Kpopping hoe

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.

“Nisale kakuhle zinkosi zenu (Goodbye, your majesties.)” You bow and exit, leaving the Queens in their despair. 

Your legs were moving on their own. Your brain was yelling at them to stop, your heart begging you to turn back. The tears that poured blurred your vision.

 They’ll come for me. Any second now. The lab door will swing open and Shuri and Riri will be there, on their knees, begging my forgiveness. 

The door gets further and further away, remaining sealed. 

They will come for me. Riri will come running, apologizing for her temper. She’ll say ‘I’m sorry, ma’ with her arms wrapped tight around me. ‘I don’t know how I could have said those things to you’ she’ll weep.

Your steps echo the empty halls. 

They’ll come. Shuri will come. She’ll hold my hand gently and remind me of the first time she told me she loved me. She’ll say it over and over again, fearing I’ll grow sick of hearing it, but I never will.

You finally reach your shared room. Alone. And the sob releases, an ungodly sound coming from your melodic voice. 

They didn’t come. 

Removing your kimoyo beads felt so foreign, so wrong. Your brown wrist was barren for the first time in years. The third finger upon your left hand lacked the beautiful jewel that adorned it day after day. Now that it was time to take off the earrings, you almost couldn’t bring yourself to do so. You hands felt weighed down by shackles as they rose, approaching the tech in your ears sliuggishly. 

They fell in your hands heavily, like a large, ugly weight. Standing was too hard to do. Walking towards the door was even harder. Finally leaving was near impossible.

The rushing waters of the River Tribe and sway in the tall grass felt like home. It was home. It had been far too long since you’d been back, your barren feet guiding you to the place you grew up. Your shoes had been ditched long ago, the need to feel the ground, the dirt, the grass, the mud, having grown too strong to ignore. 

How were you to explain why you’d returned? I am Queen no more. Shuri and Riri do not want me any longer. I’ve lost my wives. 

None of it sounded right. It wasn’t right; you weren’t yet ready to admit it.

“Y/n? Intombi yam (My girl), what are you doing home?”

Your mother barely gave you time to step through the door, bags in tow. “Molo nakuwe, umama (Hello to you too, Mama). Can I not come to visit my mother?” You wouldn’t tell her yet, unable to face the disappointment it would bring forth. 

“You could, if you did so often. What are you doing home? Why do you have luggage with you? Where are my other girls? Did you not bring Shuri and Riri?”

Her questions were overwhelming as they spewed from her lips. She barely took a breath between each one, interrogating you intensely.

“I am home because I want to see my mom. I have luggage because I planned to stay a while. Your other girls-” The words shattered your already broken heart, forming a lump in your throat. Swallow it. Ignore it. You are stronger than this. Be strong for Mama. “Your girls are stuck in the lab with work. I did not bring them.”

She was no fool, your mother. She always could read you like a book and this time was no different. But she didn’t push. Mama just nodded and grabbed your suitcase and your arm, dragging you both indoors. 

“It is good to see you, sthandwa. I’d started to think you’d forgotten about your aging mother.”

Ever the dramatic. “Umama, you’ve barely cracked. You look younger than me.”

The flattery blushes her cheeks and the hug she pulls you into almost prompt your tears again.

Before you can pull away, a knock at the door raps, hard and fast.

Dark locs and just as dark eyes come into view when your mother welcomes the guest in. “Nakia? Usisi, wenzantoni apha? (Sister, what are you doing here)?”

The long-time friend ignores your question as she greets your mama. “Umama, ndikukhumbule! (Mother, I have missed you!)”

Your mother falls into the girl’s charm. “Nakia, my dear! It has been years! I have missed you so much more. You used to be over here every single day, but then you girls grow up and forget about an old woman.”

Nakia grabs her hand and squeezes tight. “I could never forget you, umama.” When she turns towards you, her expression changes altogether. The happiness is gone, replaced with sadness. “Sisi, can we talk?”

It’s a command more than a question; she’s giving you no choice. A pathetic nod is all you can muster as Nakia releases umama’s hand and follows you out the back door. You’re barely two steps away when she grabs your arm and pulls you to face her. “Kwenzeke ntoni (What has happened)?” she whispers, knowing mama was probably close by, listening. 

“Ingaba uthetha ukuthini (What do you mean)?” You retaliate, unable to look into her eyes. The ladybug on the blade of grass beneath you is particularly interesting. 

