#//Of COURSE her party would be such a big hit with errbody

[helliixns]

Y’know, Verosika losing Blitzø over an ‘I love you’ makes me think of this one bit

And it gives me THINKINGS

[thekrazykeke]

I promised myself no angst. ...Why did I lie to myself? LOL! By now y’all know that’s kind of my brand. Happiness mixed wit grief or foolishness mixed wit silliness. Drama meets sexy. Okay, I’ma stop, I’ma stop~

Previous.

@elaindeereads @autumn242 @punkrockwxnnabe @palmsofgranate @strawberrysoftkitten @wikiwakanda @lovemekaycee @managingmischiefdaily @gothambrat @marvel-snatched-my-wigs @youreadthatright @lovelylittlekittn @muse-of-mbaku @keya168 @misspooh

Although you hated this bougie neighborhood with a passion of a thousand suns, Erik promised that y’all would be moving out in a few weeks, a month tops and could choose together on an apartment or house to move into. With that in mind, you decided to find a hobby to occupy your time whenever you weren’t at work, and thus is how jogging became a thing, or actually, briskly walking along the trail that you had found close to the house.

Much to ya boo’s initial irritation, in the mornings you got up around five or six A.M and got dressed before heading out to start the regime, managing maybe two laps before returning to the house for a quick shower and breakfast, Erik always cooked, especially when he realized you had a routine and didn’t plan to stop, whether it’s a small bowl of grits and sausage or eggs and toast, he always made somethin’ because he didn’t consider a bowl of cereal as real breakfast. Then he kissed you on the cheek and locked up before y’all each went to work. 

Sometimes you saw Demi’s thirsty mcgurty lookin’ ass when you got home, as you normally got there first, and she’d always wave to you, sometimes, if you was feelin’ charitable, you’d wave back, most of the time, you pretended not to notice and just went inside. 

Dinner/date night is occasionally a hit and miss. 

If you weren’t too worn out, you’d cook a large enough meal to last several days, but Erik let you know via text whether he’d be working late with T’Challa or nah and to save him a plate, though sometimes he brought restaurant food home and y’all would sit up, watching trashy reality TV or something on Netflix. 

Weeks just shy of a year together, of course something had to go left field. 

You had gotten home later than normal and Erik still hadn’t arrived yet. Since you didn’t feel like cooking tonight, you order some food from that Greek place you’d both tried and liked last week. Rubbing the space between your eyebrows and nose, you glance at your cellphone which vibrates on the island counter. Frowning minutely, you snag the device and enter the code to unlock the screen.

A bad feeling forming in the pit of your stomach, you did as your older cousin bid, logging onto your rarely used Instagram account and finding Erik’s. The bad feeling only got worse as you realized what she was trying to hint at without actually fully dipping into anything. 

On his account, there were of course fans. 

Then there were people who claimed to have known him as kids growing up in Oakland. And then there were the schemers, one of them being a persistent female that seemed to fall into all three categories and was being super extra. Eyebrows raising and drawing together, then raising again, you read the several times she tried to call him out as her baby daddy and even put up an ultrasound picture. You went onto her page and your eyebrows raised to your hairline again, as she seemed pretty ‘normal’, minus her obsession with celebrities. Breanna hadn’t checked this girl out before giving you the scoop, obviously, or she’d have picked up on how delusional this girl truly was and her weird behavior.

“Baby, you wouldn’t believe the crazy thing that happened today.”

Distractedly, you tilt your chin and like clockwork, Erik kissed your cheek. “What happened?” Putting the cellphone down, you looked in his direction, to see that he’s opening the fridge and pulled out a gallon of apple juice. 

“You know how T’Challa likes to give those grand speeches an’ shit?” You hum to let him know that you’d heard him. “We was at this convention on 5th and Raeburn, that street by Lockland and Donahue Ave, with that community center still being constructed?”

“I remember.” You nod. 

“There was this pack of...” he poured some apple juice into a glass. “Old ladies that just came out in like, they Sunday finest or somethin’ and they was flirting mad heavy wit T’Challa. It was funny as fuck because because his eyes were screaming ‘help me!’ but his body language was relaxed. I think he nearly jumped out his skin when one of’em pinched him on the butt.” As he took a swig of his drink, he nearly choked on it, far too amused by the memory. 

“I warned him not to wear that suit.” 

