#wakandan technology

[tllgrrl]

Happy Birthday Captain America!

The Favor by @tllgrrl aka Nefertiri Jones

Sam Wilson , (Bucky Barnes quoted) | SFW

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam touched the biometric pad on the case, and heard three soft clicks. He also heard…

[“I called in a favor from...”]

The last time he was in Wakanda, he was on a battlefield just outside of Birnin Zana. The Golden City.

He and his friends were fighting to save…everybody…everywhere…but before the battle he’d gotten a glimpse of the Blackest nation he’d ever seen.

A nation that had never been touched by colonization.

Sam also saw technology he’d thought only existed in Sci-fi movies and books…or maybe in Tokyo, but even far more advanced than that.

T’Challa, the king, introduced him to General Okoye, leader of the elite Royal Guard known as the Dora Milaje.

Sam was also briefly reunited with Steve’s friend Bucky Barnes, who Steve had taken there to Wakanda hoping they had the technological wherewithal to remove HYDRA’s super-assassin programming from his brain.

Apparently they did. They were successful, and two years later, there he was. With what looked to be a brand new arm, Bucky was joining the Wakandans and the Avengers in the fight against Thanos and his forces.

And Sam met T’Challa’s younger sister, Princess Shuri. A Black, teenage, African Princess tech genius who, with her team of scientists, doctors and engineers, freed the brain of mildly annoying, staring, grumpy supersoldier Barnes, who is now his “co-worker”.

(…and who is also now trying to aim those blue eyes of his at my baby sister! )

Shuri was also responsible for, among other things, developing the newest versions of T’Challa’s Vibranium-infused, nanotech, fighting suit.

[“I called in a favor…”]

Sam thought about that battle. How it ended with half the universe, including him and Bucky, turning to ashes one minute, then waking up the next minute…

5 years later.

Like a film clip, images started speeding through his mind: Things he’d experienced, people he’d met, places he’d been from the moment he met Steve Rogers—as they both were doing their morning run around the reflecting pool at the Washington Monument in DC—to now.

All of that…ending up here, back in the house he grew up in, staring at this fancy, high-tech case.

[“I called in a favor from the Wakandans.” ]

(I’m actually gonna do…this.)

He opened the case and took a breath to steady himself.

There was a schematic on the inside of the case’s lid, and what almost looked like some kind of hieroglyphs. Sam couldn’t decipher it, but he immediately knew where it was from.

He lifted the piece of handwoven fabric that seemed to serve two purposes: beauty and function, and he could see metallic threads woven throughout the rich, surprisingly dense protective cloth.

The fabric had Vibranium woven into it, and under it there were three items:

A wing pack like his broken StarkTech one, but lighter in weight. By feel he immediately knew that these wings, like his shield, were made of virtually unbreakable Vibranium.

A neckpiece that was similar to the one he saw T’Challa wear, but not nearly as large, also far less traditional and ceremonial in design.

And a pouch made of the same fabric as the protective cloth. Inside of it was a beautifully carved wooden box holding a bead bracelet like the kind worn by nearly everyone in Wakanda.

He also found a large envelope containing some official-looking paperwork, and a manual for the items in the case.

On the front of the envelope were Wakandan glyphs, and underneath them, it read:

Samuel Wilson - Captain America

He read the opening paragraph of the manual, slipped the bead bracelet (called “kimoyo”) onto his left wrist as instructed, and shortly felt the beads lightly vibrate as his cellphone rang…

* * * * * * * * *

I wrote this a little ficlet a couple of years ago when someone onhere wondered if Sam’s new Cap suit was nanotech, and this was my reply. (Well, this is the slightly longer version of my reply, which was: “Of course it’s nanotech.”)

Thanks for indulging me and reading. (Or rereading.)

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader, White Wolf x f!reader Word Count: 4k Summary: You meet Bucky while you're in Wakanda and you just can't resist his wolfish charms! Warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, dirty talk, role-play, oral sex, fingering, biting (mild) Author's note: This is a gift for @samodivaa, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

You had seen him long before you ever spoke with him. He worked the Alkama Fields on the borders of Wakanda, long strands of brown hair strewn across his face, a small sash tied across his muscular chest. The children called him White Wolf, at least that is what you had overheard. Initially, the adults didn’t speak much about him, preferring to hush you with dismissive gestures.

Your multiple doctorates in anthropology and linguistics had made you one of the top choices to visit the advanced society that had been kept so carefully hidden for so long. King T’Challa had allowed you to visit his kingdom where you would spend a year learning about their culture, languages and history. As soon as you had settled into the guest living quarters you’d been offered, you had gone shopping, wanting to fully immerse yourself into the Wakandan lifestyle and fashion.

It hadn’t taken too long before you had been fully accepted into their society, your cheery demeanor and your willingness to be of assistance to anyone you saw granted you access to places where others may have been shunned as an outsider.

The Dora Milaje had immediately fascinated you, the all-female special forces for Wakanda. They had kindly allowed you to observe their training and you had befriended a few members of the elite squad, including Ayo, Yama and Nomble. It was through them that you learned more about Bucky Barnes. It was only after you heard his name that the memories of the Winter Soldier swam to the forefront of your mind. 

The only reason you had met him was because Ayo had suggested you learn one of the native languages by attending one of the rural schools. You had entered sheepishly and been introduced to the class, who had responded with smiles and waves. It was only when you were directed to a seat in the back that you noticed the supersoldier hunched over and squeezed into a desk in the corner.

He watched your hips swish slightly as you weaved your way between the little bodies dispersed throughout the room. You were wearing your favorite red dress and soon enough it became Bucky's.

*

"I don't normally do this, you know," you smiled shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Bucky held down the button which opened the door to your humble living space, letting you enter before following.

"Do what?" he teased. "Never take strange men home?"

You rolled your eyes and let out a dramatic sigh, nudging him slightly with your elbow as you spoke. "I never let stray dogs into my home. Maybe I ought to put you back outside."

"Out in the cold?" he pouted.

"It doesn't get cold here," you scoffed.

"Well you never know," Bucky shrugged, then flashed you a mischievous grin. "And even if you did, you'd spend all night listening to me scratch and whine at the door. You wouldn't get much sleep."

In Bucky’s mind, the most beautiful sound burst from your lips as you laughed at his words.

"Maybe my puppy dog eyes will work better on you? But be warned, they are pretty powerful," he tilted his head down so his gaze was looking up at yours, lips pouted a little.