Nakia’s sigh is impatient, “I mean,” she starts, switching languages. “Your wife calling a meeting amongst me, Okoye, and a few Dora. Your other wife breaking down in the lab crying to her knees, and you, nowhere to be found.”

Riri was crying? Shuri gathered the Dora Milaje? “Did you attend?”

“Attend what?”

“The meeting,” you hiss.

Your oldest friend scoffs. “I am here, aren’t I. No, I did not attend the meeting. I came to check on you, to figure out what was going on.”

Sadness regains your figure. “How did you know I was here?”

“Where else would you be? Trouble in paradise, sisi?”

“Paradise is a paradox, Nakia.”

Silence washes over the two of you, until your dear friend breaks it.“What happened, sisi?” she repeats.

A beat passes and the story pours out of you like word vomit, as do the tears. Nakia strokes your arm, hoping to comfort your cries, but it does very little. 

“You do not deserve to be treated like that, my friend.” she whispers as your voice finally fades.

Chants in the distance cut off your words. “The Dora,” Nakia freezes, gauging your reaction. 

“No, no, no. I do not want them to find me, Nakia. I am not ready.”  

She’s quick to react, the spy training flowing through her veins. “Come on, and duck down,” the girl commands, leading you through the tall grass with her head down. 

It’s the same tall grass the two of you used to play in as children, back when the grass stood taller than your little bodies. You knew this field like the back of your hand. It hid many a games of hide and seek and you knew exactly where Nakia was leading you. 

The broken down shack was your token hiding spot, though Nakia found you everytime. It was still there, beckoning and welcoming your presence. The thin shack seemed much bigger all those years ago, but now, you were unsure if it would conceal you both.

“We won’t fit,” you warned, bracing yourself to be caught by the chanting military growing closer. 

Nakia didn’t speak, shoving you into the small space and squeezing in behind you. Her body pressed against yours as she turned to close the door, just as the Dora approached your home. From your hiding spot, you heard the knocks on the thick wooden door. You heard your mother’s voice ring out a greeting and Aneka answer, “Hello, ma’am. I am looking for y/n. Has she been here? The Queen requests her presence back home.” 

“Come on, ma. Don’t say anything, please,” Your whispered begs were only loud enough for Nakia to hear and she pressed her forehead against yours. “She won’t. She won’t,” she reassured. 

“My daughter? She is not here. Is everything okay?”

The sigh of relief releases from you and your best friend in unison. “Thank Bast.”

“I told you,” she whispers back. 

Aneka spoke again, “If she comes by, please, notify the Dora Milaje. We will be awaiting your call.” And with that, you hear the military’s footsteps retreat as umama shuts the heavy door.

“Nakia, let’s get out of here, please.”

You don’t have to be able to see her to know she smiles into the darkness at your words. “Where to?”

“Take me to Haiti. I wish to see my Toussaint.”

“You know she is going to look for you there. What will you do when she comes?”

“You,” your hand slides between the two of you as you guide your finger to poke into her forehead. “Will hide me. Until I am ready.”

“You’re gonna piss her of, playing this game of hide and seek. You wish for me to defy my Queen?”

“I am asking you to defy your Queen, for your sister, yes. For me?”

Haiti welcomes you with open arms, just as you knew it would. 

And Shuri comes and goes for many nights, just as you knew she would.

“Poukisa ou kache, sé(Why are you hiding, sister)?” Toussaint questioned, picking up on the nickname graced to you by his mother.  Whenever the Royal Talon Fighter whirred over the small country, the small boy asked the same question. “Don’t you want to see my aunt? My mom says you two are married. Why are you hiding from her if she’s your wife?”

You ruffle his curls as you take shelter in the large school. “Li konplike, ti gason (It is complicated, baby boy).”

“I’m not a baby! I am Prince T’Challa, son of King T’Challa!”

Weeks pass and the routine that passes in Haiti becomes comforting. Of course, Nakia has to disrupt that comfort.

“Why are you returning home? There is no need to go there!”

“Just as you said, y/n. It is home, and I must speak with Shuri. The children at the school are growing frightened by the excessive presence of the Talon Fighter.”

“If you go, she’ll know you’ve been hiding me. They’ll know where to find me, Nakia. And you’ll be the target of their anger.”

Nakia smiles a gentle grin at you. “Shuri will not be angry. She’s the calmest out of all of you. It is Riri’s anger you should be worried about, and I can handle the small girl.”

She strides over to you before you can respond. Her long arms wrap around your body and she pulls you in close. “I will be okay. Watch Toussaint for me, have him in bed by 9. I’ll be back by then.”