You’re about to inquire further into what the hell he’s talking about but then he’s pulling out his cellphone, entering the code to unlock the device and showing you a picture. There T’Challa was and he’s dressed in a nice suit, in an offhand way, you can admit that he’s handsome but...

“He look like he goin’ to deliver a speech at church.”

Erik laughed, pocketing his phone. “Right?? I told him not to trust his stylist on this one. But ay, what do I know about deflecting attention and girls?”

And there is your opening, dropped neatly in your lap. You scratch your cheek. “It’s funny that you would say that. I mean, I guess you know all ‘bout swerving bitches, especially this one, right?” Before Erik could open his mouth and utter a word of rebuttal or defense, you shoved him the evidence. His teeth clicked shut and he pointed at the cellphone held loftily in your hold, scratching at his beard. 

“I was gon tell you about her.” 

You raised both eyebrows. “Really, when? Because she’s been in contact witchu since...three weeks ago. I gotta admit that got me feelin’ some type of way.” 

“Oh, you feelin’ some type of way?” He widened his eyes. “Baby, this is a blatant invasion of privacy. I ain’t given you any type of reason to think I’m doin’ nothin’ wrong because I haven’t been. An’, an’ you snooping through my social media accounts like I’m some sort of grimy ass nigga that fuck ‘round on you any chance I get? The fuck, girl?”

“Don’t try to switch it around.” You cross your arms over your chest. “I ain’t implied you was guilty of doin’ nothin’ wit nobody. I just want to know why you didn’t just let me know about this chick?” He cut you an incredulous look and you pursed your lips, giving him an annoyed look back.

 “...N’Jadaka, you love me. I love you. You say that you want me to be yo wife, you wanna marry me? Then secrets like this should not exist in our relationship, so that others outside our relationship can poke their noses in our business. We coulda handled this together, like a team.” 

He reared back. “Okay, back up. ‘Others outside our relationship’.” Scratching his neck, he looked away, counted to twenty, then looked back at you. “Someone else been snooping on my social media accounts, reporting back to you?” There’s another long moment of silence. “Someone in your family?” Erik questioned, though it might as well have been a statement. 

You realized you’d accidentally let the truth slip. “Well, it’s getting late...” You yawned, obnoxious and loud as you raise up from your seat. 

Stretching a hand out, he stops you from running away. “Y/N.”

“I’m not gon name any names, but yes. Okay? Yes. I didn’t tell this person to do that, but they felt it was pertinent information for me to know, just in case. My family,” You let out a large sigh. “My family’s always in errbody business. It’s partially why I stay away from them in the first place.” You glance at him, looking him straight in the eye. “...You still should have told me.”

Erik reached out, snagging your wrists and bringing you closer to him. “I know. I had plans to but...I just figured I should squash all the craziness before telling you about it.”

You can feel his heartbeat, a steady rhythm beneath your ear. “I’d feel better if I knew the truth.” You look up at him, he looked down at you. 

“...Is that yo baby, Erik?”

Almost as if he expected that, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a crumpled up letter, offering it to you. Looking at him in askance, but not receiving an answer, you instead opened the letter, reading silently, sounding the words out. Then looking at him once again and he raised an eyebrow, a bit of dimple showing as he cocked his head to the side.

“That’s not yo baby.” 

He took the paper back. “No it ain’t.” Erik assured. “I wasn’t even gon pay that girl none of my attention or feed into that bullshit, but T’Challa was persistent I get the DNA test done. Like my pull out game that weak.”

A startled laugh escaped. “Nigga...”

The doorbell rang and you looked in the direction of the front door. “There’s dinner.” Before you could take a step towards it, he tugged you back. “...What?”

“Witcho history of answering doors, let’s not chance it.” You roll your eyes and he maneuvered you so that you’re walking back to the dining room. “I got it.” 

So, crisis averted. It’s clear that you and Erik still had some issues to work out individually and together, but there was an intent to actually do so, not to let the problem fester into something bigger. Talks of therapy were brought into discussion that night and while he initially balked at the idea, by morning he agreed to at the very least try. 

Another week passed. 

Nakida’s fifteenth birthday was coming up fast and Darius needed a little help getting everything together for her party. His little girl was maturing into a little lady and there were things that she didn’t like anymore that she did last year and a lot of the new things that she liked or wanted were way, way out of his price range. 

Being that Darius is a quiet, prideful individual and man, you had to come at him in a certain way so that he didn’t feel like you were looking down on him, and with Erik’s go head -- (“Baby, you really gotta stop asking me if you can bring ya family over. This is our house. Ours, not just mines.”) -- had offered to have the party right here in y’all home. 

