Epiphany🤍🍒

You should’ve kept your mouth shut.

That was the only thought in your head the second Erik’s hand closed around your throat and shoved you back against the wall. His grip was firm, deliberate— not crushing, but tight enough that your pulse hammered under his fingers and every breath had to work for it.

“Say it again.” His voice was low, almost calm. “Go on. Loud enough for me to hear it this time.”

You swallowed against his palm. The teasing had started light— sitting on the edge of the bed in just his shirt, swinging your legs, smirking while he peeled off his hoodie. You’d looked him up and down, lingered on the bulge in his sweats, and dropped it like a joke.

“Damn, Erik. For all that shit you be talkin’… you packin’ something real small under there, huh?”

He’d gone still. Dangerously still.

Now you are pinned, his body caging yours, thigh forcing your legs apart so you could feel exactly how hard he already was.

“I—”

“Say. It. Again.”

You should’ve stopped. Instead the bratty smile curled back onto your mouth.

“What? You mad I called your shit small? Look at all that attitude for a nigga with a little di—”

The rest of the word never made it out.

Erik’s free hand fisted in your hair and yanked your head back hard, forcing your face up toward his. At the same time his grip on your throat tightens just enough that your vision flickered at the edges. Not enough to black out. Just enough that every breath was shallow and controlled by him.

“Keep talkin’ yo’ shit,” he muttered, already dragging his sweatpants down. “Keep running that fuckin’ mouth like you don’t know exactly what happens when you do.”

He let go of your throat just long enough to shove his sweatpants down his hips. Then he spun you, shoved you face-first onto the mattress, and climbed over you in one fluid motion. One hand locked back into your hair, pinning your cheek to the sheets. The other wrapped around your throat from behind again, thumb and fingers pressing in just under your jaw so you could feel every heartbeat.

You felt him then… thick, heavy, hot against your bare ass. Not small. Not even close. The head dragged through the wetness already coating your folds and you bit back a sound that was half surprise, half need.

Erik noticed.

He always notices.

A dark, mean little chuckle left him as he notched himself against your entrance and pushed in just enough to stretch you around the tip.

“Still think it’s small?”

You tried to answer. The only thing that came out was a shaky, restricted breath when he snapped his hips forward and buried every thick inch inside you in one brutal thrust.

Your back arches. A broken moan tears out of your throat with what little air he is allowing you.

Erik doesn’t give you time to adjust. He sets a punishing pace immediately— deep, hard strokes that forces the air from your lungs every time he bottoms out. The wet slap of skin fills the room. His hand in your hair never loosened; every thrust was accompanied by a sharp tug that kept your neck arched and your face pressed into the mattress. The hand on your throat stayed steady, controlling how much air you got, keeping you right on the edge of dizzy without ever letting you slip under.

“Look at you,” he growled against your ear. “Takin’ it like a good little bitch, yet you still had the nerve to talk shit. You feel that? Feel how deep I’m in you while I’m cuttin’ off your air?”

You try to nod. The movement only makes his grip in your hair pull harder.

“Use your words.”

“Y-yes—” The word comes out strained, almost choked.

“Yes what?”

“It’s not—Daddy—ah—fuuuck—it’s not small—”

Erik’s grin turns sinister. He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in so hard the headboard cracks against the wall. At the same time his fingers tighten around your throat just a fraction more. Your vision swims. Your pussy clenches hard around him.

“Say my name.”

“Erik—”

His hand squeezes harder. Not enough to take you under, but enough that your next breath is thin and desperate.

“Bitch, you know my name.”

Your voice comes out broken, almost a sob.

“Killmonger—”

“Louder.”

“Killmonger—oh my god—”

“Is my shit small?”

“No—it’s not small—aaah—Killmonger—”

He lets go of your throat just long enough to hook an arm under your hips and yank them higher, folding you tighter under him. Then his hand is back around your neck, reclaiming your air as he drives even deeper. The new angle punches a broken cry out of you.

Every thrust drags against that perfect spot until your vision starts to blur for real. The combination of the relentless stretch, the sharp pulls on your hair, and the controlled restriction of air has you shaking apart under him.