9pm comes and goes. So does 10pm and 11pm, and the worry grows deep within you with each passing moment. Your feet pace the room, your heart racing. I’m getting ready to fly to Wakanda myself and drag her-

A whimper alerts you, pulling you away from your thoughts. Toussaint? But he sleeps through the night now, he shouldn’t be up- It’s not the young boy, but his mama, limping through the door. 

“Nakia!” You rush up, grabbing the girl by her arm and pulling her towards the chair.

She winces in response to your fast actions. “Shh,” she shushes you. “You’ll wake Toussaint.”

You barely register her words as you examine her bruised body. Blood and tears are dried among her cheeks, deep scratches along her face begging to scab over and heal. Her arms wrapped around her waist makes you question what hides beneath them. “What happened?”

Nakia tries to sigh but it appears to hurt her too much. “Your wife has quite the mouth on her. Temper too.”

“Riri? Riri did this to you?” The smaller of your wives did have some anger issues, but to put her hands on someone, unwarranted? She wouldn’t-

The hurt girl’s eyes began to leak of tears once more and her head shook so softly, you barely noticed it. The realization hit you hard, overtaking your figure and burning your body.

“Shuri?! No, sisi,” you started, trying everything to think of a way to defend your wife. Shuri couldn’t hurt a soul, especially not one so close to her. Her childhood friend, her brother’s lover. The mother of the child she loved more than anything in this world. How could she do this?

Nakia’s silence dug into the pit of your stomach. The evidence was sitting right in front of you, broken and battered. “Come,” you spoke suddenly, rising to your feet. “Come on, we will go back, together this time. She will fix you up.”

Your friend didn’t move. “Come, Nakia,” your voice began to crack, the tears clogging your vocal cords. “Let’s go home, zanmi m (my friend),”

“I can not, y/n,”

“We can, sisi. She will not lay another finger on you, she will fix you. She will apologi-.”

“Shuri exiled me, y/n”

An insincere giggle escapes as the shock washes over you “She-she what?”

Again, Nakia goes mute.

“Sh-she does not get to do that.” The laughter dies down, turning into sobs. “She can not exile you. That is your home, mhlobo wam (my friend), that is our home.”

Silence.

“Yiza, usisi (Come, sister). Ann ale lakay ou (Let’s go home).” The languages blur as you outstretch a hand to your broken friend. She makes no move to get up.

“I-” your voice finally breaks as you fall to your knees, sobs shaking your body viciously. “I am so sorry. This is my fault. You’re hurt and it’s my fault.” your worn out figure crawls over to Nakia. You lay your head to rest in her lap as you clutch the fabric of her skirt. “ I am so sorry. Nditaxolusa (I am sorry). Mwen regret (I am sorry).”

Your best friend finally releases the grip she held around her ribs to drop a hand to your hung head. “Cwaka (Silence), y/n. I do not blame you. I expected Shuri to act as such. She’s lost the love of her life and I am hiding her. You would do the same.”

You struggled to shake your head between Nakia’s grip and the thick fabric of her garment. “I would not.”

She sat back in her seat, unable to hide the grimace her movements caused. “Well, I would. I would fight Bast himself, for taking my King from me.”

Your eyes lifted, ever so slowly. “Would you?”

She met your gaze and nodded, head weighing heavy with grief. “I would. I am left alone, with a child who would have loved to meet his father. Who looks more and more like him everyday amd I am not even lucky enough for T’Challa to visit my dreams when I lay down at night. Bast is playing the same game of hide and seek with my love that I am playing with you and your wives.”

Her words sink to the pit of your stomach, registering with you. “You must hate me,” you speak lowly. “Here I am, complaining about the lack of attention I recieve from my partners, and you don’t even have yours here to complain about.”

Nakia’s words are sincere. “I could never hate you, sisi. I love you. But I do think it’s time you return home to them. Whether you are willing to forgive or not, they need to hear it from you.”

You nod in understanding. “The school’s banquet is soon. I must return then. Come with me.”

“I have been exiled, sisi.” The words seem to cause her more pain than her wounds. 

“I do not care. You will be accompanying me.”

The smallest smile possible creeps up on your dear friend, until it grows into a meaningful one. “You have always been very bossy. Being Queen suits you.”

Your own smile mirrors hers, though it drops slightly. “I will not be Queen much longer.”

“Why black, sisi? This is a fundraising event, it is supposed to be cheerful. You look as though you are attending a funeral.”