The backyard was big enough for the entire immediate family to come if they wanted to. And being that Nakida was sort of raised by everybody, not just Darius, of course they wanted to. People were bringing plates, drinks (alcohol and not), extra food, and decorations, and Darius, after much hemm’ing and haww’ing, eventually just surrendered.

Finally, the day arrived, and things were going off (miraculously) without a hitch! Perhaps because it was just universally acknowledged and accepted not to start any BS on Nakida’s birthday. 

Whatever the reasoning, you were thankful for it.

Things certainly got a little more interesting when Erik got home, the party still in full swing, with T’Challa in tow. 

“Happy birthday.” The king smiled, holding out his gift. Nakida thanked him, fidgeting as she looked from T’Challa to Erik and back again. “...Is everything okay?”

Nakida hesitated for a long moment, clearly wanting to say something before nodding. “Food’s for everyone, help yaself, bye!”

T’Challa looked at Erik, wordlessly asking what was going on, but Erik shrugged, “Teenagers.” That’s all he had to say on the subject. “Look, I’m hungry as shit. I’m bout to make me a plate.”

“Wait, I’m hungry too!”

“You say that like it’s my problem.” 

Breanna softly shook your arm. “Oh my gah, he’s here again.” The older woman hissed. You cut her a look and she released you. “Sorry! It’s just, why you ain’t tell me? I woulda dressed up more.”

“Girl, this a birthday party. Good thing neither of us knew T’Challa was comi--mmph?!”

“Don’t mention the ‘c’ word and his name in the same sentence. I can feel myself having ideas, like does he smile when he has the big ‘O’?” 

Davion tossed a cup of water on her as he passed by. “You. just. nasty.” 

“Oooh, boy!”

Rolling your eyes heavenward, you shook your head as Breanna chased Davion around, trying to beat him up. What was a celebration of any kind in this family without a bit of drama?

“Who is that?” T’Challa inquired, watching as the woman went running by, a slightly younger male laughing. 

Erik is more interested in eating his plate. “Whatchu talmbout now?”

“Stand still so I can beat ya ass!”  “Hell nah, bruh! You can’t get mad because I told the truth!”

It’d be rude to point. So T’Challa juts his chin at the woman, trying to be as subtle as he can. Erik glances around to see who he’s talking about, only to nearly choke on some macaroni as he realized who his cousin had pointed out.

“You met her before. Go talk to her.”

T’Challa’s shaking his head before he even finished saying his suggestion. “No, I can’t.” Erik rose from his seat and the other man slightly panicked. “Where are you going?”

Erik waved him off. Unlike T’Challa secretly feared, Erik didn’t go and rat him out, instead going into the house for some reason. Releasing the breath that he didn’t know that he’d been holding in, he turned around, deciding to enjoy his own plate of food before it got too cold.

“Oooh, ayyy, zaddy.”

T'Challa suddenly found himself with a lapful of a beautiful, smiling woman. He thinks her name is… Wracking his brain desperately, after a few seconds, he smiled, clearing his throat, “…Breanna?”

Apparently his guess is right because she nuzzled her face into his neck and he bites the inside of his cheek. “Yes, my extra fione chocolate man?”

“I do not, ah…I do not think…”

“Don’t worry, baby daddy, leave the thinking to me.”

Isiah is wandering by to refill his cup. But paused in his tracks when he overheard that last little tidbit. “Pregnant? You pregnant? Didn’t you say you was getting yo tubes tied, Fertile Myrtle?!”

“Damn, cuz. You move fast. I said talk to her, not knock her up.” N'Jadaka threw his two cents in.

“That baby ain’t goin’ to Wakanda, bruh.” Darius said bluntly.

“There is not…she is not…”

“It’s a girl and I'ma name her Te'Jai.” Breanna proclaimed.

Eventually, the truth is soused out and poor T’Challa is told that he’s being teased, to get him to lighten up. He does relax greatly afterwards, coming out of his suit and listening to jokes, sometimes trading some of his own and stories. 

Most people went home by 2 A.M. but the ones who didn’t stayed in the guest rooms. Color you surprised when T’Challa came sneaking out Breanna’s room a quarter to five. He looked at you with the classic deer in headlights expression, you looked at him before shrugging and opening the door, gesturing for him to go first. 

They was grown. 

Whatever they did or did not do wasn’t none of ya business.