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starcrossedxwriter · 1 year

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Unbreakable Part 1 (Erik Killmonger x OC)

A/N: here is the summary for our new story! Enjoyyyyyy!

Warnings: This is an AU with bits of the movie and the comics mixed together

“Fuck! J-Just like that.” Naja screwed her face up in one that gave the impression of a woman lost in the throes of pleasure, internally rolling her eyes at the haphazard thrusts of the man on top of her.

In fact, she was merely counting down the minutes until he came and would leave. She supposed the time was good to clear her mind and reminisce.

There was that guy from London, her brain immediately recalled.

He was her favorite one-night stand to think about when she needed an extra boost to get off. Now, that man was gorgeous and he fucked like a God. She actually felt a tinge of guilt when, after he made her cum for hours, she returned the favor by torturing him for hours… and not in a pleasurable way. To his credit, he lasted a long time, which earned her respect.

I hope he is doing ok, she thought to herself. Well, she knew he wasn’t. But had he just given up his supplier of stolen vibranium faster, he’d likely be doing better.

“You like that??” He demanded as he fucked into her like a jack rabbit. No finesse, no skill, no care. He did not even ensure her needs were met.

That’s ok, she decided. If his fucking was any indication of his skills in other activities, he was actually doing her and her pussy a favor.

“Yes, I love it!” She called out, cringing at her own voice. She faked her orgasm to finish the ordeal faster.

Anytime now, Bast, she called out to the god above. This was getting irksome.

It seemed Bast heard her calls and blessed her, the man finally cumming and filling her. She silently thanked Wakanda for the painless, side effect free birth control that would last her five years.

He rolled off of her, his chest heaving slightly while Naja was wholly unruffled aside from a thin layer of sweat.

“That was… something,” she offered with a fake smile, a content and pompous smile he did not deserve forming on his lips.

The male ego, she shook her head as she slid out of bed and threw a robe on. After returning from the bathroom, she was surprised to find him still lounging in her bed. Most of her night time companions knew the rules… no one stayed the night. But this one, Kofi…

No, this is Kwame, she thought to herself.

No… Kwame actually knows how to fuck you. Or at least, attempts to make you cum even if he doesn’t succeed. Kwame gets an A for effort. Is there a grade lower than F we can give this one? Maybe it’s Amari? She tilted her head as she studied him. Hell, she did not know who he was but she did know one thing: he clearly did not know when to get the fuck out.

“Ok well, this was fun but I should be heading to bed,” her tone was polite but left little room for negotiation. She gathered his clothes with lightning speed and tossed them onto his lap.

He pushed himself up onto her forearms. “Wait, you serious?”

She stared at him, a dead panned expression painted on her face. “Yea. I sleep alone. I had fun though,” she lied with ease and a smile.

“Oh… ok.” He started gathering his clothes, Naja wholly unmoved by the hurt glimmering in his eyes. “When will I see you again?”

“I’m at the bar… working every night,” she handed him his shoes to speed the process along. The sooner he was gone, the sooner she could pull out her vibrator and actually service the ache between her legs.

“So we can do this again sometime?” He asked as she shooed him toward the door.

“Definitely, definitely. I’ll call you. Get home safe.” She pushed him out of her front door, locking and dead bolting it behind her.

She rolled her eyes before returning up the stairs to her bedroom. She did not know why she even bothered. Every time she brought a man home after her shift, she knew they would likely not be able to please her. But she allowed them into her bed anyway. Fucking, even if it was lackluster, filled some void.

She settled into bed, about to pull out her trusted and faithful bullet when her phone rang. She groaned, glancing at her phone.

Dayo. Her boss.

“It is offensive to call someone this late, Dayo.” She chastised as she settled into bed.

“I gave you an hour. I assume your suitor has returned home?”

“He just left. What’s wrong?”

He sighed. “Another child went missing in the village tonight.”

Her heart sank. “That’s the 15th child in the last three months. Soldiers?”

At his silence, she let out a frustrated groan. “The family?”

“Devastated but not talking. They won’t admit it was the King’s men, which means they were threatened. The father tried to fight back and was killed. The mother had to be taken to the hospital, she was distraught and collapsed.”

“FUCK!” She paced up and down her bedroom, the wood panels of her floor creaking softly.

“I just wish we knew why he was targeting this village specifically. I reached out to the network across the rest of the city and the country and nothing like this is happening elsewhere.”

She shrugged. “This is the poorest village in the Capitol. It’s like child soldiers across the continent and trafficking across the world. You steal people from those who do not have the resources and means to fight for their return. The King maintains his throne and his games with intimidation and violence. We will find them, Dayo, and we will liberate our people. I promise. I will talk to you tomorrow. Let me know if the family needs anything, I can try to go to the markets tomorrow night during my shift.”

“Everyone needs everything, Malika. Thank you for doing what you can. For the liberation of Niganda.”

“For the liberation of Niganda. Good night, Dayo.”

She sighed, the ache between her legs vanishing completely. She grabbed her kimoyo beads and went over to the plain, nondescript wall across from her bed. She pressed the beads to a circular groove in the wood, both lighting up a mysterious shade of light blue. She glanced over her shoulder, as if someone were watching her, as the wall parted to reveal a walk-in closet.

However, this closet was filled with more than just clothes. It was a small arsenal. Spears, blades of all shapes and varieties, guns of equal diversity, even a bow and arrow, which she never got to use but she liked the look of it. And clothes. All black, fashioned to hide a many assortment of weapons in the oddest places, laced with vibranium to protect her body. She missed donning those clothes. And while those days might be over, the cache of weapons she maintained proved that some habits never died.

She pulled a duffle bag out of the back of the closet, the bag filled with passports, Nigandan currency, and Wakandan dollars. She pulled out a notebook she kept stashed under everything else. She flipped through it, each page filled with notes from her years in Niganda. The last 20 pages or so were each numbered with the name and # of a child. Her notes, witness accounts, leads. All of it jotted down on those pages, a complex map that helped her get no where closer to find in those children.

She did not know #15’s name yet but when she learned it, their name would join their number on the page. She wrote down the bit of information Dayo shared, figuring she could fill it out more tomorrow after she spoke with him in person.

All these children, all these souls lost. And no one seemed concerned or like they cared, no one willing to risk their lives to find them and save them. No one except those in the Nigandan Liberation Front. Dayo was their leader and he was committed as anyone to overthrow the tyrant that ruled over this country.

Her writing was interrupted by a ping from her kimoyo beads.

“Damn, can no one leave me the fuck alone?” She wondered aloud. However, she knew if someone was calling this line, it was important. No one from Wakanda ever bothered her unless there was news to share.

She knew it would be an encrypted and recorded message, it was too risky to ever call her and expect her to answer. She checked her beads once a week at different times and intervals, usually there was nothing there.

Shuri’s upper half materialized from the beads. Her voice was professional and calm, very unlike her.

“Malika, please return home. The Royal Talon will be waiting for you on the other side of the Nigandan-Cannan border at the following coordinates at 2 a.m. in seven days. Your presence has been requested in Wakanda for two months by order of the King. Please confirm that you received this message.”

“Anddddd this is why I never check this fuckin’ thing,” she mumbled, frustration coursing through her.

Two months??? The power of the throne had clearly gone to T’Challa’s head. And only giving her one week to prepare to leave? And how many children, she glanced at the photos in her book of each one, would go missing in that time? How many families would be torn apart while she stayed in the safe bosom of Wakanda?

She hated herself for knowing she had to go, hated him for forcing her hand. He knew how she felt about that place, knew why she had chosen the path and life she had chosen. Why she had only stepped foot in her borders twice in the last seven years. But an order from the King was an order from the King, she took liberties but even she could not refuse him.

As she laid in bed, frustrated, her mind already churned on what lie she could tell everyone to explain a two-month absence. She had already laid the groundwork for relatives in South Africa. Perhaps she could use that.

“Ugh!” She now only had a week to get everything in order. “Every King on this bast-forsaken continent is a tyrant,” she mumbled to herself before flopping to her side to try to sleep.

***

When Naja stepped off the Talon, she was thankful to only find General Okoye waiting for her, her stoic face a sight for sore eyes. She was thankful the rest of the family remembered she hated the excessive fanfare of returning home and immediately being pestered by a million people. It had been a long time since she saw many of them so she figured a certain King would ignore that directive. But she was thankful to have a moment to ease into seeing everyone. It was already an adjustment, as it always was to be back on Wakandan soil in the first place. It still felt new, every time, even though this was technically her home. It did not feel like home to her, not anymore.

“General,” her lips tugged into the smallest of smiles as she saluted her old friend. It was the first genuine smile she could remember giving someone in months. There was little happening in Niganda worth smiling about anyway and when she did, it was usually fake.

“Naja.” Once Okoye returned her salute, she reached out and squeezed Naja’s hand, Naja returning it gently, before their faces returned to their usual stoic and neutral expressions. “I trust your journey was well.”

“It was. Though it was difficult to spin my absence on such short notice. Do you know why the King saw it to order me home?”

“No.”

Her answer was simple, and Naja knew, untrue. Okoye was one of two people in this palace privy to all of the King’s decisions and thoughts. But she also knew Okoye would not give her a single inch. It was worth a shot though, she reasoned. But it also let her know the reason was not straightforward, which meant her nap in her quarters would have to wait.

“Of course. May you take me to his office if he is not too busy? I know the way to my room from there.”

Okoye did not nod or answer her. She merely changed the direction of their walk through the palace toward T’Challa’s office. Naja tried not to get too wrapped up in the bustling movement and sounds of the palace. The last time she was here, it felt more like a ghost town than anything else, lifeless and dreary. Wakanda had weathered the Blip better than most countries but it still struggled and during those five years, the palace wore the scars of its lost King and Princess and half its population. But with their return, life and joy returned to the palace and all of Wakanda. She was happy for it. They all deserved it, to be whole again.

She did not let the facade she had on fall until Okoye opened the door to T’Challa’s office, her brother in law sitting behind his desk reading. He glanced up, a wide smile gracing his tired but ever youthful features, as his eyes landed on Naja. He immediately stood up, joy rippling off of him like waves. One thing she always appreciated about T’Challa was, even when he and Nakia were not together, he treated her like a younger sister. A colder one than the one he actually had but a sister nonetheless.

“Thank you, General. Naja, welcome home.”

“My king,” she saluted him. She waited for the firm click of the door closing behind Okoye before she offered him a smirk. “My king summons, I answer.”

“No need for the formalities, sister. And I know you despise hugs. But it has been 7 years, humor me?” He rounded the desk to stand before her.

“I was told the Blip only felt like minutes to those of you who were gone. So technically, for you, it has only been two years. But as my king, I suppose you make the rules. You get seven seconds.” At his raised eyebrow, she shrugged. “One for each year.”

She allowed herself to be gathered up in his arms, the man squeezing tight. She forced herself not to fall into it, though she wanted to. The warm embrace of family, she had missed it. But instead, she merely cleared her throat, letting him know the timer on their emotional reunion had indeed run out.

To his credit, he immediately released her, his hands holding onto her forearms as he took a step back to examine her. She chuckled and rolled her eyes as he attempted to inspect her form for any injuries or drastic changes that would worry his Queen. Seven years might have passed since she last laid eyes on T’Challa at his coronation but time had done little to change either of them.

“You look well. Thin,” he remarked. “But well. How are you?”

“Glory to Bast, I am in good health,” she offered lazily as she sat in the seat opposite of his desk. She tried not to look at the pictures that littered the office, keeping her eyes trained on him, knowing she would find more than one that featured him. She did not need or want to see him ever again. “Food in the Capitol has been sparse since the return of everyone from the Blip.”

“Do you need more money? I know the alias and job you chose does not offer much.”

She shook her head. In addition to the money she made at the bar she worked at, all War Dogs received a salary discreetly added into their accounts disguised as local side jobs and businesses. She had more than enough money.

“No, no, no. Thanks to you, I am the world’s richest bartender. Just the monarchy hoarding resources, there is more than enough to go around for the wealthy. And the black markets continue to thrive there under the King’s nose but what I usually get from there, I give to those who need it more,” she shrugged. “I’m good. I’ve survived on less.”

“Anything of note on those black markets?”

She tilted her head before shaking it, T’Challa’s shoulders sagging a bit. “Aside from delicious meats and vegetables the royals have now deemed delicacies? No.”

“Well, make sure to eat two plates at dinner. Or else your sister will not rest tonight.”

She nodded. “Two plates? That feels gluttonous. Though I suppose I need to reacclimate to this… abundance,” her eyes flickered to the obvious signs of wealth and prestige littering his office. A pang of guilt hit her for even being able to indulge in it. “So I’m sure Nakia will make it her mission to fatten me up before I return home. So are you going to tell me why you’ve grounded me for two months? I hope it’s a good reason. Do you know how hard it will be to explain a two-month disappearance?”

T’Challa’s deep chuckle filled the office as he sat back in his chair. “Only you would consider a vacation and a bit of time off a punishment.”

She scoffed. “It is hardly a vacation when it comes as a direct order from my King himself, one he knows very well I would never refuse.”

“You could refuse.” His eyes twinkled with humor as he handed her a glass of Wakandan rum, the one thing he knew she missed from home.

“And face the wrath of the Black Panther?” She shook her head, throwing the entire glass back in one gulp before sighing contently. She slid the glass across the desk, gesturing toward the decanter, T’Challa refilling it for her. “The people outside these walls may call me ongenaloyiko* (the fearless one) but I am still smart enough to fear the greatest warrior in all Wakanda. But as your elder,” she started to say with a wink that she knew would agitate him.

“You may have surpassed me in years thanks to the Blip, dear Naja, but you are still my younger sister always,” he reminded her.

“Then tell me why you brought me back. Niganda is in a precarious place right now… things are… brewing. This is a long time to be gone.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The other War Dogs in the region report no issues. Remember, Naja…”

She sighed. “I know, I know. No interfering and we only care about things that threaten the interests of Wakanda. I’m being a good leashed watch dog now, I promise.” She knew she was not off to a good start, lying to him so soon. But she hated the new role expected of them. To witness the suffering of the world but do nothing to help. The other War Dogs in Niganda may be fine with such an existence but one thing she had in common with her sister, Naja would always do whatever she could, as long as life pumped in her veins.

“Good.” She was surprised he believed her. “I brought you back for many reasons. The first and most important being that your sister is pregnant,” Naja’s eyes widened. “And due any day now and she has spoken of what a great support you were during the birth of Prince T’Challa while I was…”

“Fake dead,” she supplied. She knew the Blip was not a laughing matter. It was traumatic for those gone and those who were forced to stay and carry on. But they had all survived, she saw little point in dwelling on it.

“Yes. And I knew she would be happy to have you here for the birth and a bit of time afterward as well. Second, you have a nephew that is growing day after day and barely knows you. I did not know my uncle before he died. You can understand that I would prefer for history not to repeat itself.”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on stealing vibranium and selling it to the highest bidder while I’m here,” she mumbled as her thumb traced patterns in the condensation of her glass, trying to stay aloof at the mention of his father.

“I’m serious, Naja. The War Dog program is important but N’Jobu taught me that it is not more important than family and connection. And third, I am hoping that some time back here will give you some perspective and perhaps… change your position on certain matters.”

She scoffed, standing up to pace his office. She was dressed simply, far too simply to address the King some would argue. But there were perks to her position and her reputation, no one would correct her. Her standard soft black pants and tank top provided comfort and agility and ensured she never stood out. Tucked into her waist band was a gun, she had forgotten to remove it on the plane. Though she felt safer with it, even here, on her person. She had left her other weapons at home, her calf felt uncomfortably bare without her blade attached to it.

“And there it is. So just so I understand the rules of engagement. Are you speaking to me now as my King or as my brother?”

“I speak to you as your brother, Naja, always.”

“Except when you ordered me home,” she muttered as she leaned against the window sill, her eyes starting into the heart of the capital city. A small part of her ached. She’d never admit it aloud but she did miss it sometimes. She had tried for so long to find something like it but nothing compared to Wakanda. She ignored that, pushing it into the depths where she stored every other feeling she did not want to deal with.

“You may reject the displays of our love and affection but it will stop none of us from giving it or caring for you.”

“I am happy with how things are now, T’Challa. I have no interest in changing my position on certain matters.”

“We are entering peace talks with Niganda, and while you do not trust them -”

“I do not trust them because they are untrustworthy,” she cut him off sharply. “I’m the best War Dog you have there. You’d do well to heed my warnings where the Nigandans are concerned.”

“If these negotiations go well, there is an opportunity for you to consider a position that is here in Wakanda. You are the best War Dog I have in any country on this planet, Naja. But it’s been 15 years. We have other War Dogs stationed in Niganda now, thanks to you, who can ensure the peace treaty is adhered to. You can come home.”

“Those other War Dogs don’t know what they are doing. And… This is not my home, T’Challa,” she muttered.

“You can spend as much time as you want away from our borders and pretend to be Malika, a lowly Nigandan bartender all you want. But you will always be Wakandan, Wakanda will always be home.”

“And the best way for me to honor Wakanda is by doing what I have always done: serve her. Protect her interests. In Niganda.”

She and T’Challa stared at each other for a few moments. While most would have withered under the intense gaze of their king, Naja did no such thing. It was T’Challa who finally broke their standoff, bowing his head as if to signal his surrender.

“For your sister’s sake, I ask that you merely consider it. She misses you terribly. And not just your physical absence. She misses who you were.”

She rolled her eyes and chuckled as she walked back over to his desk. Her eyes fell on a picture of T’Challa, Nakia, and their son. She picked up the frame, her fingers grazing along the patterns surrounding their smiling faces.

“Who I was is of little consequence now, T’Challa. This is who I am. It’s been 15 years and my sister would do well to accept this version of me. Wakanda and I are better for it anyway. Does she know I’m here?”

“No, it is a surprise for dinner tonight.”

She sucked her teeth before nodding. “Fine. I will serve out my two month sentence - without complaint - and I will not tell her of your clever but well-intentioned manipulation to force me here. But I say this with all the love and reverence for you as my brother and my King, when these two months are up, I will return to Niganda with or without your approval. Are we clear?”

Few could talk to T’Challa as she did or had the privilege to make demands. But when Naja spoke, T’Challa listened. “Crystal clear. It is good to have you home, sister. We missed your bubbly personality and disposition around here.”

“It is good to see you too, T’Challa. Congrats on the new baby. Next time you want to send me encrypted messages, send me good news like that. I’m going to lay down until dinner.”

“Naja!”

She stopped and turned around to face him once more.

“I recognize, accept, and love who you are now. But I would push back on one point.” At her raised eyebrow, he continued, “Wakanda is served well by every version of you because you love her and she loves you back. This version of you is extraordinary. But better implies there was something wrong with the equally extraordinary version of you from before. And there wasn’t.”

Something pricked the back of her eyes as she turned away from him, a sting she despised about as much as physical affection.

“This is why I hate coming back,” she huffed. “Tell anyone my eyes so much as misted and I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

He chuckled. “Bast’s fiercest warrior and daughter never cries. Even if my eyes witnessed such a feat, I would not know the words to share it with a soul.”