You glance at your reflection. The one-shouldered black gown kisses your figure seductively, though the bottom lays loose, swaying with your movements. 

“Let us go and get this over with,” you mutter, ignoring Nakia’s words. The black would be befitting. Something would be dying tonight.

The school back in Wakanda was growing and thriving, filled to the brim with wealthy investors and excited teachers. Anxiety pooled within you and with it grew worry. You turned to Nakia, eyeing the scars adorned upon her cheeks. She spotted your gaze, “Calm yourself, friend. Your wives, they will not hurt you.”

Your hand snaked into hers and squeezed tight. “I am more concerned for you. Shuri will be far more angry at your presence than mine.”

The unbothered girl shrugged. “Your wife has a temper. She always has.” Nakia’s eyes shift, “Speaking of the Queens.”

The two girls walk in, preceded by Aneka, who is followed closely by Okoye and Ayo. The Black Panther and Iron Heart strut in, eyes locked intensely on you. Aneka’s gaze falls to your and Nakia’s hands, interlocked, and Shuri’s follows, though neither girl addresses it. 

“Nakia,” Shuri greets when they approach. Nakia stays silent and Shuri continues. “I owe you an apology, for our disagreement those weeks ago. I am sorry, sisi.” To you, she switches tongues as she asks “Ikumkani wam (My queen), singathetha (can we talk)?” with an outstretched hand.

No, your heart screams, but your movements betray you. Without placing your palm in hers, you allow Her Majesty to guide you outside, where the Royal Talon Fighter awaits, with Riri in tow.

None of you speak until the ship’s doors were encapsulated, providing all the privacy in the world. When they did, it was you to break the silence. A loud slap echoes in everyone’s ears, your hand coming in contact with Riri’s cheek. Breathing hard, you voiced “I’ve been waiting to do that for weeks. Sorry, Riri, I didn’t find a bitch to give your wishes of luck to.”

Shuri stood, slightly amused until her cheek was the next to be assaulted. “And you. You’re lucky I’m not skilled with any weapons for the way you returned my Nakia to me. Her face bloody, her ribs broken. Exile?! What the hell is wrong with you?”

Though her face stung, Riri’s ears perked up. “Your Nakia?”

Shuri stared at you, her brain wondering the same. 

“My Nakia,” you double down. 

Riri’s anger is almost visible; it’s practically radiating off her tiny form. “Oh,” she chuckles. “Oh, alright, so that’s why it was so easy for you to up and go. You already had a backup lined up.”

“Jonga indlela othetha ngayo nam, Riri (Watch how you talk to me, Riri)!” you’re shaking, enraged, as you take a step closer to the girl. She matches your movements until you are face to face. “Translate for me, baby girl,” she seeths, the term of endearment sounding more like a tease. 

Shuri steps in between your two bodies, facing you. “Yakho Nakia (Your Nakia)?” she asks again. 

“Nakia yam (My Nakia). But not in the same way you were my Shuri or my Riri.”

“Were?” Shuri breathes, as if that was the only word she heard. “Were, sthandwa?”

The tears sting your eyes as they form at how soft spoken she was, how hurt she sounded. “Were, Shuri.” you can only whisper.

“Why are you speaking in past tense, y/n? We came here to apologize, baby.”

You point to the ground where you stood. “You bucking up to me just now was an apology Riri?”

Her mouth moves, but no sound comes out. A sigh releases as you step around Shuri, still blocking you from the smaller girl. You took one of her hands into both of yours. “I don’t know what’s been going on with you lately, Ri. I don’t know why you’re so angry, at me especially. I don’t know why you keep blowing me off. Maybe you’ve fallen out of love with me. But I don’t-I can’t deal with it anymore.”

Her eyes are glassy and the waterworks pour. “I-I haven’t fallen out of love with you, y/n. Baby, I adore you. I’ve just been stressed-”

“Riri, we’ve been married 4 years. You’ve been stressed before, but never like this. If the Riri I married would have ever spoken to me like this, I wouldn’t have married her.”

Her face was a mess, salty tears and salty snot mixing as they ran down her features. “Don’t say that, y/n. You don’t mean that.”

She cried even harder when you dropped her hand and moved away from her. Shuri was your next target, though she stood frozen, scared of what was to come. “And you. T’Challa would be so disappointed to see what you did to the love of his life. What you did to yours.”

Her head shook as she bit her lip so hard, the blood mixed with her saliva. “Do not. Do not speak for my brother.”