"Oh I'm done for now," you feigned a swoon. "Reign it in there buddy, the White Wolf should be using his powers for the greater good."

"I couldn't think of a better cause than being here with you."

You turned around to slip off your shoes while Bucky gazed around at your studio apartment, furnished with some classic Wakandan sofas and woven tapestries adorned the walls. It was beautiful how well the traditional and technological aspects of the culture meshed together.  

"That dress looks pretty special on you, Red."

"Red? You think I'm Little Red Riding Hood?" you asked incredulously.

Bucky shrugged.

"And I suppose that makes you the Big Bad Wolf?"

That made Bucky laugh, a deep unrestrained guffaw. It wasn't a sound you'd heard from him and you wanted to hear it again.

"You think I'm bad?" There was a twinkle in his eye when he voiced the question but there was a touch of hesitation in his voice.

You walked right up to him, until your face was inches away from his, your eyes gazed directly at his lips for a moment or two before you looked up at him and batted your eyelids in a coquettish manner. “I think you can be,” you purred seductively. “You can be big,” you pushed your hand lightly over his crotch, “and bad.” You bit your lip waiting for his response. Every fiber of your being told you that the White Wolf had a wild side, but it was one he kept restrained out of fear of his past. You hope he would trust you to explore it with him.

Slowly but surely, a smile spread across his lips. Bucky tilted his head down to look at you through his eyebrows, a mask of menace painted across his face. “And what brings you to my forest, Red?” he growled.

“I’m sorry for intruding. I was on a little field trip and I think I might be a little lost.” You turned a little to glance around the room in a mock survey of your surroundings. “Do you think you can help me, Mister Wolf?”

Bucky took a step to the side, silent and graceful, creeping around you in a circle, like a predator stalking its prey, sizing you up like his next meal - the curve of your ass, the swell of your breast, the way your throat was highlighted by the neckline of that blood red dress you wore. He was vigilant of your vulnerability, your exposure, his own hunger and desire - the urge to reach out, to touch you, to hold you, to fuck you, was overwhelming.

“You’ll have to pay the price for trespassing in my neck of the woods.”

“But I have nothing to give you, Mister Wolf,” you puffed out your lips into an exaggerated pout.

“How about that pretty red dress you’re wearing? I think that will do very nicely.” Bucky licked his lips, the salacious intent audible in his tone.

“But this is my favorite dress,” you whined.

“Give me the dress, Red. Or I’ll eat you up.”

Bucky took a step forward, towering over you. Even with one arm missing he had a presence, a presence which made your heart flutter uncontrollably. Your breath hitched as you caught a whiff of his scent, his own earthy musk mingled with a hit of sweat from having worked on the fields all day. You could feel your body responding to his proximity as beads of sweat erupted from your skin and the space between your legs throbbed with a desire to be filled. It was as though you craved his touch. He took another step closing the remaining distance between you.

You were so distracted by his closeness that you almost missed him repeating his question. “The dress, Red. Or would you prefer I eat you?”

“What’s to stop you from eating me even after I’ve given you my dress?”

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

You spun around slowly, allowing Bucky the time to admire your curves. You bit back the moan that tried to escape as his fingers brushed your hips as you turned. He slid them across your waist, trailing them up your back until they landed on the zipper on the back. He pinched the tiny pull between his fingers and tugged it downwards but it barely moved. He tried again with little success. His nose was so pressed so close to your ear that you could hear the quiet growl of frustration in his throat.

“You need help back there, Mister Wolf?”

“No!” he barked, taking the zipper pull between his teeth, while his hand supported the lacy material.

The top of your dress fell from your shoulders in an instant exposing your back and bra. The rest followed with ease, pooling to the floor in a shimmering heap. Bucky smiled, the way your muscles flexed in response to your exposure. He couldn’t help but noticed a dark patch on the front of your panties and how you pushed back into him as he came up behind you.

“You have my dress now, Mister Wolf. Can I go now?” you whimpered.

Bucky wrapped his hand around his waist. “I want more, Red. I want your body.”

It was almost involuntary, how your body responded to his words. You pushed back into him, grinding onto the swell in his pants. Bucky ached, for you to kiss him, for you to let him devour you. He held you closer.

You hummed, “what big arms you have.”

“The better to hold you with.” He covered your breast with his giant palm, kneading your flesh with a longing that had you clenching involuntarily. 

He nibbled your ear and you couldn’t hold your moans in any longer. “Ohh Mister Wolf, what big teeth you have!”

“The better to eat you with.”

You squealed loudly as Bucky’s arm enveloped your waist and lifted you clean off the ground. He practically threw you onto the large round beanbag armchair, your landing softened by the multitude of cushions which cradled your fall.

“No more teasing, Red. You’re going to have to pay with more than that sexy dress.”

He straddled your hips, hovering over you, trapping you. Your body’s instinct was to struggle but it was in vain. His weight had you pinned helplessly to the couch, his throbbing cock pushed against your core. Soaked panties, wet lips, grinding hips. His fist was in your hair as he held you up to his chest. He kissed you, hard - long and deep. It felt like he was sucking the air right out of your lungs. 

“Please, Mister Wolf.” You had no idea what you were begging for at this point, words strewn with lust. “What are you going to do to me?”

The way you looked under him had Bucky seriously testing his control, his cock now painfully hard and straining against the tight material of his pants. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in you, to stretch you out, to hear you scream his name. That animal instinct that he had buried deep inside was clawing its way to the surface, you’d woken the beast and it was hungry after all its years of slumber. You had freed the wolf and now you would feed it.

Bucky grinned at you devilishly. “I’m going to eat you. As stunning as your lips taste, I have my eyes on something sweeter.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he trailed his tongue down your neck, stopping around your breast to suck and nibble at your nipple. Your whole body tingled under his ministrations.

You moaned loudly, no restraint in conveying your pleasure. "More."

"What was that, Red?"

"I want more, Mister Wolf. I've been a bad girl."

He breathed in your perfume, it permeated his nostrils, but he had caught another scent which had attracted his attention, the scent of your arousal. Suddenly he was on his knees on the floor with a grip on your waist, firm but not painful. And the way his fingers curved under your pelvis and pulled you down with ease had you writhing desperately. You lifted your hips expectantly and he ripped off your skimpy panties, exposing you to his salivating mouth. His teeth grazed his lower lip, tongue coating them with the product of his ravenous appetite.

“Please?” you whispered. A hint of uncertainty in your voice as he hovered over you with the stillness of a dangerous predator waiting to pounce.