She smiled before exiting his office, immediately swallowing the emotion she felt. She hated how out of sorts she felt being back here. Seeing T’Challa in the flesh again after seven long years, the emotions of being back here in this home and in this city, finding out her sister was pregnant, the emotional exhaustion of switching from her alias back to Naja… this was why she preferred to be alone when she first got home. Had not been on Wakandan soil for an hour and she had already been through a rollercoaster of emotions.

Naja moved through the halls silently and swiftly, moving like a panther herself to ensure she did not run into her sister. Though she was not happy about being forced to return, she was excited to see her sister and her nephew. Though Nakia still treated her like a fragile dove, her sister loved her beyond comparison and reason.

When she finally found her way to her room, she stripped down and curled into bed immediately. A content sigh slipped from her lips as she settled into the comfort of the soft mattress and linens. The room was obscene, triple the size of her home in Niganda. It was home to her and served her needs but it left much to be desired compared to what she left behind.

Don’t get used to it, she thought to herself as she already started to drift off to sleep. Two months and then we’re out of here.

***

Naja yawned deeply as she rushed to dinner, realizing she was several minutes late. She hated that T’Challa was right, per usual.

A break from life as a spy was not so bad. She did not know how to relax and rest but her body seemed determined to ensure she did it. She slept like a rock, a call from T’Challa 10 minutes past dinnertime was the only thing to jolt her from her sleep.

She paused outside the family dining room, her heart warming as she heard her nephew spitting rapid fire questions at his parents about training. Her sister’s voice filled the room.

“Will you teach your sister how to train when she’s old enough?” She heard Nakia ask.

TJ’s small voice responded. “Would that be safe for her? I don’t want her to get hurt like I do.”

“As safe as it is for any Wakandan,” Naja offered with a teasing smile as she rounded the corner.

“Auntie Naja!!” TJ sprung from his seat with the strength of a cannon and ran into her outstretched arms. “I missed you!”

“My prince!! You are getting taller and taller every day!” She tickled his sides, his giggles filling the dining room and everyone’s hearts with warmth. “And when you’re training that little one in a few years, you should remember what my baba always told us. Our battle scars are our strength, our power, and…”

“A reminder from Bast that we lived another day to serve Wakanda,” TJ finished, reciting the words Nakia and Naja’s father always said.

She cradled him against her chest for a moment once more before letting him go, his small hand gripping around hers to drag her farther into the room.

“Now why doesn’t he have a time limit on your affection?” T’Challa’s voice was filled with fake indignation.

She merely shrugged as TJ demanded she take the open seat next to him.

“I simply like him better than you.”

However, before she sat, she rounded the table to her sister.

“Sister. No, don’t get up,” she cautioned as Nakia started to move. The hug she bestowed was longer than most would receive but she could tell by the unshed tears in Nakia’s eyes that she needed it. She cradled one hand to Nakia’s cheek before the other rested on her belly. “How are you? And how is my future niece, Wakanda’s next great warrior?”

“We are both well, even better now that you are here. You’re so thin.” She tsked slightly, T’Challa and Naja sharing a knowing glance and chuckle. “You need to catch me up on everything. But first sit. Eat.”

As she returned to her seat, she watched as a silent conversation passed between her King and Queen. Though Nakia’s face appeared happy, there was something brewing beneath the surface. She could sense the anger passing through her to T’Challa, a guilty look plastered on his face. She watched as he busied himself with his own plate to avoid her glare.

She did not know what to make of it as she piled food on her plate, she could not deny she was starving. However, she realized the reason for that silent conversation quickly as two voices grew louder and louder as they moved toward the dining room.

“If you had just listened to me, we wouldn’t have been late! Your elementary knowledge of nanotech is useless. I could’ve finished it in an hour if you hadn’t been there mansplaining,” Shuri ranted as she rounded the corner into the kitchen. She was so frustrated she did not even notice Naja at the table or acknowledge her.

“Aye! I went to MIT, short bit,” a sharp American voice filled the space, Naja’s blood turning to ice water, her head whipping toward the door so fiercely she could have broken her own neck. She felt as if her heart completely stopped as she watched Prince N’Jadaka enter the dining room. “That shit’s hardly element-” his words immediately fell off as his eyes fell on Naja, his entire body paralyzed in mid step.

The pair merely stared at each other, the dining room rapidly filling with tension so severe even the staff ceased moving. And only four people, save the Prince and Naja, knew the source of that tension. Her body did not move an inch, her fork still hovering in the space above her plate as indescribable rage took control of every cell in her body. She could feel it deep in her bones, 15 years worth of pain she had buried warped into a monster. Her nephew’s presence mere inches from her were the only calming presence she could feel, the only thing keeping everything from boiling over.

“Well… this is painfully awkward,” Shuri muttered as she sat down in her seat next to the Queen Mother. “W-Welcome home, Naja.”

She cleared her throat, an even and cold timbre falling on her voice. No longer did Naja, the sister and friend, sit at the table. Naja, the spy, with her iron clad facade sat before them. Cold, unfeeling, ruthless. Unbreakable, she reminded herself. That was the weapon she had fashioned herself into. That was who she was now. And she was better for it.

“Thank you, Princess. I am happy you are back and well. I see much has changed since my last visit. Erik.”

He had started to make his way to his own seat but stilled at the sound of his American name. It was the name he had gone by his entire time in Wakanda when he moved here as a child after his father’s death. Prince Erik, preferably just Erik, he forced everyone to call him. But Naja… she was the one person aside from T’Challa he allowed to call him by his Wakandan name. She knew he had once loved hearing her say it as much as she loved to say it. She knew the dig, however coded it was, hit its mark, a part of her savored in the hurt that crossed his face.

“I prefer N’Jadaka,” he offered as he sat down in the last open seat directly across from her, which only increased her anger.

“Hmm… So you have returned to Wakanda for the birth as well, Erik?” She asked, ignoring his preference. She would never call him N’Jadaka or prince again. She did not care if the whole damn country referred to him as such.

He sucked his teeth. “Nah. I’ve been back for months… I owed T and Wakanda a favor so I’m home for good, helpin’ rebuild after everythin’.”

The entire table seemed to shift as rage wafted off Naja. She cut her eyes from Erik to T’Challa, the rest of the room falling away as she threw him a glare that made him thankful the heart-shaped herb ran through his veins. However, beneath that glare, T’Challa knew it masked hurt and one question only he and Nakia could likely decipher.

How could you?

“I have suddenly lost my appetite. Sister, I will check in on you in the morning. Good night.” Her fork loudly clanked against the dinner china before she rose from the table. She ignored the calls of her sister and T’Challa for her to stay as she turned to leave. She slowed herself just enough to kiss her nephew on the forehead briefly before exiting without a second glance.

He was home… How could T’Challa not tell her? Tell her that she would be living under the same roof as him for months? Did he consider her too fragile for such knowledge? That her feeble, weak mind would collapse or fall apart? Those days were behind her.

She had turned all that hurt and pain into fuel, it drove her and pushed her. And now here he was, and all that hurt she suppressed for 15 years, all of that was back with one look at his face. She hated him, despised him. She did not want to look at him, much less sit across from him at every meal for the next two months.

She could not do it. Fuck the King’s commands. She was returning to Niganda tonight. Even if she had to hitch hike the entire way.

She was so wrapped up in her escape plan that she did not hear the footsteps behind her until she felt a presence directly on her back. Without thought, she pulled out the gun still tucked in her waistband and cocked it, aiming it directly at… T’Challa.

She ignored the bang of the Doras’ spears on the ground as she kept the gun aimed at him. She was thankful it was just him. That was the one thing she did not enjoy about her life as a spy, her instincts were too difficult to turn off now.

“Still ever vigilant, I see?” T’Challa raised his hand to the Dora, silently ordering them to stand down, wholly unperturbed at having a gun pointed at his chest.

“Well, you never know when someone’s gonna betray you,” she spat with venom that made him flinch.

“I understand you’re upset...”

“You understand nothing,” she seethed, taking a step toward him. She lowered the gun, the weapon shaking in her hand. “I understand that you knew I would not agree to return if I knew he was here so instead of telling me of the birth and asking me to return, you forced my hand. I understand that you used your title and my love for my sister as manipulation to force a reconciliation. It. Is. Not. Happening.”

“You cannot avoid him forever. You are both part of this family.”

She paced, agitated and frustrated. “I can and will avoid him forever. Because if I don’t, I will use his body to test out the multitude of ways I know how to kill someone.. I can’t believe you didn’t warn me he was here.”

“I am sorry. I thought it would help but I was wrong.” He sighed before gesturing at the gun. “Will it help?”

She thought about it and nodded.

The black fibers of his suit emerged and covered his whole body. With perfect precision, she shot him over and over again, emptying her clip until his suit was bright purple with the stored kinetic energy of each bullet. The loud bangs reverberated through the halls, her eardrums rattled.

“Better?” He asked when she finally lowered the gun and tucked it back in its hiding spot.

“Yes… and no. You’re still able to talk,” she muttered. Though shooting something did take the edge of her anger off.

“I am sorry for deceiving you. You are right, I knew you would not return if you knew Erik had returned home permanently. But your sister… and I… we need you here. I know what he did, the pain he caused you. And if you do not speak to him ever again, you would be within your right. But I ask very little of you, Naja. And right now, I am asking you to stay here,” Naja was annoyed that he somehow already realized she was going to run back home. “And endure for us. Two months and then you can leave and I will not utter a word to convince you to stay. I promise.”

She nodded. “Fine. But just so you know, any ill conceived notion you had of me returning to this country for good? That is gone now. As long as Erik Stevens calls Wakanda home, I never will.” She turned on her heels and disappeared down the hall, leaving T’Challa alone surrounded by shell casings.

She only paused when she heard him yell back, “I’ll have dinner sent to your room. Please eat or your sister will kill me.”

She scoffed. “That’s not reason enough,” she called back. Though they both knew she would eat whatever was brought to her.

***

Unlike Naja, Erik was able to hide his emotions a tad bit better and hold it together through dinner. However, his emotions did not include rage, except for toward T’Challa. All he had felt at dinner was the hot, uncomfortable spotlight of guilt and shame. What he had done, he’d never forgive himself. And any stupid notion he once had that Naja could forgive him one day was wiped out in a manner of minutes.

“What the fuck, T?” Erik demanded as he stormed into T’Challa’s office, the King nursing a glass of rum as he continued to work.

“Your ex already shot me several times this evening, figuratively and literally. So go easy on me, N’Jadaka.”

“You told me she didn’t ever come back to Wakanda? That she moved on??

T’Challa shrugged. “Those things are not untrue. Naja is a War Dog stationed in Niganda,” he admitted. “You wanted nothing to do with Wakanda once you left and worked for the US Government so I could not reveal War Dog identities to you. And when you came back, I thought it best that she remain out of sight and out of mind.”

Erik’s eyes grew wide. “W-wait, w-wait… a watch and report back War Dog or a Hatut Zeraze-era War Dog?”

There was a distinction, one only a precious few in the country knew. For most, the War Dogs were merely spies, a Wakandan-style CIA force that watched, patiently integrating themselves into their host country’s world to report back critical information to protect Wakanda. However, past kings used a specialized force of them for other purposes, ones the average Wakandan knew nothing of, purposes that actually kept Wakanda safe and protected all these years.

T’Challa sighed and rubbed his eyes. “The latter until my coronation. She was handpicked during training by my father, and worked her way up to leading missions across the continent and beyond.”

Erik scoffed. “Missions… I know what missions mean. Assassinations, torture.”

T’Challa tilted his head. “None that we would ever admit to. She is stationed in Niganda 90% of the time unless my father needed her for another assignment. When I became king, I disbanded that portion of the War Dogs and she has been our lead War Dog in Niganda ever since.”

The stinging heat of anger and fear prickled his brain. The Naja he remembered was soft, not in a bad way either. You wanted to lean into her and soak up her warmth. It was comforting and soothing. However, he knew first hand the things she would have had to do to be part of that specialized force. And he would not wish the damage all that had done to his own soul on anyone else, least of all her.

“’N you didn’t think to tell a nigga she was comin’?”

“I thought 15 years was enough time for you both to move past everything that transpired. Clearly I was wrong.”

“She still hates me?”

T’Challa scoffed. “Is there a word stronger than hate? Because that may be more accurate.” He paused. “Do you still feel guilty?”

Erik merely nodded, his finger fidgeting with his father’s ring, which he had worn around his neck since he was a small boy.

“15 years and one look at her and all that shit just comes right back,” he let out a low whistle. “She looks damn good. Different though. Not just physically. She’s colder than I remembered.”

“You miss her?”

He nodded. “Yea, being back here this year. She’s gone but every fuckin’ place in this damn country reminds me of her. I fucked up.”

“You still love her?”

Erik shrugged. “A lack of love was never the issue. Doesn’t matter if 50 years go by… it’d still be her. Only her. Who knows, maybe I can make this shit right. Can’t be a coincidence that Bast brought us both back?”

“May I be honest with you, cousin?”

“Me saying no ain’t ever stopped you.”

“When Naja first joined the War Dogs, her father made a personal plea to my father and I to reject her application. When I asked him why, he said that though they were crafted by the same hand, his daughters could not be more different. Nakia, he said, was an assassin’s blade. Beautiful, striking, and when wielded with the right hand, deadly. While Naja was no weapon at all. She was a delicate sculpture, something to gaze upon, he said. She could be a weapon, like anything. But one blow would be all you get and the cost would destroy her and she would never be the same again.”

“This fuckin’ Wakandan proverb shit,” Erik mumbled. “Like what the fuck does that even mean?”

“It means… You broke her, N’Jadaka. And that isn’t a judgment or condemnation,” he added at the pain that flashed across his face. “I understood then and now what ailed you when you did what you did. But you broke her. And to cope with that pain, like you, she picked up all those broken pieces and fashioned herself into a weapon that is more deadly than even Nakia ever was. Someone who is unbreakable. She is the most lethal weapon I’ve ever seen with stunning effectiveness and precision. She is pragmatic, she is cold, she is cunning, and merciless. And for her, love for anything other than this country and its throne is weakness. She is not the Naja you left here 15 years ago. She may look like the woman you love but she is an entirely different person, N’Jadaka. Be wise and remember that.”

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying that as much as I would love to see the two of you reconcile, this Naja will sooner kill you before she will let you close enough to break her ever again. Goodnight, cousin.” T’Challa grabbed his glass and stood up, walking to the door, leaving Erik to contemplate the consequences of his actions.

Tag List: @miyuhpapayuh @pipsqueak-98 @injerafiend @themakingsofdion

A/N: Ok I've never written Erik before so I'm really excited. I also feel like this OC is very unlike my others so I'm excited about.

Drop a comment and let me know what you thought or if you want to be tagged!

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x oc #mbjordanedit #michael b jordan x reader #black panther #erik kilmonger x reader #erik killmonger angst #erik killmonger #Erik Stevens x reader #michael b jordan fanfic

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songficsbyrissi · 2 years

Text

Do You Remember part 4

Warnings: mentions of past trauma (emotional abuse?, miscarriage, mentions of possible infertility), swearing (of course),/mentions of sex, I didn’t proofread sorry 😭

*Click for part 3*

********

“I think I fucked up, T.” Erik groaned loudly, taking a seat on his full size bed.

“When do you not?”

Erik sucked his teeth at T’Challa’s smart ass reply. He was over here having a damn crisis and his cousin wants to joke. He pinched the bridge of his nose trying to hold himself back from punching the air.

“I told her I loved her.”

T’Challa stopped chuckling and went silent. Erik sucked his teeth, rubbing his forehead in frustration. The silence was killing him. He needed advice, and his cousin wasn’t saying shit. He wasn’t sure why he said it. At the moment, it just felt…right. It wasn’t until he retired to his room he realized that was the first time he said it. He had no idea how you felt about it or if you even heard it. Or did you hear it and plan on ignoring it? There was so many possibilities and they were all fucking with him. He didn’t want to lose you.

“Well…do you love her, Erik?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t fucking mean it.” Erik snapped in response, which cause T’Challa to chuckle.

He heard some movement from Ashanti’s room and knew it was you. He bid T’Challa goodbye, not without hearing him express how he needed to meet you now. Erik had expected you to come into his room as always, however you didn’t. He didn’t hear you leave, but your presence was not in his bedroom. The anxiety was killing him, so he exited his bedroom to find you halfway between his front door and his bedroom door. You were staring ahead, breathing heavily. Erik slowly approached you and carefully took your hand into his, quietly begging you to say something. He was terrified. It looked like you were having another panic attack and he felt like he was the cause. Once you got your breathing together, you quietly spoke.

“I wanted to run…” you started, taking a large gulp and swallowing. “But I couldn’t.”

Explains why you were halfway between the outside and his bedroom.

“You said you loved me.” You finally gave Erik a glance where he saw there was unshed tears in your eyes. Oh no. He fucked up. Erik let a low breath, looking down on the floor and using his other hand to hold the back of his neck.

“Sorry…maybe it was too soon to say th-“

“So you meant it?” You questioned, cutting him off. You wanted to be happy that Erik loved you, but you couldn’t. He can’t love you.

Erik groaned at the fact that he was gonna have to pour his heart to you once again. He was never the nigga to pour his heart this much to a woman. The man wasn’t sure if it was him being a #GirlDad that softened him up so much or because you just had that effect on him. Maybe a deadly combo of both. The female species would be the death of him.

“Yes, of course I meant it. I wasn’t trying to put you on the spot or make shit uncomfortable. If you ain’t feeling it, baby girl-“

“You can’t love me, Erik. You just can’t.” You began to cry and his arms immediately wrapped around you in a tight embrace. You sobbed on his shoulder and lifted your head to release yourself from his hold, but he didn’t loosen up.

“Please, Erik, let me go-“

“WHY?!” He yelled, causing you to flinch. He quieted down, remembering his sleeping daughter in the other room. Before you could open your mouth to reply, he cut you off again.

“Why can’t I love a beautiful, smart woman? Please tell me why.”

You sniffled. “Because I can’t give you everything. You’re a wonderful man and you deserve the world and I can’t give it to you.”

Erik was confused now. “What? What do you mean?”

“Kids!” You screamed, taking a step back. Your boyfriend was still confused because he didn’t recall ever bringing up the conversation of having kids with you, even though that was something he didn’t mind.

When he didn’t say anything, you took it a sign that it was finally time to explain yourself.

“Ever since I could remember, I always wanted to have children. Always. During college, I started dating a man and eventually we got engaged. As much as I wanted to wait until we were married, he said we had the time in the world to get married so I was ok with being engaged for years. But he brought up children and wanted us to have a baby so we tried for a baby and…”

He was listening intently and you loved him for that, but it also hurt because you knew you were doing this trauma dumping to just leave him in the end.

You swallowed hard, holding your head up. “We couldn’t. We couldn’t conceive. When we finally did…I lost it. I grieved so much for my lost baby and I thought he was grieving too but the whole time, he was secretly mad at me. Everything was my fault. I was the reason it was so difficult for us to conceive. I was the reason why we lost it. I mean I had one job, right?! Carry the damn baby and I couldn’t do that!”

More tears came out as you sat down on his sofa with your face in your hands. As you cried, he sat next to you, just holding you, still not saying a word. You took a deep breath and continued.