It pained you to continue, but she needed to hear it. Riri remained sobbing in the background, her cries causing your voice to raise to be heard above her. “You exiled the mother of his child. Beat on her until she had bruises, Shuri. I wish he was here to shake some sense into you. This is not his legacy, nor your mother’s. You’re acting more like N’Jadaka. Killmonger. Is that who you want to be? The type of leader you want to represent?”

Shuri stays silent, eyes filled with hurt, though her face hides it well. She steps toward you, arms reached out and hands opened to pull you in by your waist. “Come home, sthandwa. Please. Just come home.”

Her touch is home. It feels good, it feels safe. But the memories of how she treated you, of how she sat by and let Riri treat you, are too much to bear. You release her hold from you and take a step back.

“No. I have a home here no more.”

Shuri grows desperate, her hands scrambling to grab hold of yours. “Please, y/n, my love. Please, sthandwa,” she begs. 

The sight breaks your heart all over again, but you stand firm. You look at your the girls one last time as you head to the exit, their tears waterfalling, triggering your own. 

“So that’s it?” Riri cries. “You gone? Just like that?”

The hem of your dress floats around you, hauntingly. Your voice is but a whisper when you respond.

“You guys look so cool.” Jeno’s not necessarily complimenting his friends, he’s annoyed. Why hadn’t anyone informed him to wear all black?

“I mean,” Haechan gives his friend the up and down, whistling air out from the side of his mouth. “It’s a party man, why the hell are you wearing suspenders?!?”

Jeno’s jaw pops open, jutting out his hip with an offended expression. “None of my pants fit me right now! You know I’ve been cutting mass and leaning out!”

“You look great!” Jaemin interrupts, slapping Renjun and Haechan across their chests. “He looks great! DOESN’T HE LOOK GREAT?!”

Haechan groans, rubbing his chest with a wide-eyed childish pout. “You know my nipples are extra sensitive right now!”

“No yeah, you look cool. Suspenders are totally in again, like I saw Tiktoks about how they’re in season just the other day.” Renjun nods, coining up a lie fast enough to seem convincing.

Jaemin’s eyebrow arches up impressed, nodding along with the story. “Oh right! All the rage at New York Fashion week. See dude, you’re good!”

“For sure?!” Jeno slurps saliva gathering at the corners of his lips, a habit after wearing the most ridiculous headgear for years now to prevent his teeth from growing in colliding with each other.

Jaemin sighs, tugging his sleeve down to pat off a trail of drool from his best friend’s chin. “Yeah.. for sure.”

He’d never break Jeno’s heart by telling him the truth. Jaemin’s glow up struck faster, but his friend would get there.. soon, he hopes. Besides, other than the suspenders, the loose fitted somehow still flooded above his ankles wrinkled church pants, and that God awful retainer.. Jeno wasn’t even a bad looking guy.

His jaw had come in nicely, cheekbones prominent, and for some reason he was able to pull off that gelled down dweeby hairstyle.

Jaemin sighs, shoving a can of beer toward his bestie. “Act casual, if you pretend that thing isn’t attached to your head like some sort of celibacy trap, I’m sure no one will notice.”

“It’s time for spin-the-bottle!” A chorus of giggles and girlish shrieks interrupt the four boys' conversation, twisting to catch a group of attractive girls break out from the throng of partygoers.

“Who wants to play?!” The captain of the girls wrestling team shakes an empty bottle of wine above her head like a trophy, shooting Jaemin a wink with her index finger directing him to come closer. “Birthday boy?”

Jaemin grins, blinking rapidly to moisten his eyes. The contacts he’s been trying out haven’t been the best for his allergies, but he kept mentioning something about girls loving his new look..

“Yeah, we’ll play!” He pipes up, motioning to the three guys at his side.

“Ugh, someone’s gonna have to makeout with brace face.”

Jeno’s heart flutters, his eyelids sticking together from looking up too fast. He’d know that voice anywhere, his crush since middle school stood there with a sneer on her face, positioning herself behind a few others to avoid his pathetic obsessive gaze.

“Leave him alone.” You mutter, rolling your eyes.

She scoffs, flicking your chin. “If he lands on me, you’re taking one for the team then. I refuse to touch that thing.”

“You’re such a bitch,” mumbling under your breath, you take in Jeno’s appearance.