He smiled, the lecherous glint in his eyes replaced with one of kindness, almost affectionate. He took your left ankle in his hand, lifting your leg, guiding it up and out until he had room to hook his shoulder under your knee. He glanced up at you and nodded his head at your other leg indicating that he wanted you to do the same. You didn’t need to be told twice and matched his actions, linking your feet together on his back.

Immediately his mouth was on your lips with a yearning of a man starved of passion. He licked the full length of them with his broad tongue before pushing his nose between them, nuzzling your pussy with the growing stubble on his chin. He blew against your clit.

“Fuck Bucky, what was that?” you cried, breaking from your character. Impatience and frustration dripped off your words. “Eat me, damn it!”

“What’s the matter, Red? You sound desperate.”

“Please,” you whispered. It was a thinly veiled plea and for once, Bucky was happy to comply.

One last look into your lustblown eyes and he lowered his head, attention focused on you. You tasted of salt and honey with a hint of lemon. He pushed a finger between your folds, tantalizingly rubbing it along the length of your slit before pushing it deep into you. With each thrust he added another digit, testing your stretch.

“Tongue,” you mumbled.

“Mmmm?” Bucky hummed.

“Use your mouth,” you enunciated.

“Your wish is my command,” he grinned.

“Talk less, lick more.”

Bucky pried you apart and planted his lips firmly over your clit, sucking your sweet nectar into his mouth. His tongue lapped you as he slid his fingers in and out.

“Yes, yes, just like that,” you closed your eyes and moaned, tilting your hips to let his fingers push deeper inside you. 

He pressed his face closer, wanting a taste of every part of you. Finally withdrawing his fingers when he couldn’t quite fit both. You barely had time to whine about feeling empty as he grabbed your hips and pulled you right into his face, licking and sucking as though his life depended on drinking every drop of your precious elixir.

You moaned - it was so long and sensual that Bucky felt it inside him. He felt the wolf inside him rising to the surface. He had spent years watching; relentless, trying to find his way inside. You had let him in and now he finally felt alive. He growled, a deep guttural sound which filled you as he devored you. His head undulated as he tried to encompass you with his mouth, upper lip covering your clit as his jaw stretched and tongue pushed inside you. He ravaged you until he had no air left in his lungs.

Bucky’s cock throbbed as he felt the way you clenched against him. He slid his fingers back inside you, his other hand pulling apart your lips and exposing your clit to a fresh assault from his tongue. He could feel your clit pulse, your walls close in around him as he curled his fingers upwards to match the beat you had set with your heart. He was playing you like an instrument and the whimpers and groans that left your lips was music to his ears.

You pushed yourself on him and he ate you like a ravenous creature until-

“Oh Buck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna - Buck, Buck!” Your voice rose in a crescendo. Legs shaking as you tightened and clenched around his thick fingers. “I’m coming, Bucky, I’m coming! Now!”

Bucky watched you as every single one of your muscles contracted and relaxed as waves of pleasure crashed through you, eyes rolled back and mouth open in a silent cry of ecstasy.

As you finally came down from your high, you opened your eyes, locking your gaze on his. You lay on your back, limp and naked and tingling all over. Sighing, as the aftermath of your climax finally ebbed away. You lifted your legs off Bucky’s shoulders and patted the space beside you. There was no hesitation as he crawled up beside you.

"That was kinda intense," you smiled at him.

"I wouldn't mind seconds," he smirked, eyes wandering over your face.

You sat up and for a brief frightening moment, Bucky thought you had had enough. But you stretched your arms and arched your back slightly before turning to face him. “So, you think I can take the Wolf for a ride?”

You placed your hand over his still covered cock, rubbing your hand over the tent in his pants making him gasp at your touch. Reflexively, his hips bucked into your hand. “Maybe I should get my pants off first?”

“Sounds like a good plan,” you answered, not taking your hands off him.

Bucky sat up so that his face was inches from yours. “Just need a moment, Red.”

He was up in an instant, lamenting the loss of contact of your hand on his crotch. He unbuttoned and dropped his pants with ease, before turning to face you. The sharp breath you took as you came face to face with his fully freed cock did a lot to stroke his ego. He reveled in the brightness of anticipation in your eyes.

“You really like your Wolf, huh?”

For the first time a blush crossed your cheeks and you couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Bucky took a step closer so that there was nowhere for you to avert your gaze. 

"May I?" You looked up at him for permission. 

He nodded, heart pounding from the thought of your touch.

You wrapped your hand around his shaft, feeling him jump with excitement. "That feel good, Mister Wolf?" A sudden surge of confidence had you feeling aroused again.

"Need more, Red."

You didn't need to be told twice. His already leaking tip looked too tantalizing and you were eager to taste your Wolf. With the same enthusiasm, you took him into your mouth, starting with a few soft licks, before sucking hard. Bucky thought he was going to come right at that moment.

“Red, w-wait!” he stuttered as the waves of pleasure encompassed him.

There was a faint popping sound as you released him from your mouth, looking up at him with an all knowing smile. He sat down beside you, spending the next few moments in an intimate silence with light touches. As his breathing became less ragged, you placed your palms on his chest, pushing him down onto his back. You climbed over and straddled his lap so that your entrance brushed over the base of his cock.

You leaned down and whispered in his ear. "So is my White Wolf going to let me ride him?"

Bucky's pupils dilated so fast that the image of you blurred slightly. It was only when you came back into focus that he was able to growl out the words. "I want you."

He held himself up as you lined your entrance up to his leaking member, slowly sinking down and basking in the stretch you felt. So much more than what his fingers had given you, you wondered if he would tear you in half. After a few careful thrusts, you picked up the pace, riding him with vigor.

"Fuck, Red, you feel so good!" Bucky looked up at you.

You were a sight to behold, flushed with strands of sweat coated hair strewn across your face. But it was your eyes that had him mesmerized, the way you looked back at him with voracity laced with a tenderness he hadn't seen in years.

"Harder!"

You complied with his request, matching your bounces with a thrust of his hips. Bucky admired the way your breasts followed your movements, unable to resist the urge, he reached up to squeeze your left nipple. 

After several minutes of energetic thrusting, Bucky caught you slowing down. He slipped his hand down to your waist in an attempt to stay your movements. 

"Can we try something different?” you asked, breathing heavily as you leaned forwards to pull air into your burning lungs and ease the pain in your aching thighs.

“Just gimme a few more. ‘M close.”

“Trust me, Mister Wolf? I wanna give something else a try.”