“That’s what I thought,” he rasps. “Talkin’ all that shit like you weren’t already drippin’ for it. Next time you wanna run your mouth about my dick, remember this.” Another hard snap of his hips, another sharp tug on your hair. “Remember how it feels when I’m stretchin’ this tight little pussy open while I’m decidin’ how much air you get to breathe.”

You were past coherent answers. Just gasps and broken moans and the desperate clench of your walls around him every time he bottoms out. Erik fucks you like he’s proving a point—unforgiving, deep, vicious— until the coil in your belly snaps and you come with a choked sob, pulsing around him while his hand stays locked on your throat.

He doesn’t stop.

Even while you are still clenching and shaking around him, he keeps driving into you at the same hard pace. The pleasure turns sharp fast. You whimper and try to twist your hips away, but his hand in your hair yanks you right back into place and the one on your throat tightens just enough to make your head swim.

“Uh-uh. Don’t run from it now.” His voice was low and ruthless against your ear. “You was just talkin’ all that shit. Now you gon’ take it.”

You make a broken little sound and try to push up on your elbows. He shoves you back down flat and fucks you harder, grinding deep like he’s trying to leave a permanent imprint.

“Look at you. Five minutes ago you was callin’ my shit small, now you can’t even take the dick you asked for.” He gave a dark, breathless laugh when your walls flutter around him again. “Pussy so fuckin’ greedy it don’t even know when to quit. Stay still, bitch.”

You are visibly squirming now—overstimulated, oversensitive, trying to close your legs. Erik just forces them back open with his weight and keeps going, every thrust punching little punched-out moans out of you that he cut short with the pressure on your throat.

“That’s what you get for talkin’ reckless. Take this shit! Take every fuckin’ inch like the slut you is.”

Only when your whimpers turn into actual desperate little sobs does he finally pull out, flip you onto your back, and climb between your thighs again. He slams back into you in one hard thrust, then fists one hand in your hair and wraps the other back around your throat, pressing in just enough that your eyes water and every moan comes out thin and desperate.

“Still got jokes?” he asks, voice rough with effort. “Still think it’s small while I’m rearrangin’ your fuckin’ guts and controllin’ every breath you take?”

You shake your head as much as his grip allows, moaning helplessly.

“That’s right.” He leans over you, chest pressed to yours, mouth at your ear. “You take this dick like it was made for you. And next time you even think about talkin’ shit…” He thrust particularly deep, grinding against your cervix until you cry out, the sound cut short by the pressure on your throat. “…I’m bendin’ you over the nearest surface, wrappin’ this pretty neck in my hand, and remindin’ you exactly how wrong you are.”

He comes with a low, guttural sound, burying himself to the hilt and pulsing deep inside you while his hand stays firm on your throat and his fist stays tight in your hair. Hot. Thick. 

Claiming.

For a long moment the only sound in the room is the two of you breathing hard— yours still slightly restricted until he finally eases his grip.

Then Erik slowly pulls out, watched his cum leak from you, and gives your ass another sharp slap.

“Still think it’s small?”

You can only manage a shaky, wrecked little laugh, voice hoarse.

“…No, Killmonger.”

Erik’s low chuckle is pure satisfaction. He gives your hair one last deliberate tug, forcing your eyes up to his.

“Good girl.”

He releases you completely. No lingering touch. No soft words. Just that single, final claim.

You stay where he’s left you— legs still spread, thighs trembling, his cum already starting to drip down onto the sheets— and you watch him.

Erik stands, rolls his shoulders once, and walks out of the room without looking back. The bathroom door clicks shut behind him a few seconds later.

You can still feel the phantom pressure of his hand on your throat and the dull ache in your scalp where he’d held you. All you can do now is lay there and listen to the sound of the shower starting.

End Note: I hope you liked this, Anon, and that I gave you what you wanted! I've NEVER written Erik or a " x Reader" fic before. I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed it. 🤭 But if you didn't like it... blame @lizbehave for forcing me to write this. 😜😂 Seriously, tho... thank you for this request because it really did get me out of my comfort zone and pushed me to try something completely different.

Ok... now I'm going back to my little Smoke x Annie corner of the world! 🫶🏾