He’s hopeless, from his heavy mouth breathing to his visible uneven mismatched socks. Not helping his appeal as he stands there licking into the mouth piece of his retainer. Small chunks of gummy snacks were always stuck between his teeth, the pack of treats in his left pocket everyday never empty. He sat across from you in class for years, popping little candy gummies into his mouth each time he’d successfully answered another question before anyone else could. Not that anyone even bothered to.

He could be worse.. it’s not like Jaemin became the new ‘it boy’ overnight.

Getting trapped in a closet with Jeno wouldn’t be terrible, he’s always been nice. Much too easy to pick on, but not much of a bother. He keeps to himself and his group nerds, interrupts professors when they try to target you to answer pop quiz questions you were clearly not paying attention to.

“Look at you, feeling pity for that nerd.” Your friend jeers, pinching your arm to sit near her.

Jeno’s trying to smooth his eyebrows down with spit on his fingers from across where he sits. Covering his mouth to huff breath in his palm, poorly attempting to be discreet as he gives his underarms a quick sniff.

He’s utterly painful, clearly crossing his fingers in his lap each time the bottle spins and cheers roar around the room as more and more partygoers exit to kiss in different closets around the house. The circle grows smaller and smaller with each spin, many excited to land on anyone while Jeno continues his silent chant before his turn.

“God, why me.” Your friend mumbles under her breath at your side, shifting away to set a space between your bodies. Her stern gaze informing you once again that she means it— if that bottle lands on her, you are taking one for the team.

“Hurry up Jeno!” The prayer he says to himself gets interrupted by Jeno’s booming vocals shouting out. Patting his friends back while giving him a thumbs up.

The wine bottle tingles under the tips of his fingers, calculating just how fast he would have to spin to land on the lips he’s dreamt of kissing for years. Another reassuring nod to himself has him spinning the glass finally, watching as the room stills, his breath evaporates, lost in the slow motion like way the bottle twists over and over again for what feels like hours.

The way it lands almost makes you laugh, sitting on your legs with the bottle's rim pointed directly at you. The enormous sigh of relief at your side too loud to even hear your own thoughts as Jeno’s eyes meet yours.

“You two can use my room since the closets are occupied!” Jaemin pipes up, patting his friend on the back. “You know the way.”

Jeno moves like a zombie to stand, flexing and unflexing his hands without giving you much more than a nod of his chin to follow him.

He’s silent up the stairs, walking to the beat of the music vibrating through the walls; the sound of hoots and hollers coming up from the small group of people left playing.

“We don’t have to do this Jeno, I know I wasn’t your ideal choice.”

The door clicks shut echoing throughout the bedroom you’ve followed him into. Everything tidy and organized as you would imagine for Jaemin’s bedroom to be, wall to wall covered in bookshelves lined with textbooks and non-fictional literature. The pristine atmosphere only adds more tension to your limbs while you glanced about.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Jeno’s voice cracks mid-question. Sweaty palms rub up and down the sides of his pants, gulping as he looks over your figure from the back. The realization setting in that he was about to have his second kiss.. his first had been with his next door neighbor in 8th grade; she bursted into tears shouting ‘gross’ after running off.

“I mean, don’t feel obligated to follow through on this stupid game.” Turning back to face Jeno, you notice how he shifts in place from foot to foot. His throat bobs up and down, the upper row of his teeth continuously visible even under dim street lighting flowing in through Jaemin’s bedroom window. The metal brackets on his teeth gleam, bouncing off droplets of sweat near his hairline, a few pouring down to his high-cut cheekbones.

“I don’t feel obligated!” Jeno sputters, licking his lips that feel endlessly dry for the thousandth time. “Do you feel obligated??”

“Not at all.” You say confidently, crossing your arms over your chest to study the small ways he twitches and fiddles nervously. “I just know you didn’t want to kiss me.”

“I do want to kiss you!” Jeno blurts, clearing his throat to speak up. “I would be lucky to kiss you.”

“Is that so?” A coy smile takes over your lips, taking slow steps forward that have Jeno’s eyes bulging wide open. With each movement closer, he shakily treds back until colliding with a wall. The breath he’s ready to take catches in his throat when you stop before him fixing him with a heavy gaze. “How do you kiss with that thing anyway?”

Jeno’s dark round eyes follow your fingers motioning to his headgear, innocently blinking as he wonders himself. It’s been years since his first kiss, one that didn’t include the contraption currently on his head. The memory of crashing teeth together before accidentally biting too hard on his neighbor's upper lip flashes across his thoughts, shivering to the tips of his fingers recalling the event as if it just happened yesterday.