“He got checked and his sperm was fine so it was pretty obvious it was on me. The resentment he had towards me, the hate in his eyes when he broke off our engagement…I hurt him so much. I told myself I would never hurt someone like that again and be ok with never becoming a mother.” You then turned him, giving him the saddest smile he’s ever seen in his life.

“But then, I fell in love with you. I don’t know when it fucking happened, but it did. Once you said you loved me, I realized I did too, but, we’re in too deep so I have to go.”

“Do you wanna leave me?” Erik finally spoke. He didn’t sound angry, he didn’t sound sad. He sounded… calm.

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you. Because if you sincerely wanted to end this, you would’ve left, but you stayed.”

You looked down at the ground. “Erik, please. There’s no way you still want me after what I told you.”

You’re a broken woman, Y/N! Why would I or anyone want you?!

Erik grabbed your face, making eye contact with you. “Well, I still want you. Now what? We going to bed?”

“Erik-“

“First of all, ain’t nobody worried about having another baby right now. I live in a 2 bedroom and that little girl is my world, but a pain in my ass and my pockets!”

You held back a laugh as he continued.

“And yes, maybe down the line, I would like to have a couple of more babies, but Y/N, I told you once and I’ll tell you again, I ain’t your bitchass ex. There’s so many other options and he didn’t want to take those with you, but I would. You know, if we get to that…”

Your face softened as you caressed the side of his face. You didn’t say anything, so he continued, taking of your hands into his.

“Baby, I appreciate you telling me all that and I hate that you went through that.”

You sighed, smiling despondently. “I’m sorry for trauma dumping on you. I just… needed you to know…”

He pecked your lips and smiled at you. “Have you thought of talking to someone?”

“Like a therapist? I remember you not believing in therapy in high school.” You were taken aback. “What was it? ‘White men’s way of getting in the head of the negro.’”

Erik groaned loudly, causing you to finally laugh. “Of course you remember that. I’m not that much of a hotep anymore.”

You giggled and he smiled, kissing you again.

“It feels good hearing you laugh again. I see you got your issues and shit, I got mine. But we gotta work on that shit and not ice each other out. We can’t fix each other, but we can still there for each other.”

You smiled widely. “Erik, I love you.”

“You better.”

You hugged him tightly and he hugged back just as tights with his lips near your ear.

“Besides, us breaking up would be bad.”

You pulled away, slightly. “Yeah, Ashanti would be hurt.”

Erik shrugged. “Yeah but to be honest, I was referring to the fact I gotta stay calm in those damn PTA meetings knowing I fucked one of the teachers.”

You gasped loudly, shoving him hard so he fell back on the couch, causing him to guffaw loudly.

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re sexy.” He sat up, kissing your lips and you let him.

Erik might’ve been vulgar and annoying at times, but you loved him and he loved you.

You still couldn’t help that nagging feeling in the back of your head that this was gonna end and end badly. Trauma was truly hell.

The next morning, you woke up with the sun shining directly in your face. You groaned loudly because what was the point of Erik having blackout curtains if he wasn’t gonna close them? Speaking of that man, where was he? He usually slept in with you on Saturdays, still getting up before his daughter. Oh shit. Erik was supposed to wake you up so you could leave before Ashanti got up.

You sprang out his bed, removing his t-shirt you slept in so you were fully naked. You didn’t sleep with panties on, which Erik thanked the gods for. The bedroom door swung open, revealing your boyfriend and causing you to yelp, diving into the bed to cover yourself.

“Erik!” You couldn’t help the flustered look on your face. Him, on the hand, had a grin that rivaled the Cheshire Cat. He was biting his bottom lip and you hid your face in embarrassment.

“Baby girl, I’ve seen that before. Why you acting all embarrassed?” He commented, closing the door behind him. You groaned audibly behind your hands.

“Yeah during…You know. Not…like this.”

“There is no difference, but your body is looking so much better in the sunlight, baby.” He savored the small glimpse he got of your smooth brown skin, glistening in the sunlight.

You attempted to ignore the tingling in your cheeks as you stared at him, annoyed. “I know it’s your room, but you could’ve knocked!”

Erik chuckled putting his hand on his chest, apologetically. “I’m sorry. I thought you were asleep. I have some…guests that wanna meet you.”

“Me? Why?” You were confused. It couldn’t be his parents. Both of his parents died when he was young, so who could it be that wanted to meet you?”

Erik shrugged and you could tell he was getting shy. Erik getting shy was a rare and wonderful sight. You got to savor it for a bit before he spoke.

“Just important people to me and since you’re important to me, I think y’all should meet.”

You giggled, feeling mischievous and all embarrassment forgotten. “So I’m important to you?”

It was his turn to feel embarrassed, especially since he was the one that usually did the teasing. He picked up a stuffed animal Ashanti left in his room and threw it at your head as you fell back, laughing.

He told his people to step outside for a minute while you went to the bathroom to doing a quick routine. You did leave clothes over here in case Ashanti ever caught you sleeping over so you could act like you didn’t spend the night. Why was it a big deal? Because you and Erik were still keeping up the image that you two were just nice friends that spend time with each other and kiss occasionally. It was to preserve her innocence and also seeing your teacher sleeping in your dad’s bed had to be extremely jarring for a six-year-old to witness. How do you even explain that?

Once you finished your routine, you took a deep breath and let yourself out of Erik’s bedroom to find two people sitting on the bar stools. They looked like a good looking couple. All 3 of the adults all turned to look at you, giving you a smile. Oh fuck. Your anxiety was on a full on high now. Before you could even speak, the woman got up from her seat and pulled you into a tight hug. Fuck, she was strong.

“Hello! It is so nice to meet you finally! I am Nakia!” The beautiful dark skinned woman smiled so widely at you and you returned the smile, anxiously.

“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you too.”

Nakia turned to Erik, gushing. “Erik! She is way more beautiful in person!”

“Yeah, I told you that” he replied in a “duh” voice, but he was looking away, scratching the back of his neck. The sign that he was nervous and you weren’t sure why he was. The man she came with cleared his throat and got up from his seat. He walked as if he was royalty. Who were these people?

“Come on, Nakia. You are hogging my future cousin in law.” The man gave you a wink and put his hand out to you. “I am T’Challa , or you can call me T. This is my fiancée, Nakia. It is a pleasure to finally met you.”

You took his hand to shake when he pulled you into a tight hug, which left you flustered. He released you from the hug, giving you a wide, gap toothed smile.

“I hope you don’t mind. Our people are very affectionate.” Nakia commented, matching her fiancé’s smile. Just now, you were noticing they had accents.

You finally spoke, giving them a nervous giggle. “That’s ok. I’m honestly happy I got to meet Erik’s family.” You directed a smile towards Erik who was already staring at you in admiration.

“Uncle T!!!” Ashanti’s voice boomed throughout the apartment.

The 4 adults focused all their attention on the bouncing little girl that was sprinting for T’Challa. The man gave her a gap tooth grin as he threw her in the air and kissed her cheek.

“Good morning, my umtshana omnandi! Did you sleep well?”

She nodded happily and greeted Nakia, who gave her a hug while she was in T’Challa’s arms. The little girl’s big brown eyes fell upon you , which caused them to widen with a twinkle in her eyes. You felt your heart rate pick up.

“Ms. Y/L/N? Why are you here this early?”

Shit. Why were you struggling with an explanation right now?

“Your father invited your favorite teacher to come out to breakfast with us! Now, let me help you get ready!” Nakia grabbed her from T’Challa’s arms and made a beeline for the bathroom. T’Challa looked between you and Erik with a raised eyebrow.

“Is she not aware of…”

Erik sighed, passing a hand over his face. “Uhhhh kinda? She knows we be hanging out a lot…”

“But doesn’t know I spend the night sometimes.” You finished sheepishly, looking away from T’Challa.

A wave of understanding took over his cousin’s face, causing him to grin in a goofy manner. Your eyes grew 3 times bigger and Erik chuckled at your reaction. You waved your hands vigorously.

“I-I! No! I mean…uh…we sleep! We actually sleep! Nothing happened last night!

“Yeah…nothing happened last night.”

You glared at your boyfriend who cackled some more and came around to give you a hug and kiss, which made you instantly forgive him. What was this man doing to you? You felt safe and loved. You haven’t felt that in years. Unbeknownst to you and Erik, his cousin was watching the interaction with a genuine smile on his face. He was happy for his cousin. The man who swore that after Ashanti’s mother left, he would never fall in love again and his heart was reserved for his daughter only.

Looks like he freed up some space for you.

When Nakia finished with Ashanti, the 4 adults and 1 child packed into T’Challa’s SUV and drove to a breakfast spot that Erik suggested. It was delicious and you had fun learning more about Erik’s cousin and his fiancée. They were good people and they loved Ashanti as if she was their own child. You saw why he cherished them so much.

After Erik and T’Challa fought over the bill for a good 30 minutes, which T’Challa won, there was a decision to go to the park and let Ashanti play with other kids while the adults talked. There was a moment the other couple had to run to the car to retrieve their forgotten phones and your boyfriend squeezed your hand tight.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable with…you know…talking about…” Erik looked down shyly and you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion until it clicked what he was referring to. He was worried about you being offended by the mentions of sex before. You laughed at him, kissed the side of his temple, and spoke in a low voice.

“I’m just glad you clearly like having sex with me.” You smirked at Erik, causing him to grin widely, letting out a deep, sexy chuckle.

“I love it. Just like how I love you.” Erik pulled you in by your chin and pecked your lips softly.

“I love you too…cheesy ass.”

Erik gasped jokingly. “Miss Y/L/N is swearing?!”

“I think you’ve heard me swear plenty when we were-“

“Miss Y/L/N! Can you come push me on the swings, please?!” Ashanti ran up to you guys, out of breath and smiling wide. She tugged you by your arm before you fully got your “yes” out. You looked back at Erik who was still a little shocked by what you were about to say. You weren’t bothered by him. In fact, You were matching his energy. He liked it. So in response, he mouthed, “We gonna fuck.”

You finally made it to the swings with the little girl and pushed her, making her release the sweetest giggles. You found yourself following suit. You could get used to this. You didn’t really notice the mom next to you watching her child on the swing until she said something to you.

“Your child is so adorable!”

You felt your heart drop, but you pulled yourself together and gave the woman a smile. “Thank you so much. Your child is adorable as well.”

You weren’t going to explain yourself to this random woman. It was better to lie.

“Thank you! He’s my stepson, but I love him like he’s my own. His name is Mason.”

You felt shuddering in your chest. That was supposed to be…

You shook yourself out of it. “Her name is Ashanti.”

The lady’s smile dropped, which made you nervous. She glanced at you, Ashanti, then, you again. She narrowed her eyes. “Have I seen you before?” She glanced at Ashanti. “Or her? What school does she go to?”

Before you could even answer, you felt a large hand grabbing your arm roughly. You looked back to your boyfriend with the angriest look you’ve ever seen. You gulped hard. Did you do something wrong? Why was he so mad? You looked over to see Nakia scooping Ashanti in her arms and walking away with T’Challa. Your confusion and fear grew more.

“Y/N, we’re leaving.”

You managed to utter something as he was dragging you away. “Erik, I-“

“Erik? Erik Stevens? Oh my God…” you could hear the woman speak before you were completely out of earshot. You were stunned at how rough Erik was being with you.

“Erik, what’s going on? Who is she?”

“Nobody. We have to go.”

You did not like that answer. A surge of anger coursed through you and you yanked your arm away.

“Erik! Talk to me! Why are you so mad? What’s going on?! ANSWER ME!”

“THAT’S HER MOTHER! THAT WOMAN…” Erik took a deep breath, lowering his voice. “That’s…Ashanti’s mother.”

The oxygen in the air had disappeared when he spoke those words. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak.

That was her mother. Her real mother.

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#black panther fanfiction #black panther fic #black panther imagine #black panther x reader #erik killmonger x you #erik killmonger x black reader #erik killmonger angst #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik killmonger x black! reader #erik kilmonger x reader #erik stevens fanfiction #erik killmonger fluff #erik killmonger fic #erik x reader #erik stevens x reader #erik stevens #erik stevens x black reader #black reader #reader insert

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lokisivy · 2 years

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I'm feeling suicidal someone send me a request.

#klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson smut #klaus x rebekah #tvd klaus #klaus x reader #klaus mikaleson imagine #rebekah mikaelson #eddie munson fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #charles xavier smut #charles xavier #steve harrington #steven grant #marc spector #erik killmonger #michael b jordan

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apocalypse-shuffle · 2 years

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ERIK STEVENS | KILLMONGER (the mcu)

────────────────────

“Just Thinking” (Erik Stevens x Fem!Reader)

| Erik’s watching you…hard (and not in the sexy way).

| SFW, fluff/angst, chronic pain, someone’s gonna start crying

| picture source: Black Panther (2018) movie

| 1k+ words

Erik is watching you.

To be fair the man nearly never didn’t have his eyes glued to you, but his gaze feels new tonight.

Erik liked to claim that he wasn’t introspective because he was sure of his every move from day one but the look he was hitting you with sure seemed introspective.

You're in your bedroom, Erik having come over after work, getting ready to go to sleep. You’re bouncing around your room getting all your medicine together in one place so you can try to rest a little easier when you get in bed.

Erik’s sitting one his side of the mattress, feet planted firmly onto your carpet as he rests his arms on his legs and tracks you with his eyes.

“Do you remember where I put the stuff for my arms?”

At your question his eyes actually briefly rise to meet yours before he nods to the bathroom.

“In that green bag under the sink,” he murmurs.

You nod and immediately start moving to get it. Your body was always hurting you, that was a factor of life you just had to learn to deal with, but your nightly routine was sacred for a reason.

The pain you felt on a “good day” didn’t compare to the liquid fire in your veins and the way you wouldn’t be able to feel your legs as you walked (if you were even able to) on a bad one. Erik knew how you got too, so whenever you did this he tended to stay out of your way.

Sometimes you felt bad about how you’d often keep him up at night because of how inescapable and overwhelming the pain could get but Erik never complained in real time.

He’d bitch and moan about being tired in the morning while pressing a kiss to your forehead and still waking up early to go for his morning run and make breakfast.

Erik liked to complain but he never complained about you.

You grab the green bag from the cabinet and a pack of alcohol wipes then come back into the room.

He still hasn’t stopped looking.

You make eye contact with him every once in a while as you start measuring things out while you wait for your cold injection to warm up enough that you can inject it into your stomach. He doesn’t not keep your gaze, he just doesn’t respond to the inquiring looks you throw at him. You leave it alone for the time being. If Erik wanted to talk to you he would in his own time, the man didn’t like to keep shit in and let it fester with you if he could help it.

It’s as you’re checking your blood pressure that he finally starts moving. He gets up and holds his hand out to you when you’re about to open the little black carrying case that has your monitor inside.

There’s a question there that you answer by placing it atop his open palm.

When he brings it closer he doesn’t let go of your hand where you’re also holding it and so you offer him your own appendage right then. You can check your pressure just fine by yourself but if he wanted to do this for you you wouldn’t deny him it. At least today.

If it was a bad day and you were in way more pain than usual you tended to get short with him and didn’t like accepting his help. That would probably always be a work in progress since you didn’t like feeling reliant on anyone.

You’re doing pretty well now though. Your pain is reduced to just pin pricks all over your skin and some stiffness in your joints, the medicine taking effect to its best.

Standing in front of you Erik unzips the bag and starts putting everything together with deft fingers. He’s got the whole process over for you in two minutes. You smile and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth with a thank you before putting the case away.

He doesn’t move back to the bed when he’s done with that but he doesn’t try to offer to give you your shot either. You had to take it every two days and never during the duration of your relationship had you once reacted positively to him (or anyone who wasn’t your doctor) wanting to do it for you. Erik always left you to it like you wanted now, no fuss.

He sighs and then he’s finally looking into your eyes. “Do you ever regret any of it?”

Cooled down medicine in your hand you only half turn to give him your attention.

“Hmm?”

He shakes his head.

“Never mind it’s nothing.”

You narrow your eyes at him but let the silence envelop you briefly in favor of readying yourself. An injection wasn’t exactly something you could afford giving partial attention to. You glance up at him, now sitting against the headboard as his eyes bore into you. Hm.

“You gonna say what’s bothering you?”

“I’m just thinking.”

You raise an eyebrow as you attach the needle to the medicine vial and pull on the plunger to extract its contents.

“Let me go buy a lottery ticket then.”

Your delivery is dry but Erik huffs out a laugh anyway. He rubs his hands down his face.

“I’m being serious though. I mean- you don’t regret me moving you around so often?”

You wipe off underneath your stomach with rubbing alcohol as you ponder what he’s not asking you.

“You mean do I regret marrying you when you're so busy and I’m so sick?”

Erik’s lips purse and he looks away from you.

Huh.

“Erik, you’re the Wakandan Ambassador now and I knew that when we got back together. You can’t be here all the time,” you shrug. “Which is fine because I was taking care of myself before you and that hasn’t changed.”

You stop talking as you administer the shot with furrowed brows; Erik doesn’t speak. You ignore both the breaking of skin and the feel of the injection with the ease of practice, pull the needle out and then wipe it clean with another alcohol wipe.

When you look up at your husband he seems to still be thinking so you hum and start cleaning up. Band Aid first, properly dispose of everything used, pack all the medicinal stuff up, and hide it back away in the cabinet. Or the fridge.

“I could help you,” Erik punches out unprompted. He seems pained, voice constricted.

“Erik,” you gasp out as you turn to him. The implications of his words don’t even fully hit you; it's the way his hands are fisted so tight they’re shaking.

“Wakanda, they have resources. They’re the most medically advanced place in the world.”

“Erik please,”

He ignores you.

“They could help you. I could-” he takes a harsh breath and looks up to you. Your stomach flips at the look in his eyes, red and brimming with unshed tears. “All it would take is a fucking week. Baby one damned week and you wouldn’t have to do none of this shit no more and you know what they’re telling me?”

He’s not yelling, though even if he was it wouldn’t really be aimed at you, but his voice carries the weight of a scream. You know it’s only not that because it’s you he’s talking to. Your heart has also dropped out of your body.

“They said no, I couldn’t bring you to Wakanda and I couldn’t bring anything from there to you. I was out voted. I am a prince and I’m still just as useless at helping you as before-”

“Erik stop.”

His blurring form in the bed tenses as he listens and you're almost panting, chest tight. He is too. You can see his chest heaving with the pressure of his words even as a tear rolls down your cheeks. You rub it away with a sigh.

“Babe,” You crawl onto the bed with a small groan that you move right past before you're over him. You plant his face with kisses.

Erik huffs out a laugh, arms circling around your middle, but it’s reluctant.

“Yeah baby?”

He pulls you into his lap and you don’t fight it, smiling and swooping down to press a kiss right in the middle of the crease between his brows. You press two more there until the area smoothes out. You were in a good mood and you did not want to be angry about everything right now.

“I don’t need you to save me.”

“But it’s-”

“Hush,” you hold your index finger up to his mouth and he dutifully quiets. He must be more fucked up about this than you thought. You take your finger away and peck him on the lips. “No buts, alright? Now I’m not saying not to hook me up if you can get access to this treatment, but right now it’s a what if and I can’t bank my life on that.”