He removed his grip from your waist, watching as you climbed off his lap and crawled over to the arm rest and planted your hands firmly on it. You looked over your shoulder and wiggled your ass at him.

"Mount me, Mister Wolf."

Bucky didn't need to be told twice. He splayed his fingers across one cheek of your beautifully round ass and kneaded the muscle as you pushed back towards him, waiting with anticipation for him to enter you. But Bucky’s inner wolf had been freed and he let its spirit guide him. He leant forwards and sank his teeth into your other cheek, deep enough for you to yelp with pain but not enough to break your skin. He proceeded to cover the area with his lips in an attempt to kiss it better.

"You want to mark me?"

"You're mine, Red. All mine. Got that?" He rubbed his cock against your leaking lips.

“Yo-”

Before you had the chance to finish giving him an answer, he was inside you. One swift thrust. The cry that left your lips was much more pained and Bucky worried for a moment that his strength had been too much for you.

"It's fine, keep going. Fuck me, please."

Bucky was a little more careful on the second try, but each trust made him more confident, aided and abetted by your lusty moans and encouraging words.

“Bucky-”

“You sound so pretty like that,” he pushed into you repeatedly. “Whining and moaning my name.”

“Bucky!”

“What happened to your Wolf?”

"Please… Bucky… please, I need you,, you know I'm aching for you to take me, to pull me apart, whatever pleases you, just… please just don't deny me!”

It felt so fucking good, having Bucky’s cock inside you. Your brain was nothing but mush, focused solely on just how good he felt inside you. You shuddered, your hips pushing backwards as Bucky presses against your clit. His fingers smooth out around your folds, pressing into them slightly, as if holding them open so he can push into you better. You felt your arms going weak at the stimulation, it was getting harder to support yourself as Bucky pushed deeper and deeper inside you.

“Faster!” you cried, but you could barely hear your own words over the sound of skin slapping together, the wet sounds of Bucky’s cock thrusting in and out of you.

“Fuck, Red, I’m getting close…”

"…Ohhh fuck, please," you gasped out, instinctively. "Buck… I need you. But… I'm yours, all yours…"

Your legs trembled as Bucky’s words had you teetering on the edge of your orgasm, your juices covering his cock, his thrusts were passionate, wild, frenzied.

“That’s right. Mine! I’m going to fill you up. That’s it, Red. Come on my cock. I want to hear you come.”

Raucous moans caught in your throat, your eyes closed as you took in all of Bucky. Your vision clouded and your body felt limp as he pushed you over the edge once again. It felt as though the world had ceased to exist except for the two of you, together, as one being. Bucky held you close as you squeezed his cock triggering his climax. With a howl, ropes of white hot cum shot from him, filling you until it was dripping out of you and down your leg. He fell into you and you both collapsed onto the sofa, heavy breathing was the only sound to be heard in the room for several minutes.

Finally you caught your breath, recovered some semblance of feeling in your limbs. Bucky’s arm was still wrapped around your waist in a powerful embrace and he hadn't made any moves to extract himself from inside you.

"I should probably be getting back," Bucky mumbled regrettably after a long silence.

But neither of you made a move to free yourselves from the other's arms.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Let's Talk About That

Our love's misaligned 'cause you're on my mind every night (9)

Psychiatrist!Avenger!fem!Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Summary: What is to be the fate of the one with the power stone?

Word Count: 1.9K

Warning: Angst, violence, gore, medical procedures, medical talk, emotional distress

A/N: Thank you for being patient with me and now it's time for the final chapter

Before our descent into Wakanda, about half an hour out, Wanda roused you from your slumber, causing you to jolt awake with your purple magic instinctively surging in defense. "Y/N, it's just me. You're safe," she reassured you as you struggled to catch your breath, your magic fading away as quickly as it had emerged.

"Sorry, Wands..." you muttered, rubbing your temples. "Ughhhhh... Never let me do that again... My head's all fuzzy, and my dreams felt too real." Wanda's touch on your cheek brought you back to the present, her expression softening with concern.

"Okay. I won't. Time to get you ready. Suit up," she instructed before standing up and leaving the room. You sighed, looking down at your costume, feeling the weight of our impending mission settling upon you as you reluctantly donned it.

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts, and Tasha's voice followed. "Hey, it's me. Can I come in?" she asked. You welcomed her inside with a nod, using your magic to open the door as she entered, a smile lighting up her face.

"Have I ever told you how hot you look in your outfit?" Tasha teased, walking over to sit on your lap.

"Yeah, but you could stand to mention it more," You smirked, leaning in to meet her kiss with passion and love, allowing yourself to lose yourself in her embrace as if it were your last moment together.

==================

Vision and you walked flanking Wanda, each on one side of her. Her arm rested on Vision's lower back, her hand on your side holding your hand. You tried to keep your grip gentle as the three of you made your way to the Wakandan medical center. The advanced technology on display was unlike anything you had seen before, a testament to the hidden marvels within Wakanda.

In the medical center, Vision and you were laid on separate beds, subjected to examinations utilizing technology beyond even your comprehension. Shuri, T'Challa's brilliant younger sister, took the lead in explaining our unique situations.

"Their structures are polymorphic," Shuri observed. "For Vision, we had to attach each neuron non-sequentially. For Y/N, the power stone seemed to do that on its own, attaching itself in such a way to sustain itself, since the stone appeared to seek her out specifically."

Shuri directed a question towards Bruce, "Why didn't you just reprogram the synapses to work collectively?"

Bruce, admitting the oversight, replied sheepishly, "Because we didn't think of it."

Your chuckle was abruptly cut off by a sharp look and a whack from Wanda. The room shifted to serious discussion as Shuri addressed the matter at hand.

"Can you do it?" Wanda asked about Vision's procedure.

"Yes, but there are more than two trillion neurons here. One misalignment could cause a cascade of circuit failures. It will take time, brother," Shuri responded.

"How long?" Cap inquired.

"As long as you can give me," she stated.

Concerned about your own fate, you tentatively asked, "What about me?"

Shuri explained, "For you, one of our top cardiac surgeons will be overseeing your procedure."

Feeling a wave of numbness, you sat up, biting your lip, leaning against Natasha for support. This stone has been a part of you for years now. You feel like you’re going to loose a huge part of who you are. Wanda's hand squeezed your thigh, her voice in your head reassuring you. She had read your thoughts.

"That's not true," she insisted. "Even without the super strength or some of the abilities, you can still see auras and emotions. You can give and take those things, still help people. Your voice can soothe or shatter eardrums at will. You are so much more than this." Her hand touched the stone, and you placed yours over hers.