“Jeno?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m fine!” Jeno squeaks, muttering under his breath to himself to be cool.

“You don’t have to be nervous, it’s just a kiss.” You reassure, only to receive a look of terror in return.

It’s just a kiss, to you, Jeno thinks as he licks the backs of his teeth to gather moisture in his mouth. His brain feels foggy, palms sweaty, pants tighter, stomach twitching at a rapid pace the more he takes in your features; spending more time than he should to admire your glossy coated lips. Lips that look soft, probably feel softer, taste like cherry, something sweet and girly.

“We have five minutes left now.”

Jeno’s eyes flitter up at your voice breaking his daze, quickly nodding to himself with another mental reminder that he can’t fuck this up. He lunges forward too fast, burying bony fingers past your neck to grip your hair. Unintentionally his hips slam into yours rolling your ankles in your heels, losing balance while Jeno attempts to keep you in place by clutching the hair along the back of your scalp.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” Panic fills his tone, jerking your head up, painfully ripping strands of hair out in the process.

“Jeno! God! At least buy me dinner before you start pulling on my hair like this!”

“Sorry! Fuck I’m so so sorry!” Jeno sighs, moreso groans, gently tugging himself free from your tender scalp to fall against the wall once more. Wrinkles cover the corners of his eyes, face turning side to side, emitting miserable sounds of mortification.

“It’s okay, you’re anxious. You really must be excited about this.”

Jeno’s too cute ducking his chin into his shoulder to hide the fierce blush he can feel taking over his cheeks. The redness swelling down to the tip of his nose, inflating his pink lips with blood that still appears tempting despite the way his retainer leaves him with no choice but to leave his lips parted open and breathe out of his mouth.

“Jeno?” Sliding in close, you gasp, pressing against his pelvic bone with your palms sliding up his waist. “Oh my God, you’re already?..”

Hinting with your gaze, you nod toward the top of your thigh nestled against a round bulge near his crotch. Furrowed eyebrows meet your line of sight, patting his pocket with confusion.

“Oh! My gummies!”

The smile on your lips drags down, following Jeno whip out a bag of chewy candy from his pocket. A mouth full of metal lighting up bright as he offers you a piece.

“You want some??”

Trying to not grimace, you let out a sigh, mildly annoyed by how endearing he is despite being the epitome of an awkward fool. “I’ll pass….. now we have two minutes.”

“Oh right, I’m sorry. I’m really dropping the ball here, right?” With a frown he pops a candy, pocketing the rest to weep into later when he tries to erase this moment from his memories.

“It’s kind of..” rolling your eyes, you shrug, squeezing his trim waist firmly. “It’s kind of cute..”

“Did you just call me cute??” Jeno’s lips part comically, blinking furiously in amazement. A small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, leaning back, he grins proudly. “You think I’m cute?? Like really?!”

“Ah, you’re making it weird now.” You can’t help but laugh, covering your mouth shyly because of the close proximity you’re still in. “Yes! You’re cute Jeno!”

Surprised and elated, he’s not sure what overcomes him. Smoothly pushing off the wall, Jeno cups your face, brushing the end of his nose against yours. Soft skin lifts your eyes curiously, eyeing him up close between shared breaths. The combination of your fruity lip gloss and his sugary gummies feels dizzying. It’s syrupy sweet, reminiscent of leaving a candy store with a bag filled to the brim with sour belts and lolli’s that leave your tongue stained for hours.

“Can I kiss you now?” Even his whisper tastes sweet breathily brushing against your lips. The hands cupping your face noticeably tremble, still sweaty where his palms connect to your warm skin. A silent nod is enough to encourage him, leaning close enough just to graze and consume the second you make contact. The lightest of touch and yet still enough to confirm what he already knew. Lips soft like silk match his next move, slotting together slowly, kissing in a way you’ve never experienced before.

Jeno kisses with lack of knowledge, he’s messy, eager to slip his tongue inside to get a taste and feel of every crevice of you. He knocks against your nose, teeth clink, breath’s pass between your mouths too loudly. It’s sloppy, but it’s perfect, egging your need to feel more. The hold on him turns powerful as you slot a leg between his.

The broken whine that rises from the back of his throat upon pressing your thigh on his groin only boosts your confidence, pushing onto your toes to create further friction against his groin. Jeno’s neck bends back, sucking in a deep breath, drool pours from the corners of his lips messily, mouth hung open from the pleasure overtaking his senses. Unable to control himself, his hips roll down to glide the ache between his legs against your thigh.

“Fuck Jeno..” heat swarms between your bodies, licking the path of drool working way down his neck. It’s nasty, but sweet and tangy like his tongue had been lapping against yours. The amount of drool spilling out of his lips only makes his lost gaze more obscene. “You’re so hard already.”

Jeno can’t even respond, letting out muffled moans. His tongue feels too thick, head too heavy, eyelids lowered by the weight of heat and sweat gathering in the slight crease. Even the ceiling spins as his head drops back smacking the wall behind him. The pain feels numb, too absorbed by the fire that's lit up in his gut.

He’s panting like a dog despite the short amount of time, rocking against your thigh desperately. The sensation nearly feels better than a tight fisted palm wrapped around himself, especially when your teeth gnaw at his chin and jaw, trying your best on your toes to kiss the corners of his mouth.

“Ughh, I c—can’t..” Jeno’s voice cracks again, the entirety of his face shriveling as his nose scrunches up. Grinding harder and faster on your thigh, his lips lock with yours once again, losing the shattered cry he lets out between your feverish mouth fighting for dominance.

Dampness on your thigh splits your kiss, breathing harshly while reaching up to sweep away Jeno’s ruined hair from his forehead. A guilty shame hides his gaze, avoiding yours with concentration on the ground as he composes his thoughts.

“Jeno, did you?..”

“Stopppp!” It’s more of a whine than a shout, again breaking off at the end with a crack. His palms lifting to his face to hide the intense heat consuming his cheeks that he knows must look beat red even in the dark.

“Aww, baby it’s okay. You were really excited.” A flush of heat hits your skin upon realizing Jeno really came in his pants off light touching. The bulge protruding from his pants thick and heavy against the now damp area on your thigh. “I’m sure Jaemin has something in here you can change into.”

Jeno nods shamefully, still embarrassed but grateful that you haven’t let out any sign of laughter.

“Want me to wait outside?”

Thanking you for being understanding, Jeno still feels dizzy when you make your way back to the party together. Sharing a look before separating back to your friends. The game led many to hooking up and parting ways with the friends they came with.

Demure glances from across the room become inevitable, even brushing your hair behind your hair when you catch him watching you with eyes as wide as saucers.

The guy with the retainer had to smile to himself before exiting the restroom after talking himself up to ask for your phone number. Licking across the metal adorned with blue strings across his teeth, he clicks his tongue, stiffening his back to broaden his shoulders.

“Thlut era.”

✿ ━ "hyuck?"you mumble sleepily from your position on the couch, the sound of his footsteps having woken you up, "are you back?" HAECHAN grins, already by your side, "yeah, it's me." he kneels down next to you, taking your hand in his when your eyes flutter shut tiredly. "want me to carry you back?" "nah," you say shaking your head, your eyes still shut, "it's comfortable here." "oh?" he can't hide the amusement in his tone, "and where do i sleep then?" "the floor is pretty warm. i think."

✿ ━ JAEMIN walks over to you, his footsteps light. "hey, you," he whispers softly in greeting. you blink blearily up at him. "jaemin?" "shh, don't move," he says, cradling you in your arms as he maneuvers his way in the darkness. once he's situated in between you and the back of the couch, he presses a kiss to your forehead. "go to sleep." you hum, eyelids already drooping.

✿ ━ JAEMIN walks over to you, his footsteps light. "hey, you," he whispers softly in greeting. you blink blearily up at him. "jaemin?" "shh, don't move," he says, cradling you in your arms as he maneuvers his way in the darkness. once he's situated in between you and the back of the couch, he presses a kiss to your forehead. "go to sleep." you hum, eyelids already drooping.

✿ ━ CHENLE knows sleeping on the couch with you is a bad idea. he doesn't want to wake up with a neck sprain and his arms numb. then again, he's warm and comfy, and - most importantly - he has you in his arms. your head tucked into the crook of his neck, your soft breaths tickling his ear - he doesn't want to move at all. so he closes his eyes and promises to deal with the aftermath. after all, he wouldn't want to wake you up.

✿ ━ "hey, y/n, what do you think of the movie so far?" JISUNG asks, turning his head to face you - only to be met with your sleeping figure, your chin tucked into your neck and one of your arms hanging off the armrest. "y/n?" he scoots closer to you, "did you even watch it?" your only response is a snore. JISUNG smiles, finding you far too adorable. "sleep well, y/n," he says, brushing some hair back from your forehead.