oh shit”

he gasped quietly, lifting up his shirt and leaning back against the wall behind him as I allowed him to throat fuck me, my spit now dripping into the valley of my titties that were semi covered by a cropped spaghetti strap shirt.

“Just like that, ma. Get this dick wet”

He grunted. I opened my mouth wide enough so my teeth wouldn’t scrape against him again, the man laying a small, painless smack on my cheek any time he’d feel them rubbing against him.

“fuuuck, you finna make me nut all in that throat, baby” He moaned and gripped my hair tighter, his thrusts getting rougher by the second.

I hummed a ‘no’ with violent chokes slipping out of my mouth as he made me go down all the way, my mind racing steadily as I imagined what it’d be like to have him do anything of the sort.

“I didn’t give you a choice” he choked out while his stomach tightened, his abs suddenly becoming more detailed and prominent.

Tears trailed down my cheeks, my brown foundation being mixed in with the salty liquid. He continued his assault on my poor throat, only to stop abruptly and force my head down until my nose touched his stomach. Suddenly I felt a warm sensation trail down my throat, a taste of bitter sweetness lingering on my tongue as he pulled out with strings of my spit mixed with his cum dripping from the tip of his dick.

He used his hand and tilted my head up, forcing me to look up at him again. “Swallow”

he demanded, my head shaking rapidly as I held the remanding bit of him under my tongue.

“This is your first time, so don’t make me say it again and make this night more eventful than it already is, Y/N. I hate going back on my word, but I hate being disrespected more than that”

he threatened, my eyes widening with wonder as to why he said that and what he’d do if I had spit.

Taking no chances, I decided to save my curiosity for another day, building up the courage to finally swallow, licking my lips after. He tilted his head at me and squeezed at my jaw, opening my mouth. Humming in satisfaction, he slid his thumb into my mouth, my lips immediately closing around it and beginning to suck while looking at the man, my watering eyes gleaming in the apartments bright lights as if glitter was placed under my lids beforehand.

“Damn..”

he murmured and slowly pulled his thumb out, replacing it with his tongue as he bent down and laid a soft kiss on my lips. I melted into his touch, my pussy beginning to throb once again with him simply just wrapping his hands around my throat and arm, pulling me up from the floor.

My legs felt weird from being on my knees for so long, my throat feeling weirder from the constant pressure it just endured. He then picked me up bridal style and began walking us down the hall and into my room.

softly laying me onto my bed, he started to pull all of my clothes off one by one, leaving me naked.

I subconsciously covered myself up, and stared at him, most of my focus being on how he was gonna fit inside. He noticed my staring and chuckled while taking his clothes off. “You’ll be fine. I’ll make it fit” he spoke as if he read my mind. “I don’t think it will…” I began closing my legs, the man only gripping my thighs and prying them back open.

“I promise if it hurts I’ll stop”

“Promise?”

“Promise” he reiterated and bent down, kissing up my thighs. Shivers went up my spine as he got closer and closer to my pussy, his breath and mustache tickling my skin. He took his middle and ring finger and spread my lips apart, my juices already starting to leak out from the prolonged playing.

“Look…She already so damn wet for me”

He looked up at me and licked a long stripe up from my entrance to my clit, a moan leaving my lips.

“She sweet as hell too” he smirked before going in, his tongue making love to my pussy as he swirled and flicked it over my clit with a quickness, his middle finger now spreading my juices around my entrance before he slowly eased and slipped it inside of me, making me let out a louder moan.

He began humming and shaking his head from side to side as he closed his lips around my clit, adding suction while attempting to slip a second finger inside of me. I winced and bucked my hips up, my walls clenching and unclenching around his fingers involuntarily.

“I can’t!”

His eyes traveled up my torso until they met mine, a blank look on his face as he disconnected his lips from my clit.

“How do you expect me to fuck you good if this pussy can’t even take two fingers? Don’t tell me you backing out now”

He taunted and licked his fingers clean, a grin growing on his face.

“I’m not! I just…I wasn’t ready right then”

I lied, being scared of him literally ripping me in half in reality.

“You sure?”

He asked teasingly and kneeled onto the bed, gripping his shaft with one hand and rubbing his tip up against my entrance, the tight muscles clenching just from the light touch. I nodded, looking down to watch his actions. He began rubbing his dick through my folds, my juices making every inch and vein he had shine underneath the mood lights in the room.

“You see that shit? That pussy just beggin’ for me, baby” he let out a grunt as he attempted to push into me again, my hand immediately flying to his stomach to stop him. “Wait!…promise it won’t hurt?” His head tilted, his face reading a ‘seriously?’ Look.

“I can’t promise you that. But I promise if you want me to stop, I will”

I stared at him for a while, thinking about my decision. I couldn’t really come up with a reason not to continue other than fear, but I knew he wouldn’t intentionally hurt me.

I slowly moved my hands and Erik took that as a sign to continue, attempting for the third time to push into me, only this time the tip of his dick successfully makes it in, a sigh erupting from my throat.

He watched my face contort as he continued to slide inside of me until our hips were touching.

“Fuck…” I mumbled, taking a deep breath. a moan seemingly interrupted everything else I did after that point, every move of my hips making my clit jump and throb, the pain that was once there before now withering away. He soon began to rock his hips into me, his hands slithering up my body and holding my bouncing titties in place. The stretching felt unbearable for a few minutes, my juices seemingly making it both better and worse.

Better by making the thrusts go smoother, but worse because he was getting deeper by the second, so deep that it felt like a bulge had appeared in my stomach, stopping right under my belly button when he thrusted in completely. I know that it was impossible for him to literally be in my stomach but that’s how it felt. And it started to feel good. Really good.

My mouth was stuck open, letting out pathetic whimpers.

“I’m hittin’ that spot, huh?” Erik spoke suddenly, caressing my jaw softly while looking deep into my eyes. I nodded slowly, my hands reaching up to grip the plush headboard above us.

“Unt, Unt. Talk to me, baby. Tell me how that big dick feel”

he groaned, giving me long strokes that had me feeling delusional.

“Yesss, it feels good, daddy—oh my god!”

My words slurred as he suddenly switched his pace, the clapping noise becoming more obvious. He leaned in on my body and wrapped his hand around my throat, adding light pressure while giving me life rendering strokes, my body shaking under him just that quickly.

“I feel it, princess. That pussy squeezing daddy so tight. Tight ass pussy”

he laid a harsh smack on my thigh and I yelped, my hands flying to his arms and my French tips scratching down his brown skin. I don’t know how he knew, but it felt like I was about to explode, my legs clamping around his hips before he let go of me and spread them back open, using them for leverage to thrust into me deeper, if that was even possible with how he was doing me now.

“FUCK!”

I shouted, my back arching and falling against the bed. He watched as my pussy creamed around him, leaving a white coat of it around his dick, just how he liked it.

“There you go, baby. Get that nut”

He smiled and began rubbing my clit. It felt like electricity was running up and down my body, my eyes rolling far back into my head as I moaned louder.

“Nah, look at me, I don’t want you thinkin’ of anything else but this good dick”

He used his other hand and put it behind my neck, pulling me up a little so that I was slightly folded, forcing me to keep my eyes on him.

looking at him felt different than looking away, as if the feeling intensified. It was like he was stealing my soul with just the glare of his eyes on me.

I felt weak and powerless, my last orgasm taking all of my energy. I couldn’t lie and say I didn’t like it either.

Knocking me out of my thoughts, I felt Erik’s hips snap into me, this time it was harder, one stroke taking all of the air out of my lungs as I gasped, holding my breath in my throat.

“Right there—“

I managed to choke out, my eyes trailing down to where we connected, watching him work his magic.

“What was that?” He asked cockily, thrusting into me all the way and swirling his hips. My eyes shut tightly, taking all of him in.

“R- right-..FUCK!”

I tried to speak, but only curses seemed to do me any good. My pussy was filled to the brim with him, my walls gripping him tightly. He rolled his hips with such skill, the shaft of his dick rubbing up against my gspot with the tip of him reaching the back of my pussy.

Him having a slight curve upwards only added to the pleasure, the curve helping him reach places that only he now knew existed.

He smiled at my response, thinking that he would ‘deal’ with my incomplete sentences later.

“I want you to tell daddy how good this big dick is. Explain to me how this dick make you feel again, princess”

He cooed, his tone becoming sweet which completely contradicted his strokes, his hips speeding back up.

I could barely talk, drool pooling into the sides of my mouth with tears leaving my eyes again.

“I- I-“

“Come on. Say it”

He taunted.

He knew I couldn’t, pressure in my stomach beginning to rise again. If he asked me what my name was in that moment I probably would have had to genuinely think before answering.

“This dick got you dumb, huh? My dumb little slut”

He mumbled, his words sending me over the edge completely. My body thrashed around as I squirted all over his dick, some of it getting on his stomach and chest. The force was so strong that it pushed him out, his heavy dick sliding right on top of my clit.

“Gahdamn, baby” he watched the rest of my juices drip onto the sheets, his dick now jumping from sensitivity.

“I-I’m done”

I breathed heavily and closed my legs, the two limbs shaking as if I had been freezing for hours.

“Nah, you getting the full experience, ma. Turn that ass around”

He grabbed my hips and flipped my limp body onto my stomach, earning a cry from me. He sat on top of my thighs and squeezed my ass with his hands, spreading my cheeks apart before spitting down onto my second hole, taking his thumb and spreading it around before slowly easing it inside of my ass.

I choked out another cry, the strange new found sensation making my eyes roll back painfully, my pussy clenching around absolutely nothing.

After a few seconds passed, he was back to his original pace, pounding into my pussy from the back while slowly thrusting his thumb into my ass, the feeling giving me goosebumps and sending a shock to my clit as he smacked on my ass with his other hand before shoving my head down into the pillows under me, muffling my screams.

He leaned down, getting closer to my ear while somehow keeping up his pace, his dick now twitching inside of me more frequently, showing he was close to cumming if the constant dirty talk didn’t already do that, saying things like

“Imma be the best nigga and the only nigga to ever beat this pussy up like this”

“This good pussy all mine? Yeah? Imma lucky ass nigga”

“She so wet for me, baby. She practically droolin”

“Keep grippin’ like that, you gon’ make daddy nut”

he grunted, smacking my ass harder as he dug into me deeply, my toes curling painfully. My pussy was now drenched, my juices spreading around my inner thigh and lips, more of my cream spilling out onto his dick. I was so wet that I couldn’t even feel him rubbing up against my walls anymore, now only feeling when he hit the limit of my pussy, the ‘wall’ not allowing him to go any further.

“Daddy, please”

I begged, the pillow making it come out in a hushed tone. My pussy felt so filled and overwhelmed, my clit getting so sensitive with the sheets rubbing up against it as I laid flat on the bed, letting Erik do his worst, or what I thought was his worst.

“Fuck—…That’s it, baby, lemme use this lil pussy” we both moaned in sync, the man letting my head come up from the pillow for air.

“SHIT!- I’m about to nut!”

He shouted, his thrusts becoming more sloppy and reckless, wet slapping sounds filling the room, accompanying the sounds of the headboard banging against the wall the faster he got, one of the picture frames on the wall falling down along the line. He pulls his thumb out of me and grips my ass harshly, softly biting the top of my ear.

“Keep squeezing, baby. Just like that”

He hums, kissing my cheek softly and pausing his thrusts, grinding his hips into me.

“Erik-“

my bottom lip quivers and he smacks my ass, making me whimper and drop my head into the pillows, shaking my head.

“Now try again” he adjusts himself on his knees again, scratching his neatly trimmed and glossed nails up the sides of my thighs, swollen red stripes following after.

“Daddy—“ I cried out as I felt him ram his entire length into me once more before filling me up with a harsh sigh and a jerk of his hips.

“Fuck…”

he groans and leans up. Slowly pulling his dick out, he watched as some of his cum follows after him, spilling out of me and sliding down to my sensitive clit, my pussy clenching.

—-

“Damn…is that how sex is for everybody?” I asked. It was about an hour later and I was laying there limp as Erik chuckled, grabbing a baby wipe out of my drawer and wiping me off, my hips bucking once he swiped over my clit with the baby wipe. “Nope. But if you stick wimme, I promise it’ll be like that” he kisses my back “every” another kiss. “single” another. “Time” he smacked my ass, causing me to pull my ass up into the air and whimper, my hand reaching back to rub the spot.

————

Hopefully the person that requested this likes it, I didn’t know if they were down with the kinky shit but most of my other work looks like this so fuck it lmao.

#michael b jordan smut #smut masterlist #masterlist #michael b jordan #killmonger fic #killmonger smut #killmonger fanfiction #erik kilmonger x reader #killmonger x reader #smut blog #black!fem!reader #black fanfic writer #black!oc #black!reader #black panther smut #smutty #henneseyhoe

1K notes · View notes