"Thank you, Wanda," You whispered, offering her a small but appreciative smile for her comforting words.

Lying on the operating table during open-heart surgery was an experience you wouldn't wish upon anyone. The knowledge that you needed to be conscious in case of emergency was little comfort as the procedure unfolded. The sterile surroundings and the hushed voices of the medical team did little to ease your nerves.

As the surgeons began to cut you open, you couldn't feel the incision, but the sound of the instruments slicing through flesh sent shivers down your spine. It was a surreal sensation, knowing that your body was being operated on while you remained awake and alert.

The worst part came when they began to remove the tendrils of the stone that had wrapped themselves around your heart and lungs. The sickening sound of sinews being torn away made your stomach churn, and you felt every jolt and tug as they detached from your organs. Each movement seemed to reverberate through your body, leaving you feeling nauseous and disoriented.

Despite the discomfort, you forced yourself to remain still, knowing that any sudden movement could jeopardize the delicate procedure. So you lay there, trying to focus on your breathing and block out the unpleasant sounds and sensations, praying that it would all be over soon.

As the doctor informed you that we were nearing the end of the surgery, your attention shifted to Wanda, who was making her way towards the windows. The distant sounds of battle outside served as a stark reminder of the chaos unfolding beyond the confines of the medical facility.

Wanda rushed over to Vision first, her actions filled with urgency and determination. She clasped his hand and pressed a tender kiss to it before turning her attention to you. Confusion filled your mind as you watched her approach, uncertain of her intentions.

"What are you doing?" You asked, your voice betraying the worry that gnawed at your insides.

"I have to go help them," she replied, her gaze flickering with determination.

"No, Wanda, you can't," You pleaded, desperation lacing your words. You couldn't bear the thought of her leaving you alone, especially in your vulnerable state.

But Wanda's resolve remained unwavering as she leaned down to kiss your forehead, her touch soothing yet filled with determination.

"I'm going to keep you safe," she whispered softly before hastily leaving the room.

Left behind in the sterile silence of the medical facility, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over you. Wanda's absence left a gaping void, and the weight of uncertainty pressed down on you as you awaited the outcome of the battle raging outside.

No sooner had Wanda left one of the aliens you had fought earlier reappeared, its presence sending a surge of adrenaline coursing through you. Without hesitation, you slapped your hand back over the stone, returning it to its rightful place, despite the agony that shot through your body. The wound slowly began to heal, the tendrils once again enveloping your heart and lungs.

"Ready for round two, big boy?" you snarled at the alien, your voice laced with defiance and determination. A flicker of fear passed through its eyes as you rose to your feet, your fists clenched and ready for battle.

"Shuri, keep working on Vision. I can handle this," you called back over your shoulder, your focus solely on the adversary before you. With a powerful push off the ground, you lunged forward, your fist connecting with its face with a resounding impact, sending it hurtling through the air once again.

As the alien staggered, you wasted no time in following up, launching yourself into the air and delivering a double hammer fist that sent us crashing down to the ground below. The force of the impact reverberated through your bones, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through the pain, knowing that you had to protect your friends and allies at all costs.

As the two of you spun and grappled amidst the trees, the alien managed to get hold of your stone, sending a jolt of agony through you that momentarily stunned your senses. Before you could react, it kicked me back with tremendous force, sending you sprawling to the ground.

You scrambled to regain your footing, but before you could fully recover, a colossal alien loomed over you, wielding a giant axe with deadly intent. With lightning speed, it brought the weapon down, and you barely had time to react before the blade struck you with brutal force.

Agony exploded through your side as the axe punctured your flesh, sending searing pain radiating through every nerve in your body. With a sharp gasp, you clutched at the wound, desperately trying to keep your insides from spilling out as darkness threatened to engulf your vision.

Wanda came flying down as your body began to heal itself. “Are you okay?” She asked concern evident in her voice and on her features as she reached you. Her hand flying to meet yours that covered your wound while the other held your cheek.

Searing pain ripped through you as your body tried to cinch itself back together. Your stone glowing bright purple in its efforts of putting it’s host back together. Then another wave of pain hits as your chest tightens up. The alien sinews of the power stone clenching up around your heart and lungs. Breathing feeling impossible.

“What? What is it love?” The fear for your safety evident in her voice. You looked around frantic until your eyes met hers.

“He’s here.” You managed out through labored short breaths. Everything felt still for a moment.

Wanda stood up, readying her powers, a red scarlet orb in between her hands. As your body healed enough that you no longer needed to hold it you stood up. Gripping her arm as she looked back at you.

“Together.” You asked, searching those sea glass eyes you’d fallen in love with the moment you looked into them.

“Together. Always.” She responded. Vision flew down beside you two. The mind stone no longer on his forehead.

“Is it destroyed?” You ask.

“Yes. Shuri took care of it.” A sigh of relief comes from both you and Wanda as Thanos appears before the three of you.

As your other teammates fought along side of you none of them were a match until he got to you and Wanda. You had him on his tails until he used the time stone to move backwards just enough to grab the mind stone from Shuri before it could be destroyed and then your stone. Picking you up by your neck and tearing it out of your chest.

Nothing could have prepared you for that. Your body unprepared as the tendrils pull and snap away. A crater left in your chest as you struggle to breath and stay conscious. Wanda holding you and begging as tears fell from her eyes and onto you.

“Please Y/N...please don’t leave me. I’m so sorry for everything that happened. I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry I never let you explain it. Please don’t leave me like this. Please stay with me. I’ll make everything right I swear, I promise you.” Her voice is cracking and you can faintly see Natasha behind her. You can feel the smile come up on your lips though you don’t feel your hand reach up and touch her cheek. Brushing away a stray tear from her cheek.

“I’ll love you till the day that I die.”

The words sound like you’re underwater and the world around you starts to shrink as white invades your vision and your hearing starts to go.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"Ice Princess"

Ice Princess by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Erik "Killmonger" Stevens x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Murder, Mayhem, Blood, Violence, Action/Adventure, Thriller, All Dat Good Shit. Grown Folks Only.

Summary:

Portia Keith has it all. A rich boyfriend. An impressive sugar baby allowance. Shopping trips around the world on private jets and more. Every day is spent living in the lap of luxury. For a special holiday trip, her boyfriend gifts her with a private yacht cruise on the Aegean Sea to ring in the New Year with friends.

In order to keep the wealthy party-goers safe, private security is hired to protect the good times, and the spoiled diva encounters the gruff ex-Special Ops soldier, Erik Killmonger, who has no time to coddle a spoiled, coolheaded socialite. Chaos erupts when the yacht is hijacked by ruthless modern-day pirates, and Portia has to learn to leave her Ice Princess ways behind in order for Killmonger to get her back on land... alive.

Word count: 22.5K

"I'm so cold I'm dripping icicles

I go and take your man that nigga might miss you

Spent his whole commission on my neck and ear

To stand around me need to have ya winter gear

Pay me coats and benz's and that berg-ice

That's why I do not feel these bitches, frostbite

Grown money, ever since a youngin' made my own money

You broke honey, and they call me

Banks, cause I can loan money

Colder than December, my diamonds on

Anna WintourSo that's fly ice in my life"

Azealia Banks – "Ice Princess"

Erik Killmonger nearly turned down the job.

Floating around some Greek islands in and around the Aegean Sea for a week babysitting some rich bitches was not his dream gig. Some guns for hire might enjoy the laid-back assignment full of sunshine and sparkling azure waters, but he learned enough over the years that working for wealthy pampered civilians was a pain in the ass. They treated security like servant extensions, and he was not interested in an environment like that. He was accustomed to covert jobs that kept his blood pumping and his mind sharp. There were long-term goals that required him to be with a different mix around the Middle East and real action.

But his homeboy Clark wanted to keep the contract with James Quinton, the multi-millionaire from Silicon Valley who pioneered new bleeding-edge technology in computer processing. For about seven years, he had been a celebrated tech wiz, one of the few Black men successfully cashing out of the grind hustle culture. Killmonger kept up with the man's accomplishments and compared them with his own. As a graduate of M.I.T. and a certified genius with MENSA, the secret Wakandan prince would've probably become another James Quinton himself if his life hadn't been disrupted by trauma and loss. The chips fell where they did, and Killmonger bided his time searching for Ulysses Klaue and working as expensive hired security. Clark nagged at him.

"Man, I'm stretched thin. They want discretion and the best. That's you. I know you were supposed to start leave for a week to recuperate from that Lagos job, but there's some sketchy action happening around the Mediterranean, and your Navy SEAL experience is needed… just in case," Clark said on a satellite call.

Killmonger sat in his closet-sized studio that acted as a storage locker for his gear instead of a home. Constantly on the go, and on the grind, he listened to Clark reclining in his Lazy-Boy chair with a glass tumbler of prime whiskey in his hand.

"You'll ring the New Year in a beautiful atmosphere. Relaxed and peaceful. The bonus holiday pay is great. Please, I need this contract fulfilled. This man knows a lot of billionaires and I could use the referrals… new contacts. Plus, you're good-looking," Clark continued.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Killmonger said, sipping on his drink.

"Look over the file I sent you online. It gives details about the yacht you'll be protecting, and also the rest of the clientele."

"That still ain't got nothing to do with my looks," Killmonger grumbled.

"Pretty girls like good-looking men. That's all I'm saying. You might get lucky compared to the other goons I got," Clark said.

Killmonger closed his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. The studio apartment felt cramped and joyless.

"I'll throw in another bonus for the short notice," Clark insisted.

"How many people onboard?"

"It's a private New Year's party, eight guests, and the yacht staff of four. You'll have your own cabin. You'll lead everything with Sherman and Banks working under you. Giving you the best—"

"Just three men?"

Killmonger lifted his laptop from a small table next to his chair. He logged onto his dark web email account and scrolled images of the yacht. Looking at the dimensions and pictures, Killmonger put down his glass.

"I need at least three more men."

"I can pull at least one more for you—"

"Gotta have five total under me to make this work, especially with us going to a new hot spot."

"The Greek government and the Turkish government have been doing extra sea patrols. James Quinton hasn't mentioned going anywhere for the holidays and I urged him to place his social media engagement on pause for the week until they end their holiday. It'll be a vacation for you. In fact, you could just supervise and chill."

Killmonger knocked back the rest of his liquor.

"Okay, I'll do it. Get me five men."

He hung up and checked the files of James Quinton on his own cryptic software. Quinton liked to stunt his wealth. The man posted photos and corny quotes at least ten times a day on all of his social media platforms. It was the ones with his girlfriend that worried Killmonger.

Portia Keith.

Online, she was known as the Ice Princess. Her beauty and personality were so cold that she had a reputation for being a femme fatale with a rich man's wallet. She had been linked to a few celebrities in the past but had moved her pampered ways to men with deeper and consistent pockets. She rarely spoke in public and showed up to haute couture fashion shows all across the globe. Killmonger couldn't figure out exactly what she did to make men clamor for her and pop culture gossip blogs to want to follow her daily jaunts as a sugar baby with James Quinton.

He stared at a few pictures.

Ma definitely had a face card that would never decline. Medium height, a medium copper brown complexion that turned a pretty darker hue in the sun. Body looked all natural and not the cringy build-a-bitch looks women paid top dollar for. Portia had tits and a nice ass that matched her thighs. She liked provocative looks and expensive things. Quinton gave her everything and baby girl wasn't denied anything according to the photos he peeped on her platforms. There was a crew of girlfriends she jaunted around with, and in every picture, Portia was the center of attention. The face of a model on par with Naomi Campbell, and the body of a vixen bent on destroying hearts and dicks. She stayed dripped in diamonds every day from head to toe. Most men couldn't afford her and several tried to keep her until Quinton snatched her up with the bank account that kept her flaunting her beauty and body.

That face, though? Killmonger couldn't stop staring at it. Her eyes were cool dark windows that gave away nothing. The kind of eyes that cut niggas down if they weren't on point. Her round nose was slightly upturned in a natural haughtiness, but her lips were the deadliest weapons in her arsenal. Killmonger's lips parted as he licked his canine slugs that matched the bottom ones made of pure gold. Portia's lips looked like they could make a dick cry if she sucked on it. Her nickname fit the vibe she gave off, and he wondered what Quinton had besides money to keep that sophisticated sugar baby close.

Killmonger checked the gossip sites and scrolled pages and pages of rumors that Portia and Quinton were having issues and possibly on the outs. He guessed the private New Year's trip was Quinton's way of keeping her, especially with the gossipmongers bubbling with sightings of her having lunch with an Italian billionaire.

Killmonger poured himself a fresh drink, then checked flight schedules on Delta Airlines.

Portia Keith pouted all the way to Greece on her boyfriend's private Gulfstream jet. Scrolling her social media feeds while holding her apricot-colored Pomeranian Mimi, she fumed at the gossip page listing her and Quinton on a site that criticized the super-rich for ruining the climate with their wasteful private flights and hoarding of resources. Her bestie Jodie patted her thigh and told her to ignore the haters.

One thing Portia always did was cultivate a scandal-free reputation. She prided herself on being a carefree Black woman leading a luxury movement for other Black women that had them raising their standards against unqualified men. Accused of only promoting hypergamy and a sugar baby lifestyle, she let people talk their shit because it only brought luxury brands her way courting her favors to use and promote their goods for free. Her exquisite face launched products like no other, and the quiet mystique she crafted with razor precision could not tolerate slander with her image. It wasn't her jet. It was Quinton's. Rich people had to protect themselves and taking commercial airlines with the poors was so… gauche. Especially for bad bitches like herself. The income brackets she played in were fifty million and above, and the low bar of fifty million was just being polite. Not bad for a country girl with tidewater roots and access to an excellent finishing school that prepped her for the lifestyle she led.

Portia left Charleston, South Carolina, with a finance degree from Clemson University and never looked back. Landing a job working under the Director of Finance and Operations for Conde Nast, she labored around the folks who ran Vogue Magazine. A chance encounter during New York Fashion Week launched her new career as a pampered princess. The paparazzi snapped a candid shot of her walking near Anna Wintour wearing a layered sable Balenciaga romper. They both wore the same dark Chanel sunglasses, and a fashion mag begged the question, "Who wore it better?" Before his passing, André Leon Talley exalted her style sense and overnight, Portia became the new "It" girl, the mysterious fashionista who was too short to be a model, but too glamorous to be a simple finance department worker.

She jumped on the parasocial relationship with the New York fashion scene and made sure she appeared at big events. Using a lame-ass rapper who liked to rock oversized ice, she taught him how to dress better, and spent his money on a better investment… her. She put him on to better fashion, better food, and better jewelry. It helped broaden his brand and snag a movie role. She bounced from him to a Hollywood Executive who flaunted her at Oscar parties and she kept her mouth shut and her eyes wide open for new marks. Stacking other people's paper and collecting custom diamond jewelry that became her signature trademark was a lofty career in her early twenties. Portia was nearing the end of her roaring twenties and she had to upgrade her prospects to older men with healthy long-term portfolios. Hollywood and celebrity wealth were fleeting, often feast and famine. New prospects were needed and her finance education led her to San Francisco and tech Daddies. The trade-offs were dull, less attractive men, but fatter pockets.

Then Quinton appeared on a Forbes magazine cover.

Dollar signs flashed in her eyes. She called in favors to get invited to a tech gala and projected her icy exterior onto a man who was rich and above average. New money cleaned him up, but her looks, nimble fingers, and optimum sex magic snagged her a baller on the rise. If she drank enough liquor and squinted her eyes just so, he could almost pass as a poor man's skinny Trevante Rhodes. But that squint had to be hard and the liquor extra strong.

She glanced over at Quinton.

He bored her now.

Quinton was thirty, only four years older than her, but he acted like he was fifty, worrying about his declining fortune all the time. He got caught up in some bad cryptocurrency deals and took a hit on some poor stock market advice. The man pretended that everything was okay financially, but Portia could smell the oncoming of poverty one hundred miles away. Yet she still ran his pockets one last time with the trip she wanted for herself and her girls. She had a couple of boyfriend replacements already on deck and planned to jump ship after the New Year. Broke didn't look good on her and she wasn't built for struggle love or struggle pockets. A baddie always had a graceful contingency exit plan. She sighed loud enough for Quinton to notice her restlessness. Her gaze glossed over his hairline, which was beating a hasty retreat to the back of his neck. What had once been a full head of cropped waves had turned into phantom follicles that gave up on him faster than she did. He had aged so quickly in the two years she'd been with him that she could mistake him for his own father nowadays. Pity. Portia thought she'd stay with him for at least a few more years to see if he could stack his paper higher past the eighty million he was worth when she met him. Alas, that was not to be.

Quinton put down the computer tablet he had his nose buried in and clasped her hand. His eyes were already bloodshot from drinking and anxiousness. Things were probably going downhill faster.

"We're about to land, baby. Have patience," he said.

Her girlfriends giggled and drank martinis behind them. Portia ran a diamond-studded finger up his arm. Mimi whined on her lap.

"Will you give me anything special for New Year's Day?" she purred.

Quinton grinned.

"I have a lot planned for you," he winked.

At least he was going out with a bang, she thought. He was spoiling her one last time, unbeknownst to him. A part of her wondered if she should feel pity for milking him dry until he went belly up. It was the nature of the game, and he knew fully that to keep a woman like her, he had to keep his coins up. She kissed his cheek and her stomach dropped. They were descending.

Their landing was swift, and they were all transported to a launch dock where Quinton's brand-new custom yacht waited for them on tranquil turquoise waters. Seeing the ship, Portia couldn't help but get excited and jump about like a kid with her friends as she held Mimi in her personalized pink Fendi doggy purse. Quinton's three male friends ogled the women through their sheer beach cover-ups. Their teeny-weeny bikinis left little to the lascivious imagination. Portia patted her designer cornrows studded with pink diamond hair jewelry that matched Mimi's pink diamond collar. The ends of her jeweled braids extended past her back, and she flung her natural hair around and waited to board the yacht.

A staff member waited on the main deck of the ship with a tray of mixed drinks in a crisp eggshell white maritime uniform of a starched shirt and knee-length shorts. Portia grabbed the first glass and her gaze drifted over to the tall Black man wearing a hot as hell black military uniform holding a colt commando automatic weapon. His glossy locs framed a gruff, bearded face with a scowl on his thick lips.

"Ohmigod, Quinton. Is this really necessary? Mood killer," Portia complained.

She released Mimi to run around and handed her purse to another crew member. Quinton shook the security's hand. Scoping the yacht, Portia saw five more similar men spread behind the first one.

"Killmonger, correct?" Quinton said.

"Correct," Killmonger said.

"Just Killmonger?" Portia asked.

"Just Killmonger," he answered in a rough tone.

Quinton turned to all of his guests as they mingled and admired the surrounding luxury. The five other security team members dispersed to their stations. Only Killmonger remained. Quinton held out his hands to show off his big, shiny toy.

"As I told all of you, we'll be completely protected. I know there have been rumblings of issues in this region, but I hired some serious security. Enjoy yourselves! Wander around for a bit and they will place your luggage in your cabins. Lunch in an hour!" Quinton said.

"Hold up," Killmonger said.

Everyone stopped chatting and froze with their refreshing drinks.

"We need to go over a safety drill," Killmonger said.

Quinton glanced at his watch.

"Now? Can it wait until after lunch?"

"No," Killmonger said.

"Where would you like us to be?" Quinton asked.

"Head to the stern, please," Killmonger said, pointing to the back of the yacht.

The others headed in that direction. Portia sauntered past him in the opposite direction.

"I'm going to settle in," she said, rolling her eyes.

Killmonger snatched up her arm so quickly that it knocked the breath out of her. She didn't know a human could move that fast. He held her close to his chest as his other hand gripped his weapon.

"See, you're the type of woman who makes the job difficult by being a brat," he snapped.

"You can't talk to me like that!" she hissed, trying to jerk her arm away. It was like fighting an immobile mountain.

"I'm here to protect your good time. We practice drills for a reason."

She exhaled hard when she noticed his teeth. Sharp gold canine slugs on his top and bottom teeth.

"I could have my man sue you for assault," she bitched.

"Do it," he said.

Portia blinked fast several times.

"Do you know who James Quinton is? He could ruin you!" she bellowed, squirming in his grip.

"I'm here to make sure you rich people don't get bothered. I'm the best at that and I'd appreciate your cooperation with the safety drill. It'll only take twenty minutes of your precious spoiled time," he barked.

"Portia?"

Her friend Chelsea called for her.

Killmonger released her arm, and Portia looked up into his face. Narrow, heated eyes peered down at her.

"Let's go, princess," he said, swaggering past her and slinging his weapon over his shoulder.

Portia stared at his wide back and clenched her teeth. She threw her martini glass over the side of the yacht in anger and balled up her fists. Prepared to raise hell with Quinton over the manhandling, she huffed under her breath in anger and stomped her Gucci slides when Killmonger glanced back at her and… smiled, flashing those gold slugs.

Portia halted her steps. The fuck was he smiling at?

And why was she getting aroused by it?

She was a piece of work.

Killmonger knew from jump that Portia would be a problem needing an attitude adjustment. He checked her real quick the moment she mouthed off about not following safety rules that had to be enforced in case of an emergency. She gave him a glacial stare during his short introductory speech on how the trip would run among the security team, and he took them down the stairs that led to a sunbathing deck. There was an emergency escape door that led to an eleven meters long military rigid hull inflatable boat under the yacht that could hold three crew and eight passengers. It had an M60 7.62mm machine gun, an MK19 40mm, and an M2 .50 cal. machine gun armament attached to it. The boat could do forty knots with six in-line cylinder diesel engines. It was an extreme weather craft and Killmonger made them all jump inside of it to get a feel of how they would ride it in case of an emergency exit. He pointed out life vests and showed them the scuba gear his men had available to check for underwater threats.

Once Portia realized they were the real deal, she fixed her face to look less bitchy and bothered. Killmonger was concise and professional and he impressed all the guests with his background and training. He spoke to his team to go over work shifts, breaks, and overnight watch duty. Taking the first shift watch on the main deck, he kept his guard up while the yacht started its adventure away from the Greek port and out into the open sea. The captain of the ship introduced himself and his staff after lunch and their first port of call was Athens, and then they would head to Crete. They would spend the rest of their time tooling around on the open sea and shooting off fireworks on New Year's Eve.

The women wasted no time throwing off their bikini covers and rushing over to sunbathe topless on cushy recliners. An annoying little dog ran around barking and finally jumped on Portia's thighs to sleep until it got too hot and it hid under her chair. He didn't mind watching the sea with binoculars and occasionally looking down at tits. They weren't shy about showing them, so he would not pretend he didn't notice. Quinton and his male buddies grabbed a bottle of top-shelf bourbon and headed to the other side of the yacht to smoke cigars on padded deck chairs. They were torn up by dinner, and by then, he was done with his work shift and free to relax and eat a meal in his cabin. A private chef brought him moussaka and white wine for dinner and galaktoboureko for dessert. It filled him up, and he took a quick shower afterward, then rested on his bed.

The party crowd became raucous and rowdy the later it became, and he changed into light linen pants and a cotton shirt to join them and check in with the night shift team. Music blared from speakers on the starboard side and he eased around to observe and also check out the night waters. The yacht had spotlights that surrounded the bottom of the boat, so there was a beautiful glow to the calm aquamarine water. The rest of the ship was lit up too, which concerned Killmonger. Nothing like advertising a luxury yacht filled with rich people. He was correct in requesting five men to work with him. They had various firearms, rocket-propelled grenades, and enough ammo to start a war at sea if needed. He relaxed after talking to the two men on shift. All was well.

He went for a stroll around the upper decks while the civilians headed down to the lower deck to spread out for cocktails on the main deck. A cool breeze blew past and ruffled his locs. He closed his eyes and faced it fully, luxuriating in the sensation.

"Oh… so you can look normal."

Killmonger opened his eyes and found Portia and one of her friends sitting on white barrel chairs with their legs kicked up on an olive green ottoman. She wore a short pumpkin-colored shift dress and her skin looked amazing from being in the sun all day. Playing with the hem of her extra short dress, he admired the elaborate diamond chips that decorated her long fingernails. She stayed adorned, and he appreciated the effort she took to look feminine and soft. Portia's friend looked cute in a short polka-dotted sun dress. Her hair was lifted in a high ponytail of cascading auburn curls that fell down over her slender shoulder.

He took the open seat next to the friend with a short table between them. There was a half-empty glass of red wine and a fresh unopened bottle next to it with a cork opener conveniently placed on top of it if she needed more.

"I can dress down when I'm not working," he said.

She smiled. The wine had relaxed her and she appeared less uptight. Crossing a seductive leg, he glimpsed her sexy thighs. She didn't have any panties on, and her mound was clean-shaven. He glanced away to pretend he saw nothing, but the smirk on her face told him she meant for him to see her pussy.

"Why aren't you two down with the others?" he asked.

"Needed a break. When you're always the life of the party like me, you need a little time off. Plus, they're talking about work and stocks. Tiana and I are not interested."

"That's so snoozefest," Tiana said, her light skin splotchy with sunburn marks.

"Your other friends seem intrigued by it."

"Those heffas?" Portia snorted. "They just want to appear interested to get attention. Carlos is worth half a billion. