Just a set of drabbles and scenarios with the Black Panther Characters that helped me out of a writer's block many a time.
And yes, the reader is black all up and through this!
Enjoy!
Imagine: You work at a flower shop and Erik is the new tattoo artist from across the street. During your shift, you always see him come in to practice drawing flowers + can't help but notice he's really hot.
Word Count: 4,217 words Warning: fluffy goodiness and some strong language because this is Erik we talkin' about here.
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Your first instinct was to run.
He peeks over the rim of his darken glasses, eyeing the displayed section of yellow carnations with intent. His tongue lightly gliding over his lower lip. His sketch pad was propped on top of one of his calves as his legs were laid out in the long loveseat with him, one leg absently dangling off the chair.
He isn't distracted, oh no.
Small earbuds were stuffed into his ears, blasting little muffled bass noises as Erik nodded off to the lyrics. Pink marks fly around the air as he rubs the eraser over a particular section of his portrait.
A long-drawn out sigh made its way into the open, a tell-tale sign of annoyance.
There are times where he stops and glares at the sheet, chewing at the side of his wooden writing utensil for a brief moment. A silent 'fuck' or two spill from his lips, that much you could witness from behind the counter.
Poor guy.
This is the third time he's made his way over to the shop within the last 3 hours. He always came in to draw, a routine that he never broke out of for 2 weeks straight.
What could be ailing him this much? What kind of frustration could come from a drawing of carnations that were so beautifully bloomed?
You try to pay him no mind. You reroute your attention from the hot stranger to the elderly black customer standing before you.
"And $15.89 will be your total, Mr.Kay."
The man shoves his hands into his deep pockets, patting around to feel around for his wallet. Unlucky as he was in his search, he managed to pull out a crisp twenty dollar bill and handed it over to you with a soft smile.
You rung up the sale, already working on the mental calculation of how much change to give back to him.
He held up a hand dismissively. "Keep the change, (Y/N). Least I could do since you helped me out with Bev's anniversary gift. And call me Henry, Mr.Kay makes me feel so... old."
The gentleman made a loose gesture to the large decorative bouquet you whipped up personally for him.
It was a dazzling ensemble that included a grouping of white, purple, and light pink tulips all wounded up in brown paper and tied tightly together with twine.
It was a miracle you had a knack for working under pressure. But even better when you could match your customer's request with something you whipped up on the sly.