He rolls his eyes, “It’s not a what if though.”

“Except at this point it is, E, and the same way I’m not wasting my time on a miracle cure is the same way you shouldn’t be either.”

“Alright I see what you’re saying.” Erik’s nodding but you can tell by the grin on his face he’s got something else in mind. “Or I could steal that shit.”

“And commit treason?”

This time when he laughs it’s full, nearly knocks you from your highly coveted position and everything, and the conversation isn’t done but he’ll drop it for now. Hopefully not becoming a fugitive in the meantime.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!! I could’ve gone into more detail with this but I simply did not want to. Also this is not proofread yet.

(I don’t like writing Erik because I don’t think I capture him well at all but I’ve been sitting on a few stories with him and decided fuck it on this one cause it’s cute. I also have a pattern to my updates which means either cute/action/angst had to be next so everything worked out well enough.)

It’s black love day so happy that, I guess! This fic is too old for me to claim I wrote it for today but we can pretend.

#erik stevens #erik killmonger #black!reader #black!y/n #erik stevens x black reader #erik stevens x black!reader #killmonger x black!reader #chronically ill reader #killmonger imagine #killmonger fluff #erik stevens fluff #killmonger x reader #erik stevens x reader #killmonger #the golden jaguar

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inactiveuser374 · 2 years

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Masterlist/Rules

request status; OPEN

MAIN RULES

I only write male readers

I only write x reader fics (no character x character unless it’s a poly relationship w/ the reader)

I write in second person only, sometimes third person if specifically requested

Anyone is allowed to read/follow but please don’t request fem readers

★ ★ ★

CHARACTERS

MARVEL; Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Erik Killmonger, Eddie Brock

TLOU (game and/or show); Joel Miller, Tommy Miller,

COD MW2; König, Simon ‘ghost’ Riley, Mace, Kyle ‘gaz’ Garrick, John Price

MIA (simon riley x winter soldier!reader) 2 3 4

Star Wars; Din Djarin, Poe Dameron

DBH; Marcus, RK800 (Connor), RK900 (Nines), Gavin Reed

Gavin Reed GIF set

Other; David Loki (Prisoners, 2013), Officer K (Bladerunner 2049, 2017), TBA

PLEASE READ BEFORE REQUESTING

WHAT I WILL WRITE

oneshots

additions to fics I’ve already written (if you want to request something that is based on a fic I’ve already written, I will keep the events that have happened and I won’t change the way the two interact)

fics inspired from given prompts or songs

characters that are not on the list BUT I know of (list is just the main ones)

angst

sexual content (not PWP, it’s gotta have a story or plot of some sort) nothing past 3rd base

character and or reader deaths

smoking/alcohol/drug use

comfort (including potentially triggering topics like abuse, death, etc) - warnings will always be at the beginning

WHAT I WILL NOT WRITE

fetishizing or glorifying certain topics.

characters that I don’t know

female reader or anything besides male reader

I won’t write anything I’m uncomfortable with

real people

incest or anything close to that (no step siblings or parents either)

minor x adult (platonic or family is OK)

just ask first if you think your request might fall under something I won’t write, I’m pretty tolerant of most things, there’s just some boundaries I have

#fanfic masterlist #fanfic request #marvel fanfiction #male reader #x male reader #cod fic #mw2 fanfic

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phenomenal1500 · 3 years

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~Roommates~

Masterlist

Summary: Kira and Erik have been mixed-gender roommates at the MIT for almost a year now and it seems they both have some bottled up emotions they have to let go off.

Timeline: Before he joined the United States Navy SEALs.

Pairing: Dom!Student!Erik x Kira (OC) Warning: Smut, Oral, Spanking, Daddy kink, Doggy style.

Kira strolled through the wide hallways of her university, thinking about how yet another rough day had finally ended at the MIT. If she was really honest with herself, she would even admit it was always tough and exhausting for her because she understood almost nothing, but she didn't want to be that negative person again. She knew she was just as smart as everyone else in her class, but she could barely keep up with everything because her mind just couldn't focus on the boring classes anymore and that just didn't sit right with her.

She used to love learning new things.

With a sigh, she opened the heavy door to her shared dorm and threw her backpack to the side before her jaw dropped in jealousy.

"How the fuck?! I had a whole day planned in with classes and here you are, sitting on the couch all relaxed- nah." Kira whined at the smirking man ahead of her who was slouching on the sofa with his black sweats on, no shirt, and the golden chain that he never took off hanging around his muscled neck.

"You've ever relax yourself?" He leaned his arm over the backrest so he could watch the woman over his shoulder.

"You can't relax when you're studying all day and night. Why are you suddenly so relaxed?" She crossed her arms as she walked closer to him. "Professor sick?"

"Mhuh." He hummed and closed his eyes. "And I finished everything already." He bragged and lifted his chin up before watching her again.

"Smart ass." She laughed, shoving his arm away so she could lean over the couch to see what he was doing. "Really, you're watching that? Since when do you not play those video games anymore?"

"Since when did you become my mom? Huh? It's a cool movie, aight?" He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes in a defensive manner, but she knew he was playing with her.

"Alright, sure~ Don't have to be so defensive about it, I simply just wondered." She giggled as she jumped over the backrest of the couch to sit beside him. "Come on, turn that Ps4 on. I wanna destroy you in a game of COD." She elbowed him softly to get his eyes off of the screen so either one of them could start the game console.

"Fine, but if I win, I'm allowed to destroy you in my bed." He rubbed his hands together and moved his head closer to hers to whisper into her ear, his voice huskier than before. "Just a quick fuck~...."

"E!" She pushed him away gently. "House rule number one; we're the only mixed-gender dorm so no fucking." She eyed Erik up and down sternly while holding up a finger to sign to him to keep his distance. "And no, because I sometimes shower with the door open doesn't mean that that rule doesn't count anymore."

It was true. She showered with the door open most of the time, but it wasn't to tease him or with any sexual intentions. It simply was to ventilate her damp and hot bathroom.

Their shared dorm was massive. They all were at the MIT to give the students space to study. The moment you'd walk through the large and heavy front door you would enter an open space with a very modern aesthetic, white and gray walls and black curtains decorating the enormous windows. To the right was a gray industrial kitchen with a cooking island that you could also use as a dinner table. The rest of the space was used for a living room with a TV, a huge comfy black sofa and a few more pieces of furniture and decorations that belonged to the students themselves to make it feel more like home. Both the left and right walls had two doors.

On the right was a door next to where the kitchen ended that led to Kira's bathroom, which had no ventilation, and next to that door was the door to her bedroom.

On the left was the exact same thing, but Erik's bedroom and bathroom door were a bit closer to the front door and his bathroom did have ventilation.

"Kinda does, Kira."

"You watch me? Thought you were too busy with those other girls you always bring home." It wasn't that she cared about it at all, they were just close friends and they both could do what they had the urge for, but it surprised her he paid attention to her in such a manner. She didn't want to show him she was very surprised though and in the meantime laid her hands on the black PS4 controller and disturbed his crime movie to turn on the PS4 itself.

"Why do you think those chicks are always coming over? To distract me from ya fine ass."

"It's that bad? I could also close the door next time." She shoved him to the side so she could sit in front of the screen as she chuckled softly, starting up COD.

"Who said it's just the showers, ma?" Kira knew Erik was raising one of his eyebrows in a cocky manner, but kept her eyes fixed on the screen as it loaded. After the home screen popped up and she could start a game, she pushed the second controller in his hands and still tried to avoid eye contact with him. "You ain't gonna talk to me anymore now?"

"I watched you once." She shrugged and glared up at him for a second. "It was by accident and just a brief moment."

"When?" He seemed very interested, particularly in what she saw.

"That dark haired girl from last week that left you alone because of an important phone call.... you decided to jerk off with your room door still ajar." The woman laughed a little to make it less uncomfortable for the both of them and he laughed with her. The two were never shy when it came down to joking or talking about sex, but never in such a personal way or about each other. "I spotted you jerking when I wanted to get some food at night."

"You liked it? Liked watching me?" He licked his full lips as he stared at the girl while she killed his ass a few times without him noticing it.

"You're hot, but that's a fact we all knew was true." She pointed at his muscular body before returning to play the game. "You know that's not why we're friends though.... right E? You know that right?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're friends with me for me and not the fuck boy side in me and the hot body." He mocked her a bit and threw his white controller onto the soft carpet as the screen showed she indeed won from him this time. "You fucking distractor!"

"Told you I would fucking destroy you! I've always been better than you in this game." She jumped up and cheered in victory, but was until she was yanked into Erik's lap, forced to straddle it.

The controller fell out of her hand as she was stunned and he glared up at the woman.

Surely she had been in his lap before, especially if the two watched a movie or played a calm video game and she decided to lay her head there, but this felt completely different, less like friends.

She bit her lip and rested her forearms on his shoulders.

"How late is it?" She questioned him quickly so he couldn't make another move with his nasty comments that had been going on since she came home.

"6:30."

"Fuck, I thought I could dodge this awkward situation with sleeping." She sighed before climbing off of him. "Guess not.... what do you want to order for food?"

"Nothing, rather want you on my face right now-...."

"Seriously?! Pizza?" Kira tried again. "Fuck it, I'm going to choose because you can't act normal. Pizza it is."

~~~

After the two ate dinner together, she kissed his jaw to say goodnight and disappeared in her bathroom to make herself ready to go to bed like always.

She had taken a fresh shower and wrapped her wet body in a clean white towel as she walked to her bedroom, jumping on her bed and arguing wether she'd fuck herself before she went to sleep or not.

Erik was exactly on the same mission, though he had already decided what to do.

It took a while before she groaned in frustration, defeated by her choice of not doing it herself and she put her long black robe on before knocking on Erik's door. If she was going to ask for his help, she was going to do it in style. "E? You in there alone?" The woman asked softly and Erik took his time covering himself up before laying back down. He couldn't really care if she saw him or not. "You're okay with me coming in?"

"Yeah, I'm good with that, baby girl." She rolled her eyes playfully at the nickname and carefully opened his door.

"I couldn't sleep so.... I thought why not join you~...." She lied and stared at her feet for a moment before looking back up at him. She couldn't really see him properly because of the lack of light in his room, but she could make out from his silhouette that he had already made a place for her next to him.

"Stop the lying and get your ass in this bed already, Kira." He commanded and she obeyed instantly, closing the door behind her and releasing her body from her black see through robe as Erik immediately turned on a small black lamp that was standing on his white nightstand. He eyed her up and down lustfully and offered her his strong hand as he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her onto the bed with him. His lips instantly connected with hers when she came close and he bit her lower lip before sliding his tongue inside her mouth.

He wanted to taste all of her tonight.

This was what he had been craving for all those months.... he wanted to see that pretty pink pussy cream itself for him and only for him.

Still in a deep kiss, Erik forced her flat on her back as he dragged her to the edge of the bed. He then finally broke the kiss and hooked her legs over his shoulders while he got on his knees so he would get full access and control over her body. She was at his mercy tonight and nothing was going to change that. He could hear the woman gasp at his action and see her chest going up and down heavily as he spread her already dripping and swollen lips with his fingers, licking her moist and warm folds open.

"Fuck~ E." Kira couldn't suppress her moan and bit her plump bottom lip hard as his mouth closed around her clit, sucking and nibbling it gently.

Her just manicured nails dug into the white and black sheets when his tongue thrusted in and out of her slowly and licked her dripping juices up in the meantime. "Mmhhppp, baby~ oh my god. Eat my pussy just like that." She whined and her body shivered when Erik pressed his thumb against her hardened and throbbing clit and he let his husky growls vibrate over her core.

Oh, this man was already driving her body crazy.

After a few more thrusts with his devilish tongue, she arched her back from the bed and grabbed a hold of his dreads as she came in his mouth.

"That's it. Rain down on me, baby girl~...." He groaned deeply as he licked her clean, loving the sight of his spit and her cum mixing and dripping down her thighs.

"Now, turn around for Daddy." He ordered and let go of her legs. "I want to see that phat pussy from behind, girl."

Kira, still panting, obeyed immediately and turned around to position herself on all fours, a whine escaping her lips because of the cold air that hit her wet pussy. He made sure to warm it up again though and cupped her pussy, rubbing it slowly with the palm of his hand while spreading her legs as well. The woman could already feel his evil smirk glide over her back before a hard sound of ass cheeks clapping filled the room and it released a quick and short moan from down her throat.

That smack had most definitely created a handprint on her pretty ass.

Kira teasingly wiggled her ass in front of his eyes to trigger another one and he did it again, even harder this time. "Mmm~ daddy."

"My nasty slut likes that? Huh?" Erik pushed her down into the mattress with an arched back so she was forced to lay with her face into the pillows, her ass up and spread open.

"Yes." She answered shortly as she felt his hard and big cock resting in between her soaked pussy lips and her heartbeat sped up while his cock rubbed between her slick folds, her knees growing weak.

"You want this, don't you?" He smacked her ass again. "Beg for this big cock, baby."

"Please, daddy, please give it to me. I need your cock inside of me." She moaned it all on purpose and pushed her ass into him some more which stole a groan out of him.

"You're such a good girl for me." With that said he harshly pushed inside, going as far into her that she swore she could feel him in her stomach right away.

"God~ you're huge." She whimpered as felt herself being stretched out by him and she let her face fall forward into his pillow again.

"Fuck." Erik groaned at her tightening around him and it increased the friction between his cock and her sensitive spot as he thrusted into her deeply. Her breath hitched and his hand went around and under her body to mould those clapping breasts as he fucked her good and fast.

The way he slightly bend over her back made his expensive cologne scent and the hot sex scent emerge and fill her nostrils and she closed her eyes in enjoyment.

God.... how horribly much she loved those smells combined.

It didn't take long after that before her body pushed back into him in response, her thrusts meeting his in a perfect rhythm.

Kira was a moaning mess; her hair wildly hovering over her sweaty face, marks created by his fingers and teeth that covered her soft skin and words not being able to form by her throat because of the satisfaction that filled her whole body. She wanted him, no, needed him and that feeling of her arousal that was burning inside her lower stomach couldn't take it much longer. She forgot to breathe as he grabbed her hips violently and pushed his fingers into her skin while he guided her. The woman then tried to muster as much strength as she could to push her shaking body up so that she was on all fours again and she grabbed the man's muscular arm holding her hip with one hand for stability.

"Fuck~ N'jadaka. I'm gonna cum!"

"Go ahead, baby, clench ya tight ass pussy around this dick." She came loudly as his dirty talk reached her ears and he followed closely with his orgasm, coming deep inside her. Erik swore she was sucking his whole soul out of him as her tight walls milked him and his cum painted her insides deeply. "Damn, ma~ Can't let you go now, can I? You're mine." He smiled at Kira who had moved her head to the side to smile back, his sweet smile revealing his dimples before he pulled out. Her pussy automatically clenched before his eyes again as his cum dripped out of her and he would have dived into her deep and warm waters one more time if he hadn't restrained himself and laid beside her instead. The sight of her sweating body, leaking and stretched pussy and shaking body simply made him so wild. "God, that's a sight I'd love to see some more, Kira."

"You will." Those words were all the exhausted woman could get out of her mouth while she snuggled into his side, falling asleep in his protective and strong arms afterwards.

#all marvel characters #angst #erik killmonger #N'jadaka #Being roommates with Erik Killmonger #fluff #fluffiness #lemon #smut #marvel #marvel one shot #marvel fanfiction #requests open #x readers #erik killmonger x oc

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starcrossedxwriter · 1 year

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Unbreakable Part 2 (Erik Killmonger x Black OC

Warnings: none, just some angst featuring your two favorite neighborhood assassins lol

She knew it was wrong but every night, Naja counted down the days until she could leave. However, with only one week behind her and seven more in front, she quickly found that practice more disheartening than helpful.

She had kept her word to T’Challa thus far, no outward complaints nor did she sequester herself from the family just because he was around. She actually found it fairly easy to simply pretend he was not there. At every meal and family gathering, she talked to everyone but him and he did not speak to her. They just orbited around each other like two planets forcing themselves not to collide.

Was it childish? Perhaps. But was it the best she could do? Yes. And T’Challa and Nakia seemed grateful for it even if it was a bit awkward for everyone.

She missed the days when Erik was kept securely out of sight and out of mind. He and the memories only resurfaced when she was here, which is why she avoided Wakanda. She knew it was foolish to avoid an entire country because of one man. But when you saw and felt that man in everything, his barking laugh in the wind, his youthful smile in the sunset, his passion in the roaring of the falls; and when the dull but still painful edges of heartache accompanied all those memories… It was difficult to find beauty in it. Erik was wrapped up in so much she loved about Wakanda. And when he left, everything felt tainted.

When she was not in these borders, she rarely thought of him at all. Her missions, those in need in Nigada, had always been better occupants of her time. Pretending to be someone else meant that she could lay Naja and her feelings about Erik and her life overall at the border until she returned. Of course, that meant that Naja herself had no time or energy to deal with the insecurities, heartaches, and trials life placed upon her. She just did not think of any of it. But she realized now, confronted every day with a pile of her unresolved feelings, that time did not diminish them. It only made it worse.

She did not think of love either, had yet to find a man worth her time for more than a single night. And she knew she never would. She rarely trusted anyone, occupational hazard, but she could never trust her heart with someone again. At least not in the way she did with him. She had no proof her heart even functioned like that anymore.

She could not stop herself from stealing glances at him every once in a while, studying the ways in which the time had changed him. And it had and not just physically. Like her, he was a different person. Though it seemed as if the teenager she knew and loved, one full of light and laughter was still in there somewhere, beneath everything else. Every once in a while, he would say or do something that reminded her of the old him and she would have to stop herself from smiling or laughing or reminiscing on the memories it would spark. And then she would remember their last conversation, remember what he truly thought of her and their time together, and that little flame died out immediately.

During the day, she spent most of her time with Nakia, only stepping away for the rest of the day to practice her training. It was her favorite stress reliever and helped clear her mind. After which, she would retreat to her room until dinner to pour over her notes once again, praying a clue or lead would jump out at her.

The couple that did were dead ends when she relayed them back to Dayo. But she kept trying. She supposed she was grateful that no child had gone missing since she left but she knew that by the time she returned, that would not be the case. Despite being in another country, she still felt responsible and that she needed to do her part to find them.

“Malika, calm down. We will find them, I promise.”

“I know, I know. I just wish I was there to help you.”

She could practically see Dayo shaking his head. “You are caring for your ill sister. That is hardly unimportant. You’ll be back in two months and we will bring all of them home. For the liberation of Niganda.”

“The liberation of Niganda,” she muttered back before ending the call. She bundled up her notebook and slid it back in her bag before heading down to breakfast.

She greeted the entire family, excluding Erik before sitting down next to TJ. He all but demanded his aunt sit next to him at every meal.

“So what do you have planned for the day, Naja?” Nakia asked as Naja filled her plate with food.

She could already tell she was putting on weight, even in a week. The hard lines of her muscles and body rounded out ever so slightly. She was not complaining though, she looked good.

She sat her glass down and shrugged. “It is the first day of training for the new year of War Dogs so T’Challa requested I spend some time in the training center, meet them, share my ‘more tamed’ experiences in the field.”

Shuri chuckled. “His attempts to lure you into staying are not even subtle anymore.”

Erik’s head jerked up, Naja choosing to ignore it. She could feel his eyes boring into hers as if he was waiting for her answer.

“Well, his attempts are in vain. I am more than happy to visit and see the other War Dogs but once the baby is here and you two are settled, I need to go home.”

She threw Erik a glance and watched as the tension seemed to leave his body but not his face. His face still looked angry for some reason that she could not place.

Shuri groaned, her face twisted up in disgust. “Hearing you refer to Niganda of all places as home is too much to handle.”

“I’m sorry,” Naja offered with a smile as she swiped a piece of fruit off her nephew’s plate, causing the young man to laugh and try to take something off hers. Before she knew it, they were in a play battle with their forks, her prince winning handsomely. “It is a shame my sister can’t join me on the training mat this time around. I miss our sparring sessions,” she winked at her.

Nakia smiled, patting her belly. “I know. But the closer we are to my due date, the less often T’Challa is ok with me even leaving our quarters. I think he’d have a heart attack if he saw me within 100 feet of the training center.”

Shuri shook her head. “He’s going crazy. He was always overprotective but he basically wants to wrap her in bubble wrap.”

“You know I love to rag on the king just like the next girl,” Naja teased. “But you can hardly blame him, missing most of the pregnancy and Prince T’Challa’s birth. It must weigh heavily on him. He has earned the right to bubblewrap you and I’m inclined to agree.”

Nakia scoffed. “I may have been out of the field for some years now but let’s not forget who taught you everything you know. I may not be able to beat you in combat anymore but I am still the older sister who protects you, not the other way around.

Naja offered her a soft smile. “My first and fiercest protector. I know. Just trying to return the favor,” she winked at her.

“I… um… gotta go meet T for meetings. I’ll catch up with y’all later,” Erik mumbled, getting up from the table awkwardly, leaving his breakfast half uneaten.

It was not odd to anyone in the room. Each of them often were the first to leave the table during meals, only able to sit in the same room with their emotions for so long. Naja merely read it as him not wanting to be around her, which she did not mind. It made avoiding him significantly easier if he was also avoiding her.

Naja watched as his back retreated before Shuri’s voice caught her ear.

“So you really aren’t ever going to tell me what really happened between you and N’Jadaka? Have you two really not seen or spoken since you were 17?”

Naja used her fork to stab a piece of fruit on her plate before popping it into her mouth.

“Nope. Not a single word. Neither of us even knew where the other was since he left Wakanda. I knew of his moniker, Killmonger, but other than that, nothing. I don’t even know if he survived the Blip.”

“He didn’t,” Shuri supplied. “So I guess it was more like 10 years for him. Still a long time.”

Naja felt a wave of sadness hit her. He was the sole person she tried to look for during that period. Even with the entire world in shambles, she called in every favor, poured over everything she could get her hands on to find out whether he survived. She never breathed a word of it to anyone, hating herself for even caring what happened to him. But she had never gotten an answer, his whereabouts and life a complete ghost with no discernable trail. So she convinced herself that he survived, that he was somewhere still happy without her. It was easier than thinking of him flaking away as dust in the wind.

Naja cleared her throat, a sorry attempt to lighten the conversation again. “Well, long time or not, you seem to know every other secret around here, Princess. Am I expected to believe no one has told you that one yet?”

Shuri shrugged. “What can I say? I am inquisitive. But I was so young when N’Jadaka left. I remember the engagement,” Naja stiffened uncomfortably. “And then he was gone. But even he doesn’t speak of what happened between the two of you. Why you decided to end things?”

The memories flooded Naja’s mind but she shook them off. She caught eyes with her sister, only holding them for a second before she glanced away. She could not take the pity that floated around in them, as if Nakia would always see her as the emotionally broken girl she found that night.

“Well, it seems as though you have the full story, Princess. He left and naturally, it only made sense to end the engagement.”

“Yes but that doesn’t ex-”

Naja stood up abruptly, unable to start her day rehashing how the love of her life abandoned her without a thought.. “My apologies, Princess. I really should be heading to the training. I can give you all the details on Erik and I another time. I shall see you both later.”

She knew it was wrong just to abandon the conversation like that but she had never even really discussed that night with anyone. It did not feel like breakfast conversation as if she were relaying her latest tryst with a one-night stand.

She hated being in her own head, her own thoughts and feelings. She wished she could be Malika again, a woman who thought of nothing beyond her job at a bar and liberating a country from a tyrant. Those were actionable steps, things she could actually do, problems she could fix, plans and thoughts that consumed every waking moment. Her job was her escape from everything else, from her life. She had been running from Naja and her mess for 15 years. And with the chains T’Challa had placed on her, the bitch was finally catching up.

Naja took a deep breath as she entered the training center beneath the palace. It was vast, home to both the Dora and War Dogs’ training programs. Her eyes twinkled as she took in the upgrades they had made since she was last there. It was advanced when she attended her first session. But now? The tech, the weapons available to them were truly a sight to see.

“Naja!” Eshe, the leader of the War Dog Initiative, waved her over. “Welcome home.”

They shared a salute as she gestured for Naja to follow her. She glanced over at the young women all practicing with spears. They were focused, moved as one body as if they shared one singular breath. It did not matter how often she saw the Dora train, they were mesmerizing every single time.

“Why did you not take the Dora route?” Eshe’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Oh…” she shrugged. “Wanted adventure, wanted to see the world outside our borders, and I wanted to do the thing that would be the hardest. That would challenge me the most.”

Eshe nodded as they walked to the War Dog portion of the center, the students sitting in neat rows waiting for their session to begin.

“Don’t let a Dora hear you say such a thing,” Esha warned, causing Naja to laugh.

“Our General would certainly have an opinion on that,” she admitted.

Eshe took her around to each of the new recruits, each one introducing themselves individually as they asked Naja questions. She was more than happy to share her experiences, or at least the ones that aligned with the War Dogs’ new purpose.

Watch and report, she kept having to remind herself as thrilling tales came to mind. She knew those would be far more interesting and entertaining but T’Challa wanted to keep that aspect of the initiative quiet for as long as he could. And that meant that, even within the program, most were not privy to what their fellow spies once did in the field. She was the old guard now, at the ripe age of 32. She had so much she wanted to tell them about the world and the trouble they would see. But then she would have to tell them to ignore it and she could not. Because she was not able to ignore it either, not anymore.

“Perhaps you would like to show them the type of combat skills they will learn during their training?” Eshe tilted her head toward the training mat.

Naja groaned. “Eshe…” It was not that she could not do it. But Naja did not enjoy being on display, having a group analyze every movement while she trained.

“Please? Who would like to volunteer to test out their skills with Naja?”

“Me!” N’Jadaka’s American accent filled the training center, Naja having to force her face to remain neutral.

This fucking bastard, she thought to herself.

“Oh Prince N’Jadaka! Bless Bast you were able to join us for our first day of training.” She glanced at Naja. “The prince is the Panther’s Tribe’s liaison with the WDI, all requests from the palace and briefs go through him and Princess Shuri for now. But soon they will transition to him fully.”

I am going to fuckin’ kill T’Challa.

“Is that right?” She offered through gritted teeth. “Well, I’d hate to harm a member of our royal family. I suspect I’d be thrown in Fort Hahn for such a crime.”

Erik grinned slyly. “I can handle it.”

But first, I’m going to kill him.

Eshe ushered them to the training floor. “No weapons. I want to show the recruits what you can do with just yourselves.”

They both nodded. She rolled her eyes as he stripped his shirt off, forcing her eyes not to follow the trails of scars across his chest and abdomen, all of them leading to a deep V that poked out of his joggers. She might despise him but she did not have to like him to recognize that he was still the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. She knew it was pure lust and nothing more but it made her uncomfortable. To feel anything toward him that was not indifference and dislike.

Everyone watched intently as the pair sunk down into their fighting stances. They circled each other, Naja sizing him up. Time outside of Wakanda had done much for his physique. His body was a brute weapon, carved over time and experience.

And she could practically smell his arrogance from across the room, the arrogance of a man who never lost a fight. Amusement danced in his eyes as he watched her studying him. Because she was not the strongest person in the room, Naja had to attack first and fast. She benefited from her short stature and lean body, years of dance lessons that she hated parlayed well into hand to hand combat.

She took a deep breath, clearing her mind of all else, even thoughts of the man in front of her, before she pounced. That was her strategy. Every person across from her in a fight was the same: her opponent. And her personal feelings, positive or otherwise, did not play a part.

Erik’s arrogance quickly faded as he took in the ferocity of her attacks, making him question his choice to get into the ring in the first place. He had been trying to find his in all week, a soft spot to just speak to her. But they were rarely in private and she did not even glance his way any time. After hearing her intentions to attend training, he convinced T’Challa that he also needed to be there. He thought, perhaps, if he let her use him as a punching bag at training, it would give them a chance to speak if nothing else. But now he wondered if he would even live to get the chance to speak with her. His lack of consistent training and refined skills showed. And the only thing that made him a match for her was the heart-shaped herb that coursed through his veins. Otherwise? She would have had him on his ass in no time.

Naja ignored the ache in her limbs as they both threw blow after blow. Moves and countermoves back and forth across the mat.

A hard push sent Naja tumbling to the ground, the young woman immediately able to catch her footing and bounce back to her feet. She chuckled as she approached him again, faking him out with a punch before delivering a swift but powerful kick to his abdomen, the man also falling down.

“I see someone got some Bast-ordained enhancements. It’s a shame we both know you would not win in a fight without them. Not so weak now, am I?”

Her chest heaved slightly, the young woman slightly out of breath but that did not deter her. She would win, her pride would not allow anything else.

He chose to ignore her last statement, his own voice from their last conversation ringing the shame bell loudly in his ears. Around her, it was deafening. “You know I can take you with or without ‘em.”

“You sure about that? Our King would’ve had me on my ass minutes ago. I guess all those blessed by Bast are not… created equal.”

He let out a vicious growl before pouncing again. Their skillful movements were more like a piece of art than combat, everyone mesmerized by their dance as they responded to each other as if they shared one mind. Everyone, including the Dora, stopped to watch them. One could have heard a pin drop in that room, only their grunts and the sounds of their blows filling the room.

Erik found it hard to keep up with her the longer they went. He did not even recognize her now, not really. On that mat, he saw everything T’Challa had warned him about. The woman he knew was still in there, he had seen glimpses when they were around the family. The soft, caring, and gentle girl he loved beyond reason. But the woman who battled him as if he were a sworn enemy? She was lethal, she was unforgiving, and she would not stop until he was on the ground begging for mercy.

And a moment of weakness on his part would give her her moment to shine and remind everyone why she was Wakanda’s fiercest warrior. His mind was not fully on the battle at hand as he examined her for the first time. Even in just a week, her body had started to fill out a bit compared to when she arrived. It looked good on her. She still had the same body shape as he remembered, her hips a bit fuller as she grew older. But she was still as beautiful as he remembered, perhaps even more so. In the heat of the battle, she had shed her tank top, fighting in only a matching sports bra and leggings set, that showed off her hourglass shape.

He could not help but study her smooth skin, it was flawless. Well, all except for one scar that caught his attention. He could only see half of it, part of it poking out of her leggings on her left side. He imagined it covered the entire length of her torso. In his curiosity and concern of how she got it, he gave her an opening for a punch and kick combination that knocked the wind out of him and sent him flailing to the floor.

One minute, his eyes were trying to memorize her form and the next, he was seeing stars against the ceiling. Naja straddled his hips, her forearm pressing into his neck with slight pressure.

Her long braids shielded both of their faces from the crowd as they laid on the mat for a moment. Both of their chests rose and fell quickly, their heavy labored breaths loud against the silence. His hands moved to her hips, anchoring her against him even as her arm partially crushed his windpipe.

It was the first time Naja had made eye contact with him, expecting to find nothing there for her. But instead, she saw a look of adoration, pride, and love. A look that sparked something in her that had been long buried, something that thawed the frigid ice surrounding her heart and soul, even if just a bit. It was warm and comforting, like hot tea when you’re sick, and her soul begged her to bask in it. She allowed herself to feel so little, it was a necessity for her survival. But her heart begged her to linger in this feeling, to remember how it felt to have someone look at her like he was right now. However, the moment was fleeting. Her brain could not stand it, quickly reminding her who he was, convincing her she and what she saw were wrong.

You don’t know him. You never really did, a bitter voice reminded her, the voice snapping her out of that trance and reminded her that she hated him.

“Yield,” she muttered, increasing the pressure on his neck. Her eyes remained on his, though the glare she usually had returned with a vengeance.

She only released him when she heard the three distinct pats against the mat and his voice call out, “Damn, aight. I yield.”

She removed her arm and sat up. Neither of them moved immediately, both of them paralyzed on the floor as they stared at each other, his grip tightening on her hips. It was not painful but it reminded Naja that he was there, his touch strong but still gentle in a way she remembered from their youth. Her brain immediately began to wander down dangerous pathways, ones that she knew would lead her nowhere good. That ironclad facade she held to so tightly? It was now splintering, hairline fractures stemming out like a web from one single blow.

She immediately shimmed out of his grasp, overwhelmed by how uncomfortable the last 2 minutes had made her.

It seems their moment was lost on everyone else as thunderous applause filled the center. She merely smiled and thanked Eshe as she quickly put her shirt back on. She made quick work of her goodbyes after vowing to return the next day for a lesson, desperate to put as much distance between her and Erik as quickly as possible.

What the fuck was that? She thought to herself as she rushed down the hall to return to her quarters.

She knew what that feeling was. It was not hatred, it was not lust, it was not indifference. It was something much worse… longing. It had felt so foreign and odd that it scared her. A feeling she had not felt in 15 years, a feeling she had sworn off with all other notions of love. But she had felt it, even if it was just a short burst for a mere moment. And she felt it for him. In that moment, she found herself wanting to give into that feeling. She longed for, not just him, but the things he once provided: love, comfort, safety. It was not until she was in his arms again, even in a fight, that she realized how desperately her soul had missed receiving those things from someone.

She shook her head quietly to herself. You can’t do it, that bitter voice screamed at her, drowning out every other positive feeling with a tsunami of rage and pain. You’d be the weak idiot everyone thought you were if you ever give into that again, ever let him or anyone else break you again. You don’t need him or anyone else, it reminded her. Love is nothing but heartache and misery.

It hurt but she knew that voice was right. That was how she survived this long.

“Naja! Yo! Wait up!”

She tried to keep walking and ignoring his voice but her short legs were no match for the heart-shaped herb. She reminded herself to ask T’Challa how his cousin even came to take the herb, a shocking turn of events she had not been expecting. She was not surprised, but fairly annoyed, to find him standing in front of her blocking her way moments later.

“Good fight. Where’d you learn all that shit?”

“Training.” She offered him nothing else before trying to turn and continue down the hallway.

“Hold up, hold up. Just give me 2 minutes, aight?” He asked.

As much as she wanted to deny him even that courtesy, she found herself wanting to hear what he had to say.

“One.”

She watched as he rolled his eyes and sucked his teeth for a brief moment before he recovered.

“I just… we ain’t talked since you got back and I wanna clear the air. Make sure we good? Since we both gonna be around for a while, we should be cool, at least. I’m sorry, you know… for what happened between us. It wasn’t my- ”

Naja shook her head, raising a hand to stop him. She should’ve followed her initial instinct because she could not listen to this. And then she felt it. Those fissures may have let in a bit of light, a positive feeling that she had suppressed for years. But it also let in the ache she had built the facade to keep out. She could not have one without the other so she decided long ago to feel neither.

“Stop. I do not want your apology nor do I need it. We both know you aren’t actually sorry.”

He scoffed. “How you know that? You don’t me.”

“The sad thing is I do know you. And you don’t say shit you don’t mean. So you might be sorry but it is to ease your own guilt and shame, not because you actually think you did something wrong. Because if you did,” she raised her voice as he tried to interrupt. “You would’ve found a way to apologize before 15 years passed. And don’t act as if you and T’Challa did not keep in contact during those years. It insults both of us. If you were truly sorry, all this time wouldn’t have passed before you decided to do something about it. This,” she gestured at him. “Is merely a sad and unnecessary attempt to assuage your own guilt so you don’t have to feel like the villain anymore.”

She closed the space between them and looked up at him. “And I do not care how many good deeds you perform in service of Wakanda. In our story,” she pointed between the two of them. “You’ll always be the villain. And I’m not required to forgive you simply because you’re tired of living with what you did.”

He bowed his head. He did not argue or fight back, even though his pride made him want to. Her words, her anger, were justified even all these years later and he knew this was his punishment for taking the coward’s way out back then.

“I broke your heart, I know that shit. And I fuckin’ hate myself for it. But if you just let me explain w-”

She let out a mirthless laugh. “You didn’t just…” she took a deep breath to steady herself. She hated how he still had this effect on her, how angry she still was after all this time. “You didn’t just break my heart, Erik. Y-You… took pleasure in toying with it before you crushed it. But hey,” she shrugged. “I get it. I made it easy for you. I’m weak, right? A pathetic liability that was forced on you? A hindrance to your goals and plans… Seems like you did well for yourself without the weight of a weak, unloveable thing like me holding you back.”

He flinched at the venom in her tone and the words she chose: weak, pathetic, unloveable. They were words designed to deliver the sharpest of blows. But they weren’t her words. They were his own, daggers he had thrown once because he knew they would cut the deepest. He had not meant them and he regretted them the moment they left his lips. And her reaction in that moment still haunted him. But there was no way for Naja to ever know that.

“The shit I said was inexcusable… I know that. But -”

“And yet here you stand… full of excuses. My life would be better served if I never had to see you again. But since our King does not see it fit to allow that, I will only say this one time to you. If all you can offer me is excuses for what you did, we need not speak again. You did what you did, you said what you said. We can coexist in this palace for my sister and T’Challa’s sake but I will sooner join our ancestors and Bast in the fucking Ancestral Plane before I ever forgive you for it.” She started to walk away but stopped turning back to him.. “Oh and don’t think I didn’t know what that little game was. Your shallow attempt to break the ice? Didn’t even make a dent.” She knew that part was not true but he did not need to know that. “Learn to live with your guilt as I’ve learned to live with the pain you caused. And perhaps, I can get through the next seven Bast-forsaken weeks without wanting to stab you as I do right now.”

This time, she was truly finished, turning away from him and walking down the hallway to the elevator that would take her back to the main portion of the palace.

However, as the doors slid open, his voice called out behind her.

“What did you do with it?”

She clenched her eyes shut. She knew exactly what he was talking about. She stepped into the elevator, holding the door so it would not close.

“The night before my first mission, I went to our spot on Warrior Falls and I threw it off. And I walked away from you and that life forever. Any more questions?” Hurt flashed across his face but he covered it quickly. At his silence, she nodded. “Good. Goodbye, Erik.”

***

“These are amazing, Shuri. Thank you.” Naja’s finger ran over the sharp blade of a set of four knives, her eyes drinking in all the new gadgets Shuri showed her.

When she saw the message to meet Shuri at her lab at 3 am, she knew she was in for a real treat. And the young scientist did not disappoint.

“Figured you'd like them. They’re yours to test in the field. Just… keep it to yourself.”

Naja’s face lit up with a sly smile.. “Ah so these are not standard issue for all us leashed war dogs?”

Shuri did not look up from her computer as she responded. “My brother is the only gullible idiot here who believes you are merely watching and reporting. If you’re gonna break the rules, which I wholly support, you should be safe while you do it.”.

She walked around and kissed the young woman on the forehead. “You know you’re my favorite one here, yes?”

“I’m everyone’s favorite,” she muttered nonchalantly.

Naja did not argue with her, she was not wrong. She gestured toward a few mannequins across the room. “May I?”

“Of course. It’ll be good to see them in the hands of someone actually skilled. I almost took my assistant’s eye out last week.”

At that, Shuri finally stopped working to watch Naja. She picked up two of them and twirled them in her hands, getting a feel for them and their weight for a moment. They were perfect as if Shuri had created them with her hands in mind.

With perfect precision, she hurled each one across the room at rapid fire, Shuri not even noticing her pick up the other ones before they were lodged directly in the heart of each mannequin.

“I see why Nakia said you prefer a knife,” Shuri muttered, letting out a low whistle.

Naja laughed. “Guns and knives both are highly effective. But knives are quicker, stealthier, quieter. And in interrogation, more intimidating than a gun could ever be. But it’s a poor marksman who pretends the tool matters at the end of the day. Regardless, I hit my mark every time.”

She plopped down in the seat across from Shuri, continuing to examine the less lethal tech the young woman offered her. Advanced listening devices, updated kimoyo beads, bullet proof clothing, computerized glasses for in the field. They sat in silence for the most part, Shuri only speaking up to offer directions or side notes on each device. However, most were merely upgrades of what Naja already had so she knew her way around most of it.

“I’m sorry for the other day,” Shuri offered, ending a particularly long stretch of silence. At Naja’s confused expression, she added. “For bugging you about you and N’Jadaka. We just haven’t had a minute alone for me to apologize. I shouldn’t have pushed. T’Challa says I’m too inquisitive sometimes.”

Naja waved her hand. “Long forgotten, Princess. Your inquisitiveness is why you are our greatest scientist. And my attitude toward him doesn’t necessarily dampen curiosity,” she admitted. “I thought just ignoring him would be easy but even his breathing vexes me,” she muttered.

“You two were in love?”

Naja bowed her head, her restless energy forcing her to walk over to pull the knives out of the foam statues across the room. Her mind recalled her friendship and relationship with Erik, one that took up all the formative years of her youth. She had not been able to stop thinking about him since the training center, her emotions far more complex and jumbled than the first time she saw him. At first, all she felt was rage at being blindsided. But being back here in such close proximity to him made her feel so much more, all the good and all the bad. But that voice in her head still yelled above them all. Anytime she lingered in the good memories for more than a moment, it reared its ugly head, reminding her that those moments were a fantasy and a lie.

Though she loathed talking about her feelings, about as much as she loathed acknowledging her feelings at all, she wondered if Shuri was the only person in the entire palace she could actually talk to without judgment. T’Challa and her sister would merely offer her pity and sympathy, which she did not want. Okoye would offer her nothing except a reminder to get over herself, which would not be unfair, but she also did not need. Her parents… well, that was a foolish notion to even consider. But Shuri, she was the only one who did not remember the broken Naja, the person she tried to erase from all their minds. And perhaps that meant, she was the only person Naja was safe to peel back the curtain with even just a little, the only person for whom vulnerability would not confirm Naja’s weakness.

“Well… I thought we were,” she admitted. “I mean we were 17 so love is an odd concept for that age, I suppose. But yea, for all I believed and still believe love to be, I thought we had it.” She spun one of the blades in her hand as she walked back to Shuri’s desk. “He did not agree. Rather foolish now that I think about it. Girl loves the boy and the boy does not love her back. Tale as old as time. Not even an original one, I’m afraid.”

“But you two were close before you dated?”

Naja chuckled. “Yea we were… I was the forgotten younger sibling. You know I adore my sister but when we were young… She was the eldest, heir to the River Tribe, and she had caught the eye of the future king. My parents knew, at worst, she would be on the tribal council one day and, at best, she would be Queen of Wakanda. Nakia was the Sun and I was Pluto or one of Jupiter’s moons floating in her solar system. Insignificant. She never made me feel that way but my parents took every opportunity to remind me that I wasn’t as talented or strong as she was, that I couldn’t do the things Nakia could. ‘A beauty to gaze upon,’ my father used to always say. ‘And nothing more.’” She sighed. “When Erik moved here, we were like 12. He was the only outsider and didn’t quite fit in so he was always running after T’Challa. I was always running after Nakia. One day we realized that we had more fun running after each other.”

Naja smiled, picking up one of the sonic guns Shuri showed her. She shot a few rounds into the target before turning back to her. “You know we used to sneak to the Falls and find caves? We did it for the last couple years. Became a competition on who could find the best ones with the best view of the sunset. I won in the end, I suppose. The last one I found, the night of our graduation, gave a perfect look at all of Bast’s glory.” Her eyes stared off into the distance for a moment as if she were back in that perfect moment. “But we’d just sit in those caves or by the river for hours and hours and listen to the falls and talk. About our parents, about the future. The adventures we wanted to have and the places we wanted to go. He’s the one that inspired me to be a War Dog, we were gonna join together after graduation. We even submitted the application together in our final year of school. He was the first person, outside of Nakia, to make me feel like I was worth something more. That I could do more than serve as Nakia’s right hand and marry the son of the merchant leader or whatever second-best option my parents had designed for me. And he proposed in that last cave I found… a month before training was to start.”

“That sounds beautiful. And then he just left?”

Naja nodded, the happy memory that was floating around her eyes immediately souring. “Yep. Three days later? He called me, ended things, and was on a plane out of Wakanda an hour later. No phone, no way to contact him, and a vow that he’d never come back.”

“And you never found out why?”

“Why he left?” She shook her head. “Nope. You’d have to ask him. Or T’Challa. I tried to press T’Challa for it but he would never say. And eventually, the reason stopped mattering. Our time together, the promises we made, they meant nothing to him. So I just decided it would be the great mystery of my life and another person to add to the list of people who believe I’m not good enough… worthy enough...”

“Is that why you prefer to be in Niganda as Malika?”

Naja laughed, her head tilting as her eyes found her reflection in the pristine metal of the blade in her hand. “Well there’s not much joy in being me. But Malika… she has a purpose, people need her… Wakanda needs her. She’s the best version of me. The only version of me that is worth being.” She stopped herself, realizing she was being far more vulnerable than she intended, more vulnerable than she had been in as many years. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, my princess. I didn’t mean to drown on and on about my issues. You wanted to know what happened and that’s it. Not that interesting of a story. I should head to bed. They are inducing Nakia tomorrow, will be a long and exciting day for us all. You’ll be ok in here by yourself?”

“Of course. And yea, Ayo’s on shift tonight. But before you go, I don’t mean to speak out of turn and you can tell me to shut up if you want but I see the way N’Jadaka looks at you, Naja. And the way you look at him. That is not nothing.”

“I wish that were true. Then my memories would feel more like memories and not like fantasies I was too foolish to realize weren’t real.”

With that, she turned to leave. When she made it back to the palace, she returned to her room and slid into bed. She groaned loudly, frustrated at her emotions. They felt like an avalanche barreling down on her and she did not want it. She had let a weakness she thought was long buried show tonight, let her guard down when she should not have. A week and some change in his presence and she was already turning back into that pathetic girl again, so weak and emotional and soft. And all it had taken was one conversation and a couple stray looks down the dining room table.

You’re pathetic… were back then and still are. Some things never change.

But she had changed. She stared up at the ceiling, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. She tried to force him out of her mind, tried to feel rage… at least that felt good. But even that was hard to conjure up. She just felt lost.

She reached into her side table and pulled out her notebook and grabbed her phone.

She hit the callback button, waiting patiently until she heard Dayo’s voice on the phone.

“No new news yet, Malika.”

She nodded. “I know, I know. But I thought we could go over the evidence one more time? Figured you were just sitting in the back, tonight’s always a slow night anyway.”

She could almost hear his smile through the phone. “You really never rest, do you?”

Naja scoffed. “Not when there’s work to be done.”

Dayo’s deep laugh filled her ears before he nodded, going over the latest details with her again.

She took meticulous notes, every brain cell devoted to his words and this task. If she could not avoid the avalanche of feelings barreling toward herself, Naja could press pause on it to escape behind a wall that even Erik could not breach. Even if it could only last a few hours, she could retreat to Malika whose life was an entire lie but still somehow easier to deal with than her own.

***

Naja worked on her footwork as she moved across the mat alone. She was not surprised to find no one willing to practice with her when she took a break from sitting with Nakia to train. Labor was moving slowly and Nakia was asleep, which meant everyone could go off and do what they needed to do until she woke up again.

She had returned to the training center several times, sparring with the new War Dogs as practice. However, after accidentally injuring one of them, most were not willing to risk bodily harm to get on the mat with her. In her defense, the woman had asked her to push her but Naja did not realize she had pushed a bit too far. Thankfully, her injury was fixed within minutes. Now they all still enjoyed watching and taking pointers from Naja but no one volunteered to fight her.

She had been working for a while, only stopping to check her beads for an alert from T’Challa to return to their quarters. However, her concentration was quickly broken by Erik standing on the mat watching her.

She glanced down at her beads, figuring T’Challa had sent for her, though she did not appreciate the messenger. “Is it time?”

“Nah, no change. Docs said it could be a couple more hours.”

“Ok so why are you here?” She knew her tone was rude but she could not hope to care.

“Heard you scared all the puppies,” he remarked. His hands waved down at his workout clothes. “Figured you needed a sparring partner.”

All she could do was scoff. “I’m good. Besides, nothing I said in our last conversation should’ve given the impression I wanted to speak to you again.”

He chuckled, stepping onto the mat as he kicked off his shoes. “You ain’t gotta speak to me. You were right. Last time was a sorry ass attempt to break the ice. My bad. But that fight was the best training I’ve ever seen. So I figured if we train together, we both get what we want. You get to use me as a punching bag every day, which I figured would make you happy and I get more chances to break that ice between us. Worst case, I’m the only nigga who loses here.”

Naja eyed him, searching for an ulterior motive or some other plan she was missing. But she did not see anything. He did have a point, he was a far better opponent for her than any of the students and it would be nice to use his face as a punching bag. However, she knew it was dangerous waters. However, as much as every fiber in her being wanted to scream no, demand she stay the course of avoidance where he was concerned, she found herself doing the exact opposite.

“Fine. But just know, you’re gonna lose. I can use you as a punching bag but you can't break the ice if I don't talk to you.”

He merely smirked and sunk down into his fighting stance. “I think you forgot how much I like a challenge, baby girl.”

And at the sound of those two words, Naja realized that maintaining her hatred for him would be a far harder challenge for her than breaking the ice would be for him.

Simply put? She was fucked.

Tag list: @miyuhpapayuh @pipsqueak-98 @injerafiend @themakingsofdion @lishabaybee @certifiedlesbianbaddie @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @dangerous-history @roguekiki @mysteryuz

***

A/N: Ok so some of the tags aren't working (so sorry friends!) I'm gonna see if I can fix it asap cause that's so annoying! Alright so, I actually LOL'ed that everyone's comments on part 1 were just "well wtf did that nigga do??" hahaha y'all really wanted sis to like get her life together and that made me cackle. But I really wanted to focus on Naja this chapter and how she handles (or rather wholly avoids) her emotions, which is why she is still BIG mad 15 years later lol

So we got some insight this chapter, bits and pieces of the puzzle to answer the "wtf did this nigga do" question, but we have miles to go :)

Drop a comment and let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading!

#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 #erik killmonger #erik killmonger angst #erik kilmonger x reader

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taint3dvirgin · 3 years

Text

Like the Sun, You Slowly Slip Away

Drabble: Angst| Reemed!Erik| what if things weren't going so well in you in Erik's relationship

You were suspended in bliss.....

the moment you first realized the distance between you and Erik. You were in the kitchen, sifting through the refrigerator. Strutting back and forth to bring food to the stove. You were rambling on about something, nothing, everything. You couldn't even process the words as they came--just enchanted in the moment.

But, then you looked back at him, who normally would be smiling up at you and enamored in your presence.

This time though, when you turned around, you'd almost been knocked off your balance by the tightness in his eyes which were black and hollow. His mouth was held in a straight line. He looked as if he were staring past a stranger on the street.

And when he noticed you noticing him, you thought you might become undone from the way he tried to recover. Twitching while trying to find that look that he knew you expected. It came down to a contorted grin, a patronizing stare, and furrowed eyebrows that had him all twisted in the face. That lost grin made its way into a pitiful smile and you could feel the floor open up underneath you. That's when the falling began.

--------

That was just the first moment, that you could remember, before you world was upended.

The second time you felt a wretchedness was on a measly Wednesday night. On Wednesday's, you had pasta for dinner. Either of you would spend hours on end cooking; coming home early if needed. But the world was heavy. So, you'd ordered out.

You didn't cook but you set the table beautifully. A nice bottle of wine on chill. Jazz playing. You wanted the night to feel like comfort.

The hours became spent. When Erik came in, he limped in on a stiff back. You were putting on earrings as he was taking off his boots. You looked back at him even though, he didn't greet you. You spoke and he turned to you.

The place shook. There was the sound of thudding from the furniture crashing as the ground opened up.

This time when you looked at him, he was the antithesis of the person you saw at breakfast. Betrayal held in his eyes. There was a glow on his being, a calm on his clothes, a satisfaction in his posture, his eyes still kept the goddamned smile and the secrets of his spent laughter from the day; taunting you and ready to lie. They shun through those orbs with reticent embarrassment.

Where were you?

My family had a dinner tonight. Please tell me you didn't wait to eat?

Flashes of all those times you'd sat at the family table, arm to arm with him, knowing they regarded you as one of their own. He just sat there, as those memories were stolen from you.

And silence might have befallen if not for the wickedness of the rumbling below.

---- The lies have taken over. You were stuck in a perpetual winter, in a gray skied, suffocating sphere.

But at least, you both were no longer collapsing into the floor.

It was just you now.

Because.......

the third time, and the last time you looked back at him, you saw this heat that threatened to spill its way out of his eyes like a hot spring. There it was again, joy restored to his body, as he thanked you over and over again for trying it out this way. He was moving out, but he swore the two of you would work things out.

According to him, space was the answer.

Convinced on his lies, or half-truths, as he fumbled around the kitchen, going back and forth to take his boxes of memories and new beginnings to the door.

You were going to work this out cried the assuredness of the back touches he paid you as he moved himself out. The moment almost had you.

But at last.....

as he walked down the steps to his car, he looked back at you. And that pitiful, lying grin returned.

You knew that he was not coming back.

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maybecoolwords · 4 years

Text

A Little Insecure ..

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Reader

Word count: 1.5 k

Summary: You were feeling insecure and Erik comes to cheer you up ...

Warnings: Some angst but fluff at the end.

A/N:This fic was requested for a skinny reader, but I did my best to make it for every female reader cuz we all go through an insecure moment and I myself get that feeling where I just wanna lie under a blanket and starve myself, possibly every single day. I just wanna say that it doesn’t matter in what shape or form anybody is, we are all unique, beautiful and smart in our own way, and we all deserve to love ourselves. If anybody wants to talk about it I’m here. I hope you guys like this one, and if you have any requests feel free to tell me. BTW GIF IS NOT MINE.

You’ve been laying on your living room couch for the past hour and a half, just randomly scrolling through social media to pass time. For the past few weeks, you decided to start working from home because of the pandemic. And you were hell-bent on convincing your boyfriend Erik to do the same, which he ultimately agreed to do.

You both decided to quarantine together since you both live in separate places and you won’t be able to see each other for a while if you're willing to lock yourselves at home.

You loved the idea, and since then, it’s been as perfect as you imagined it to be and maybe even better. Sure Erik can get a little annoying sometimes; when he’s too lazy to do his dishes, or when he keeps clinging to you during a conference call for our job - which you don’t mind - or when he uses all the hot water during his morning and night showers. But you turn a blind eye to all of those irritating habits of his, in turn of spending every evening cuddling or watching a movie or just having his warm body all over yours. Which you were supposed to do right about now hadn’t Erik gotten hungry and left you to cook something you know will probably end up burnt.

You were starting to feel kinda cold without him by our side. You already asked Erik if he needed help, but his stubborn self won’t let you anywhere near the kitchen, YOUR kitchen. But hey, as long as he cleans his mess, you’ll do as he says.

You started scrolling through Instagram in wait for “the most delicious meal you’ve ever eaten” as he said. It was when you reached one of your boyfriend’s posts and saw a comment from one of his ex-girlfriends. It was a normal comment, she wasn’t thirsting over him or commenting anything that would offend him or anything like that.

Erik already told you about her, he explained how he has known her for a long time and how they started dating only for it not to work out and decided to stay friends. You understood, of course. I mean, you’re not the type of a woman who would get jealous of her boyfriend’s friends and you don’t feel insecure about your relationship with Erik. God knows it’s the most secure and trusting relationship you’ve ever been in.

But her profile picture was so interestingly beautiful you couldn’t help but snoop a little on her Instagram account. She was so beautiful, the type of girl with an attractive hourglass figure that you only dream about. Most of her posts are of her in different poses showing off her gorgeous body. You tried your best to keep yourself from feeling down about your own body. You knew you’re not as attractive as she seems to be. She looked like a model whilst you looked like you had the most boring wardrobe ever.

You felt bad for yourself. Toxic thoughts started infiltrating your mind. You began to think about how you can put much more effort into how you look than you already do, you felt ashamed and insecure about your own body (which you should not be).

You were so lost in those unnerving ideas you didn’t notice rik approaching you until you felt a warm hand on your cheek wiping a single tear running down your face. You looked at him before you quickly locked your phone and tossed it away.

“What’s wrong princess?” He asked in the most concerned and comforting voice he could use.

You didn’t answer, you just reached your hand to wipe your eyes and calm yourself down a bit.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s upsetting my baby girl or am I gonna have to find out by myself ?” He asked again, trying to get you to open up to him like you always do.

“It’s nothing.” You said as you looked at anything but him, an obvious tell of lying you have. Erik can read you like an open book, and you’re thankful for that, but just not at this particular moment.

“Sweetheart just tell me. You know I don’t like seeing you cry, princess.” He said as he lifted your chin up so you would look him in the eyes. Erik looked at you with the most kind and benign eyes he could muster. It’s his way of showing you that he won’t judge, and he never does.

You want to tell him, you really do, but how? How can you tell him that the reason you so childishly started weeping was over his ex-girlfriend’s pictures? You will sound so whiny or even worse, you'll look like an annoying sensitive girl who cries over the smallest and insignificant of things. But Erik is not the kind to back down when his girl feels even the tiniest bit emotional. So he pushed his way even closer to you on the couch and extended his strong arms to engulf you in a soothingly calming hug.

You can’t put into words how grateful you felt at that moment. Just clinging to him with all your might and having his cologne overtake your senses, as you felt a few kisses on your forehead every once and then. You spent the next few minutes like that until you stopped crying and decided it would be better to explain to him the reason behind your sudden feeling of uneasiness. Because, and as much as you hate to admit it, Erik is your voice of reason. If there was anyone who would wholeheartedly cheer you up and help you feel better, it would be Erik, and you love him for that. He has done it many times before, when work stressed you out, or when you just felt left out or anxious about something, he’d be there to comfort you, with a big box of your favorite chocolates. So after a few sniffles, you calmly said: “Why do you love me?”

“What do you mean ?” He furrowed his brows in confusion before he looked your way, still holding you against his chest.

“I’m not like all the girls you’ve been with before-” You started, “-I’m not as attractive as they are, or as beautifully curvy as they look. They are perfect, and trust me I’m not jealous, but if you can get girls as charming and very, very alluring as they are, then why settle for just .. me?”

Erik was beyond shocked. He thought that maybe you were just upset about work, or you’ve been probably watching some sad video on your phone. He wasn’t expecting you to ask him such a question, especially whilst you held him so tight as if he’s your only lifeline.

He did feel speechless at first, he won’t deny it. He kept thinking, from where would he start answering your question? But he knew for sure, the best answer would be the one spoken from the heart, as cliché as it sounds.

He started by pulling you away from him so he can get a good look at you, and if it wasn’t for his gentle touch you would’ve thought he wanted nothing to do with you. He then lifted your chin to get you to look at him again.

Here goes nothing.. He thought to himself before he said:

“Y/N, it’s true, you're not like those other girls, you’re you. And that is more than enough reason for me to fall in love with you and for you to fall in love with yourself. Sweetheart just because you don’t look like them or you don’t have whatever you think makes them more attractive doesn’t mean they are better than you in any way shape or form. And to be honest, I fell in love with how smart and beautiful you are, and your appearance, to me, is more than attractive and you know it.” He chuckled when he saw a small grin tugging or your lips.

“And I love you not only because of that, but also because of the little things you do for me that always make me feel better, because you always take time to be there for me to wipe away my tears whenever I need you to.” Erik stopped to take a deep breath when he saw your eyes tear up again, but this time, those are not tears of sadness, but tears of cheerfulness.

You couldn’t stop looking at him. His voice was so soothing and peaceful and not once did he hesitate when he spoke.

“And to answer your question-” He added, “I didn’t settle just for you; I actually think I hit the jackpot with you. And I live every day trying to become the best version of myself, to be there for you like you’re there for me every time. And trust me when I say I’m never letting go of you, ever.” He finished as he placed another kiss on your forehead.

“I love you.” You said.

“I love you too.” He answered before you pulled him in a soft and delicate kiss. Quick, firm and delicious. He started to pull away after he felt you smile in the kiss, then as carefully as he could, he said: “I burnt the pasta I was making ..”

#Erik Killmonger #Erik killmonger x Reader #black!reader #female!reader #black panther #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x reader #fluff #angst #fanfic

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songficsbyrissi · 5 years

Text

None Of Your Concern (Erik x Reader)

“Guess that's none of my concern anymore

None of my concern (It ain't worth anymore)

It ain't even worth it no more

It ain't even worth it (It ain't worth it)

It don't even hurt anymore

It don't even hurt” -Jhene Aiko feat. Big Sean

A/N: I knowwwwww I owe you guys SO MANY WRITINGS. Like I’m really trying to finish Let em know part 4 and post that but im a little stuck and a lot of busy. I will dish out all the writings I owe! Anyways, this is random but I heard this new Jhene Aiko song today and I fucked with it and it got my creative juices flowing so I decided to write it. It’s a little shorter than usual but I hope y’all enjoy!

*******************

You stared intensely at your cellphone that was put on speaker. There was silence on the other line and you sure as hell weren’t going to say anything.

Not to him.

You knew when you went from changing his name from “Do not answer” to deleting his contact all together would come back and bite you in the ass. “Do not answer” hasn’t flashed on your phone since the early stages of the break up so you figured since time passed, it was an appropriate time to delete his contact. You picked the perfect time to do it. When you were applying to new jobs and answering any number, hoping it was a call back.

You answered the phone enthusiastically when he called and when he spoke those two words-

“It’s me.”

You knew who “me” was. “Me” was your fucking ex. Erik. Of course he calls right when you forgot about him completely.

You didn’t say anything after that. Instead, you stepped away from the device as if you were trying to put even more distance between the two of you. You wanted to hang up but he wanted to talk to you and you knew he wasn’t going to stop until he got to. You hoped he would just hang up and realize y’all were over and staying over. After a few minutes, he stayed on the other line so you sighed in realization that you were finally going to have to talk to your ex. You should’ve known this day was coming.

“What the fuck do you want, Erik?” You finally spoke with venom laced in your tone. You were hoping he could feel you sneering at him through the phone. You heard him sigh deeply and you know he was trying not to catch an attitude.

“To talk. Not yell, not accuse, not attack. I want to talk.”

“Well we don’t always get what we want, sweetheart.” You replied in a faux sweet voice as if you were talking to a disobedient child.

He ignored your remark. “How are you?”

“H-“

You were stunned by his question. “How are you?” Did this nigga really just ask you how are you? You were honestly a lot of things, but most importantly, not in the mood to be talking to him. Not when you were just getting over him. Damn, you should’ve never dated his ass.

“How I am.....is none of your concern anymore.” You responded softly taking a seat next to your phone.

“Whatchu mean? It will always be my concern. I’ll still fucking care about you, shorty.”

Your voice got hardened. “Bullshit. You weren’t concerned about me when we were dating so why the hell would you be concerned now?”

From the other line, you could hear Erik rise from what you assume is his bed, by the sounds of bed springs with his movement. He was sitting up which meant he was ready to get in that ass.

“Aight I tried to be civil with your ass but now you’re getting on my damn nerves! What is your problem?! Why are you being so damn mean?!”

You took the phone off speaker and put it to your ear. “You’re my fucking problem, Erik! You are!” You heard him suck his teeth hard as hell.

“Girl, shut up!

“Nigga, you need to watch your tone with me! You know I’m not the one!” You yelled with your eyes narrowing at your reflection in the mirror. “Get your bitchass off my phone! Take your bullshit ass concern and give it to that bitch you be out with. You moved on quick as shit, didn’t you?”

“Oh you sounding a little bit jealous. Is that why you getting so spicy with me, ma? It annoys you that your spot might be taken!” He was sneering now, amused that you brought up the busted looking ass bitch he moved on to. “But I’m hearing things about you and some other niggas. Someone took my spot now? You just moving on quick as shit, too!

You laughed sardonically, crossing your legs and sitting back. “No, baby boy. I’m just disappointed. What do you even see in her? I expected better from you. But then again, what could be better than me?” You mumbled the last part but Erik caught it and couldn’t hide the little smirk that comment caused.

“If you’re better for me, then why are we not together anymore?”

You weren’t expecting that question at all. You but your lip, contemplating the answer. It was hard coming up with the legit reason why he was no longer your boyfriend. The memories flashing before your eyes were causing tears to build up in your eyes and you swallowed back some.

“We just didn’t work anymore.”

When he didn’t say anything, you continued.

“I was traumatized and suicidal, I'm sick and tired. My depression was real and you weren’t there for me. I needed you and I was the least of your concerns.” Your anger came back. “And now you on my phone with the audacity to fucking ask me if I’m fucking with other niggas?!??! BOY FUCK YOU! I’M NOT YOUR GIRL ANYMORE!”

“I KNOW YOU AIN’T MY FUCKING GIRL ANYMORE! AIGHT?! I FUCKING GET THAT! But guess what, Y/N? You knew it was hard for me to deal with all that! I told you I had issues when we first met! I told you I was damaged myself and I haven’t repaired myself! Did you really expect a sick person to heal a sick person?!”

“I didn’t want you to heal me, Erik! I wanted you to heal with me! Be fucking there! Was that asking for too much?!”

“From me? Yes it was.”

There was a blanket of silence after all the truth revealed. The truth was, you and him both had issues. Because of those issues, you couldn’t be together. If anything, y’all were doing more damage to each other. Erik has been damaged from his previous relationships. Giving his all to his girlfriends then they ended up stomping on his heart. It was hard for him to give his all to you and that’s all you wanted.

“I do want better for you, Erik.” You finally spoke.

“I want the best for you but these other niggas I’ve seen you with, don’t deserve you. I’m not sure if I even deserve you but I know I needed you more than I needed myself. I wasn’t trying to heal myself but you were the first girl who wanted me to heal. “ Erik was opening up to you which caught you off guard but you continued to listen to him. “If you ever find my replacement.....I don’t even think you can.”

“Excuse me?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I doubt you can find a nigga that can make you cum 9 times in a day like I did.” You laughed a little, sat back, and realized something. Damn. How were you going to find a nigga that will dick you down like Erik used to? It didn’t matter. You have to move on and so does he.

“I still think about you naked and the taste of you and how you feel so good around me but I guess that’s none of your concerns.”

You gulped hard playing with the end of your shorts, letting out a dry laugh even though you knew he wasn’t joking. “Right.” You sniffled and cleared your throat. “Erik, I do wish you the best of luck though.”

“Same here, Y/N. Same here. Good night.”

“Good night.”

You pulled the cellphone away from your ear and gazed at Erik’s number displayed on the screen. Erik did deserve the best. You both did. He was no longer your concern anymore and you were no longer his.

But the funny thing is....that last statement held no truth.

Tags: @lifelover4u @dessianna1 @brattywriters-anonymous @marvelpotterlove @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @ljstraightchaser @slimmiyagi @cancerianprincess @iamrheaspeaks @blowmymbackout @vibranium-chakra @nerd-lovely @chaneajoyyy @ohliyaxoxo @chefjessypooh @yourfavoritefavorite @airis-paris14 @ljstraightnochaser @quietstorm-73 @msincognito67 @sociallyawkward18 @mychemicalimagines @nerd-lovely @marvelpotterlove @destinio1 @madamslayyy @thehomierobbstark

#Erik Killmonger #Erik Stevens #erik x reader #erik killmonger x you #Erik killmonger x Reader #erik killmonger x black reader #erik killmonger angst #none of your concern #erik stevens x reader #black panther #black panther fanfiction #black panther fic #black panther x reader #black panther imagine #black panther fanfic

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adropofmelanin · 6 years

Text

Catching His Eye

(ONGOING)

Your friends finally drag you out of the house and onto the dancefloor, but little do you know, you are being watched. Erik’s eyes are something that you ultimately can’t resist, and your curiosity gets the better of you. When you decide to go with the flow, your choice throws you down a path that you aren’t ready for.

An Erik Killmonger x Reader fic series!

*******************************************************************************************

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Bonus Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 12.5 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Part18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23

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starcrossedxwriter · 1 year

Text

New Fic Alert: Unbreakable (Erik Killmonger x Black Wakandan OC)

Listen. I have 0 self control lol so here we are with another oneeee. This is a Black Panther AU in which Erik was raised alongside T'Challa in Wakanda after his father died and returned to America at 18. And Nakia has a sister (our OC).

Summary:

Naja, the younger sister of the Queen of Wakanda, hated few things. And at the top of that shortlist: Prince N’Jadaka. Well, if she were honest, he was the entirety of the list. Once destined to be a princess of Wakanda, Naja was the picture of kindness and grace. Now, she is hailed as Wakanda’s most fearless, dangerous, and reclusive war dog. After more than a decade of putting as much distance as possible between her and the life she almost had, Naja is forced to come face to face with the person she hates most again. With a threat looming over Wakanda and lives at risk, Naja must decide if trusting Prince N'Jadaka is worth the risk before it is too late.

So because these folks are actually fictional lol I have a face claim for our OC for once! But like all my OCs, you should picture yourself if you want.

This is for my Erik Killmonger girliesssssss! Trying my hand at something new (we'll see how it goes lol) Let me know if you want to be tagged.

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan fanfic #black panther #erik kilmonger x reader #erik killmonger angst #erik killmonger #Erik Killmonger fic

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eye-raq · 5 years

Text

Lethal Lust.

A snippet.

Rage flowed through him like molten lava.

His fury sprang to life.

His edge of irritation had definitely returned.

Today, at approximately 3:15 am, on Saturday, he was wearing a suit. A Harrogate Black Indochino suit made with 95% Merino Wool, and only 5% luxurious Cashmere; which was a shame because it added warmth, softness, and lightness. His feet were covered in D-ring detail Monogram Patent Leather formal dress shoes by Burberry. Fixing his silver cufflinks with obvious aggressiveness, he began to walk the length of the hallway.

It wasn’t a typical hallway located in a fancy banquet or ballroom. No. It was narrow and smelly. Windowless, and ancient. Gloomy with a sadistic secret. Hideously colored. Cold and annoyingly stuffy. And to top it all off, accompanied with flickering fluorescent light bulbs and walls with chipped off-white paint. When he walked, you could hear the sound of his dress shoes bouncing off of the hollow walls. His hands were clasped behind his back casually, whistling to himself a random catchy tune he came up with. Godspeed to the person he was looking for, the one that earned him a bloody lip that leaked onto his once perfectly crisp and white dress shirt.

This was child’s play. Hide and seek was for five-year-olds named Sally, Susie, Billy, and Mikey. So much for trying to be a different kind of horror. No matter how much he veered away from that narrative, people still found him to be like Micheal Myers. How he couldn’t tell you. Micheal was clearly otherworldly and not human. As for him, he was all human. One gunshot to the head and he would drop to his knees with eyes as wide as saucers, falling forehead first in a pool of blood. One quick step and a precise strike with a Karambit knife would slice open his gut leading to a slow, yet painful death.

Speaking of knives, he was currently holding a kukri: a middle Asia knife that is weighed in the front. It gives the user more downward force and power. Commonly used to chop down tree limbs, or in his case...human limbs.

With sharp ears like a wolf, he could hear breathing. Struggling, pained breathing. It was coming from his right. Oh, how nice...a dark room with a tiny rusted window that reminded you of a dank basement that belonged to a serial killer. Funny...he was a serial killer. Not like a Ted Bundy, or a Jeffrey Dahmer. Nah, those were the kinds he went after. Those were the ones who ended up here in his secret layer holding on to their last breaths before the final image they see is the morgue lights.

He could taste blood. His anger felt so good but it would feel even better if he just had that son of a bitch. His nostrils flared. With twitching eyes, he made his way into that pitch black room like he had night vision goggles on. With his hunting and tracking skills, he makes his way slyly into the room, twirling that Kukri knife in hand skillfully like a switchblade. Taking in a deep breath, then exhaling, he finally speaks.

“Funny...I actually thought to tie your legs with a chain but the urge to kill you was eating away at me. Excuse my fault...you won’t have long to worry about that shit anyway.”

Moving his eyes from left to right, he walks along the cold concrete wall, dragging that knife across it with every step.

“You won’t believe what I have in my hand. It’s your Kukri. You’re familiar with those, right? You use them a lot when you murder all those girls, correct? I can understand why it gets the job done.”

He takes the knife and places it firmly in his grip, walking with a rigid form. He could smell the alcohol and infection on him and it was only a matter of time before he unleashed again on his prey. His disgusting prey. The prey who preyed on little girls...one, in particular, Samara Jenkins.

—————-

15 hours ago:

“This is NBC 6, South Florida News. Today, Miami Police found the body of the missing six-year-old girl: Samara Ella Jenkins. Daughter to pastors of Heavenly Home Baptist Church, Ertha Jenkins, and Sydney Jenkins. Their daughter had been missing for over two weeks now. Miami police have been searching day in, and day out for this missing pure soul, and today...they finally made a discovery.”

Erik watched while the news reporter drowns on. The camera scanned the Everglades. It looked particularly dry and withering; a fucking Gator central. With narrow hawk eyes, a single vein appearing in the middle of his forehead, he took in the news he really wanted to hear, no matter how hard it was to listen. He needed to listen. It was his God-given duty to listen.

“Young Samara was found here in the wetlands wrapped in a trash bag, surrounded by Alligators. It took great difficulty at first, but the Police have confirmed that it is indeed Samara. The family has asked for privacy at this time, and the immediate finding of her murderer.”

Pausing his TV, Erik got up from his seated position, walking through his living room and towards the kitchen. His steel toe Doc Martens dragged across the freshly placed tile of his Miami apartment, walking past the black marble kitchen island and directly towards his office. It was time. If his memory serves him, it had been almost a month since his last kill. The urge was building up so much within him he was ready to combust. The sound of his Father's old grandfather clock that was given to him as a gift before he died ticked in the background eerily. Finally, standing in front of his fireproof wall safe, Erik cracked his combination. Pulling open the door slowly, he came face to face with his treat.

He’d like to call it… a souvenir. He took pride in it like a child did a sand castle on the beach. They served as trophy cases to him. There, lies a box with blood slides. In it housed 46 slides of his victims. Taking the box, Erik places it on top of his glass desk. Opening the box, he ran a single finger gently across the top of the slides as the glass slightly clattered. At times, he would refer to the slides as “my secret” or other times, “my pride kills...my friends.”

It’s funny that he called them friends. A few he caught the attention of by raising a glass with an easy-going smile. For others, he would pick up a random conversation from maybe bumping shoulders about the Miami weather and how shitty their jobs were. Or even, dropping a hint of sexual interest that always seemed to work since his looks were beyond dismal. Ordinary. Regular. No. Erik was handsome. The kind of handsome you would find in a Calvin Klein add or sitting in VIP at some high-end club surrounded by models. Not a woman could walk by and not stop and stare.

“I guess I gotta make it 47,” he lets out controlled breaths, eyes watering with anger. The person's blood who would reside on the empty forensic slide goes by the name of Dean Orrin. 38 years old and an ex-military man. A man who should be registered as a Pedophile but instead walks the streets of South Beach proud and cocky. This man, what a son of a bitch. This redneck. Such a waste of fresh air and space. The raging alcoholic and child abuser worked as a Respiratory Therapist at a children’s hospital. Can you believe it? A fucking children’s hospital. His shifts were Monday through Thursday, 9 am to 5 pm. He drove a 1992 Ford Mustang in red, seats covered in fresh leather.

Too bad the vintage car didn’t match this man’s physical appearance.

He was short, balding, square-shaped with a beer belly and a faux-friendly face that belonged to a white man you wouldn’t dare assume was a murderer of young black and Latina girls ranging from the ages of 4 to 10.

Erik would sit outside of Dean’s Miami Shores home on Ne 92nd Street. He lived alone, kept the doors unlocked to give off a friendly vibe, picked up the newspaper every day around 8:00 am, and ate the same old Salisbury steak TV dinner around 7:45 pm in front of his flat screen; his prized possession. One evening while Dean was away, Erik took the time to investigate Dean’s home. Of course, he would find child pornography on his computer, and even worse an entirely dark room with cardboard boxes filled with photographs of his victims bound and naked.

Erik picked up a picture of little Samara, afraid and weak with ropes around her little body. His eyes watered with rage, biting down on his tongue and ignoring the pain. He felt worse pain anyway. This was sickening. How could you hurt such an innocent child? Such pure light? It made no sense to him. Clearly, Dean had something deep and traumatic going on with him to resort to this type of lifestyle. Erik had demons too, and he sometimes wondered if they were all one and the same; a family of murderers United. He’d keep Samaras photo, it would only serve to kill Dean even more. Slide number 47 would be clean no longer.

Erik has built a file on this man for over a month now. After finding out about the murder of his Neighbors young Latina daughter, Cassie, age 8, he began to piece together the parts that Miami Day Police failed to do.

Dean’s way of going about doing things was getting to know the children that came through Giving Hands Children’s Hospital in South Beach. He would give them treats, learn things about them, and extract whatever information he needed from their files. No personal contact involving the parents, no meetups or anything, just getting the information and kidnapping the children.

He didn’t do it so often. Dean’s stretch would be at least a month or two in between. Samara was his fourth murder. Erik broke it down one rainy night in his office how Dean successfully snatched Samara and killed her. Heavenly Home Baptist Church held fundraisers for their neighborhood. The last night Samara was seen, only two weeks ago on a Thursday, was the night of Youth Day. It was an open house for anyone to come in and be a part of because Heavenly Hope housed generous, God-fearing people. Little Samara took her badminton racket to the back lawn, never telling her mother she was going out for some fresh air. She’d been gone for over an hour and Miss Ertha made a plate filled with Samaras favorites.

Well, you could probably guess what happened next, right? Everyone at that church searched high and low for her. Her parents and siblings had sleepless nights, signs and billboards were made, all in a span of two weeks. It hurts deep like an open wound. Erik never had kids, probably never will...but still...he could feel their pain. No matter, Erik was a man of his word. He wasn’t great in combat with a keen skill in blood spatter analysis, tracking, and weapons training for nothing. He’d put all of that to good use.

———

Saturday, April 1st: the day of fools. 1:30 am.

Sitting in an expensive suit that he intended to wear on a date, Erik finally finds the perfect opportunity to catch Dean. Erik could only hope that his date wouldn’t be angry with him, after all, she practically begged.

This motherfucker couldn’t be serious, could he?

He was already drunk off of Jack Daniels and now he was gearing towards entering an 18 and over club on Ocean Drive. The rage in Erik boiled his blood. Was Dean trying to age up his victims now? Is cockiness getting to him since he hadn’t been caught yet?

All of these things added to Erik’s fury, but the fury was what he needed to stay amped up. Anger for Erik made him more proud. He was correct to lay down an extra layer of plastic this time.

“Sick motherfucker,” Erik shakes his head, a single finger tapping at the steering wheel of his burner car that he used for kills; some beat up old Chevy with a stolen license plate.

This vigilante never sleeps when it comes to a kill.

Just stay in the shadows, Erik…

Night time is your time.

You have to be cunning to outwit your foes. The flashing club lights ignited his face purple, red, and blue. Bodies moved about in packs, sweat dripping and fingers intertwined. Erik could almost feel the heart beats racing among him. Young and naive they all were, especially the young girl Dean was eyeing.

She looked to be about 19, a drink in her hand and braids so long they swept the backs of her legs. She twirled, shouted to the music, and twerked in her own little world. Dean was compelled. Erik could see the killing fetish in his eyes so deep his pupils dilated an almost pitch black. Erik wanted badly to choke him up right here and finish the job but then that wouldn’t help him, would it? Keeping to the shadows, Erik watched until it was time for him to make his move.

———-

“Feel like making a deal with the devil?”

The young girl with honeyed skin and full lips turns to Dean, a little jumpy from being caught off guard. She regarded him, eyes squinted.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, do you feel like making a deal with the devil?”

Dean pulls out a baggy filled with LSD, swinging it in front of her face. The girl was tempted for a second, that was until she looked back at Dean and saw the sweat covering his face, a faded tattoo of a pentagram on the inside of his wrist, and the maniacal way he licked his lips.

“Uhm, no thanks. I’m okay.”

The young girl gave him a generous smile before sauntering away towards the back of the club. Clearly, Dean didn’t like being told no. He stood still for what felt like minutes, staring at her retreating form until she disappeared around a corner and out of sight. Like clockwork, Dean follows, a hand deep in his pocket and shoulders hunched. It was time, Erik had to make a move now before the young girl became Dean’s new victim.

Ignoring lingering stares of passion that he didn’t like nor accepted, Erik maneuvered through the crowd as they parted like the Red Sea for him, finally around that corner and hot on Dean’s trail. Apparently, the young girl wasn’t going to the ladies. There was an exit straight ahead, the LED of the sign almost blinding and cryptic. With much more speed now, Erik dashes to the back door, black leather gloved hand pushing open the swinging doors.

His dress shoes met a puddle, and his hands clenched into fists. There was no sign of either of them.

Fuck.

Deciding to make a left, Erik followed his path down the narrow garbage filled alley, head moving from left to right to find him. To his luck, he could hear struggling, choking breaths. Keeping close to the wall, Erik looked around that corner at the edge of the alley, coming face to face with the devil himself.

Dean had the young girl smashed against the brick wall, his hand lazily rubbing under her skirt. Every time she tried to scream, Dean would smash her face further into the brick.

“Shut up...shut up...shut up...SHUT UP!!!” Dean yelled, spit flying and a snarl on his face. He looked red from anger.

“Keep still you black bitch!!!! Keep still or I will slit your fucking throat with my knife!”

Erik has seen enough now.

Pulling out his 9mm pistol with a silencer, Erik’s 20/20 sniper vision aided him as he aimed a bullet at Dean’s side, watching as the stout man fell to his knees in agonizing pain, releasing the young girl from his deadly grip. She kicked away and down the alley in the opposite direction, screaming in tears and limping. A life saved, and one before him ready to be taken away.

Erik watched with joy and triumph as Dean stared into the darkness with confusion and pain, rolling around in the mud, shit, piss, and garbage juice.

“WHOS THERE!!!!!!!!!!” He yelled between cries, blood staining his teeth.

“AM I GOING TO DIE?!!!PLEASE, NO. AM I GOING TO DIE HERE?!!!”

Erik made his way towards him, adjusting his gloves and storing away his gun. It was so dark, Dean couldn’t make him out, but he could hear his footsteps.

“OMG. Who’s there!!!!!!!!!!”

Erik picks Dean up one-handed by his collar, silencing him with a tranquilizer to the neck. Dean was now dead weight. Luckily, his car was parked on the other side of the alley, and the coast was clear.

———

“Wha? Where am I?”

Dean blinked twice, rubbing his right hand over his dry tears. Sniffling snot, wrists in pain from being wrapped in chains, Dean stares into the pitch black, figuring he had to be in the trunk of a car with the smell of gas and rubber. Was this his fate? Was God finally judging him?

Death clearly doesn’t discriminate.

He took the lives of young girls, so now the price to pay was his life.

And to think he had a chance tonight with another kill. Maybe, it was too soon to go out for another thrill.

He could feel his death.

The amount of pain he was in, he felt like he was dead already. Ah, now he remembers. Someone shot him in the ribs back in that alley. Aiming for his respiratory technique, Dean breathed slowly and steadily, trying his hardest to avoid the feeling of his own blood dripping from his gunshot wound. If only he could apply pressure without bleeding out so much.

Whoever this person was wanted to take their time with him.

The sound of the car door slamming followed by the car shaking from the impact made Dean go stiff. It was time to meet His executioner. And when his time is up, would they tell his story? Make him another missing person? Dean much rather be seen in the spotlight like the Zodiac Killer had been. Too bad he wasn’t swift enough. Was it a parent of one of his victims? an off duty cop who just had to bring work home?

Whistling began.

“What?” Dean’s voice was scratchy and pathetic sounding.

With the trunk now open, Dean could feel the humid air of Miami pour in. Catching his breath and bracing himself, Dean came face to face with an unfamiliar foe. He had dreads braided back, a crisp suit that must have cost a fortune, hands covered with leather gloves and eyes so cold they could petrify you. He looked like a mercenary, or maybe a hit man. He was young, could be around early thirties. He smiled sadistically. Fuck. Was this bastard as crazy as him?

“It takes a monster to destroy a monster.”

That statement alone was bone chilling. He had the same kill stare but with a different goal.

“You’re playing my fucking game now. No little girls to touch and kill here. You should fear me.”

Swiftly, The unknown man grabbed Dean by the neck, pulling him up and out of the trunk. Dean rolled onto his elbow, pain shooting through his arm and dirt filling his lungs. It was so overbearing that he felt oxygen deprived. With his feet failing him, Dean tries to crawl away, but of course, that wouldn’t work, he was too fat and too weak.

“You can crawl all you want. Your fate remains the same, motherfucker.” Like the Hulk himself gripped his legs, Dean was dragged back across the ground, feet flapping and nails clawing at rocks and dirt. He could feel his skin splitting. With one struggling kick, his foot met the man’s face, bloodying his lip. No words were said then. His eyes were ice cold and demon like. Dean didn’t know what hit him, but those eyes made him get on his feet, and he ran into the abandoned building straight ahead. He didn’t hear the man’s footsteps, guessing that maybe he was too hurt to follow him and find him.

Little did Dean know his weapon of choice: a Kukri knife fell out of his back pocket. Erik has that very knife in his possession now, more than excited to use Dean’s weapon against him. This was going to be one hell of a bloody night.

——-

It was just too easy for him. He needed a challenge. That’s it...a challenge. Maybe a Russian who escaped prison and decided to go on a genocide killing spree. Or a calculated serial killer who played him at his own game. Dean was easy prey. They all had the same motive: hide in the most typical places, pray to themselves and breathe so loud the people down the road could hear, or worse, bleed out and leave a bloody trail. Dean’s wound was beginning to smell. Erik’s sense of smell when it came to infected, rotting, flesh was nearly non-existent. It didn’t bother him one bit.

All the lives he took when he killed in Afghanistan, Iraq, the States apart of JSOC and when he was an ex-assassin made it that way. The scars on his skin were there to prove it. Now, he did the kills without taking orders from no one.

“Dean...you fat ass motherfucker. Dirty, disgusting, sick, smelly ass, redneck, motherfucker.”

Erik drew in his bottom lip between his teeth, the sound of the leather gloves on his hand crunching from how tightly his fists were clenched.

“Why little Black and Latina girls, Dean? What’s so special about them? Is it the fact that they aren’t as privileged as your kind? The colonizers?”

Dean was so fucking stupid. How could someone go so long with precisely killing four little girls but hide where Erik could see him? In a dirty corner filled with old dusty crates and broken glass shards, Erik could see the silhouette of Dean Orrin. His body was practically leaning over from how weak he was. All that blood loss failed him. No energy, no will power, just dead weight.

Letting out a stressed sigh, Erik pocketed the Kukri, walking over to Dean. Picking him up by the back of his hoodie, hopefully choking him, he began to drag him across the dusty cobweb filled floor, startling him and causing him to scream.

“You a bitch, you know that? You kill little girls like you a man but wanna scream like a woman because you are about to die. I knew chicks more gangsta than you.”

Erik laughs hard, finally back in that hallway and headed towards his destination.

“Tell me,” Erik yanks him, hearing him choke up.

“Why little girls? Got raped when you were a kid? Touched your ex little daughter in her sleep and got a hard-on? What?!!!” Erik releases Dean, turning to yoke him up forcefully. Dean’s blurry and dizzy vision made Erik look like five Erik’s. He could still see the hard eyes though, they could never go forgotten.

“ANSWER. MY. FUCKING. QUESTION.”

Erik’s breathing was the only sound, Dean’s mind forcing him to speak but words couldn’t form. That pissed Erik off...oh...that made him mad. Erik’s eyes flickered a moment, before taking one hand to retrieve the Kukri, twirling it between his fingers, and ramming it into dean’s side, opening his gunshot wound further.

Dean’s screams were suspended in his throat, eyes watery and teeth grinding. His breath hit Erik’s nose causing him to drop him on the floor, back to dragging his lard ass leaving a bloody trail.

——

The old morgue was famous back in 95’ but it was closed due to concerns with keeping the dead cold until it was time for burial. It was gated off with grass growing so high gators could live here. No one dares to trespass, leaving it as a haunted destination to never visit. Erik had it soundproofed, and he fixed it up himself. He never used the morgue refrigerators, what was the point anyway? He didn’t care to slow up the decomposition phase. His job was to hunt, kill, and discard of the parts. Currently, in this fully double plastic-covered room, Erik had Dean on an operating table in the charnel house, head and feet restrained. He blinked up at the lights, failing to keep his eyes opened. Dean was already pale, now he looked almost chalky with skin leatherlike. Erik removed his suit jacket, hanging it neatly on a nearby coat rack. The sleeves to his white oxford shirt were rolled up to his elbows, surgical gloves on his hands and an entire surgical gown with goggles included to shield the blood splatter.

A medium force (velocity) impact spatter:

Produced with more energy or force than gravity.

The force of the impact causes the blood to break into smaller size splatters relative to the amount of force applied.

This type of splatter is usually seen in blunt force, stabbings, and secondary splatters.

Produced when the majority of larger drops of blood are broken into smaller spatters with diameters of 2-4 mm.

The force associated with this type of spatter is greater than 25 ft per second.

His first victim, Alejandra Lopez was just 4 years old. It was a rainy week in Miami; they called for thunderstorms around 90%. She was riding her little training wheel bike colored blue and pink down a small suburb in Little Havana. Her slicker hood was up, rain droplets shielding her vision but so what? she was on a mission. Her dad nicknamed her little trainer, speedy. Giggling, she made a sharp turn, only to fall off and in the gutter. She winced in pain slightly, but Alejandra was tough. Her mother was passed out drunk on the couch while her father was pulling doubles at the auto shop. Alejandra carefully lifted from the gutter, whipping off the mud from her slicker. As her doe grey eyes lifted, she came face to face with her murder. He struck her over the head with a lead pipe, watching as her tiny body fell to the concrete, cracking her skull further…

Erik couldn’t sleep after seeing that on the news.

So terrible.

The thought of that crossed his mind just now, causing him to pick up a broken lead pipe he found near a construction site on his way home from the beach. Twirling that lead pipe in hand, he turns to Dean, clearing his throat.

“You remember Alejandra? In Little Havana?”

Dean swallows spit, his eyes struggling to look to his right where Erik was standing.

“I-I-Yeah..yeah the little Mexican girl. I-I remember…” Dean began to cry.

“You remember how you used a pipe to crack her skull?” Erik’s grip on the pipe grew tight and painful.

“...yes…”

“How did that make you feel?”

“...good...but please...don’t…”

“There will be blood, Dean. And guess what? I got a lead pipe.”

Erik began to walk forward, pipe resting on his shoulder.

“WHO ARE YOU TO DECIDE MY FATE?!!! HUH??!!!!!!” Dean screamed at the top of his lungs, causing himself to cough up blood. He was going to die anyway, no use in screaming.

“I’m the Judge. Jury. And Executioner. Don’t fucking bark if you can’t bite.” He sounded baneful and destructive.

Everything went silent, that was until the pipe broke the wind from how forceful Erik’s blow was. Erik aimed that pipe to Dean’s head, the sound of his temporal bone splitting music to his ears. Dean shook, fingers twitching, and eyes wide with pain. His nose began to leak, eyes watering in agony. At this point, he could beg for instant death. Erik did damage for sure, his brain must be ricocheting in his skull right now.

An ugly laugh escaped Erik’s mouth, the sound of the pipe hitting plastic only audible to him since Dean’s hearing was no more.

“I-I-I w-won’t Let you-you…” Dean chokes on blood. His heart rate began to slow further.

“The question isn’t who’s going to let me. It’s who’s going to stop me?” Erik took this as an opportunity to pull out his Kukri. Yes, his now.

“I can imagine how many times you wipe this clean. Fucking sick...and I thought my traumatic past was bad? I can’t imagine yours…”

Holding the knife firm, Erik brought it to Dean’s right hand, cutting it off cleanly. At this point, Dean couldn’t even scream. He was already dying, all he could do was wither in pain. Cutting the hands of a pedophile. You touch young girls and murder them, you get your hands amputated. His dick getting cut off sounded great but Erik didn’t even want to SEE IT. Without saying another word, his other hand was amputated. The blood splatter Erik knew well stained the plastic.

With a clenched jaw and savage eyes, Erik takes Dean by his greasy head, bringing that Kukri to his throat.

“This is for Samara, and all the other little girls you killed. They have no fucking life, now you won’t.”

Erik twirled that knife, swiping across Dean’s neck quickly, watching the blood splatter briefly before slowing to a drip. The life could be seen leaving Dean Orrin’s eyes under those morgue lights.

——-

First off, it’s important to understand what dead bodies are like. They’re very heavy, they absolutely stink, they attract flies and vermin practically from the word go, they release a lot of unpleasant substances, they bloat and they can even explode. Draining the fluids as quickly as possible and mixing them with a lot of bleach before flushing them would prevent this.

Should the body be found, you need to make it as difficult as possible to identify. This means destroying the teeth, finger, and toe prints, and the DNA. The first two are easy, the last one is more tricky. Erik wasn’t a forensic scientist, so he just settled for the teeth and toes. Living in Miami, water was an easy source to dump bodies. Erik used to settle for burying them, but that took hours and a lot of footprints left behind. To make his life easier, he simply dumped the bodies far out in the ocean while taking a routine route on his boat. Applying weights to the feet and covering them with heavy duty body bags always helped him out. This was the only way he could dispose of the evidence before the police got wind of it, which they never did.

Erik wasn’t a wanted man, at least, not as Erik Stevens. When he was Killmonger, international police wanted his neck. Killmonger came out to play when he took the lives of vermin to satisfy his needs, but he went away when he did his daily routines. Believe it or not, Erik had friends, a foster sister, and maybe a possible girlfriend. It was odd, Erik considered himself to be asexual. He didn’t find romantic attraction or love for a woman. It never interested him in having a romantic relationship with a woman. He had sex, though it was more so because he could not because he wanted to. Being asexual had nothing to do with his dick, it was about the sexual and romantic attraction that didn’t spark his interest. It’s not like he didn’t try. There were days where he wanted that, other days he just didn’t and they were most days. Erik was attractive, rough around the edges, a lady killer without even trying. He needed to move on, make it look normal, kill those who deserved it in secret. These were the words of his late foster father who was a fireman.

Erik…

He could hear his father's voice in his head.

Be strong, Erik. Remember, use your disorder for the greater good. Kill those who deserve to be punished...

With a heavy sigh and all his upper arm strength, Erik heaved Dean Orrin’s body over the railing of his boat and into the ocean water. So long Dean Orrin. The pedophile. The abuser. The murderer. Erik took out the tiny glass vial of his horrid blood, twirling it in hand before pocketing it once more, turning to grab up his Hennessy.

“Ah, they playing Wu-Tang tonight,” he smiles as if it were any other evening, sitting back on his suede all-white sofa with his dress shoe covered feet resting on the fancy glass table.

Time to sleep on the water again.

@goddessofthundathighs @hearteyes-for-killmonger @panthergoddessbast @blowmymbackout @chaneajoyyy @bartierbakarimobisson @madamslayyy

————-

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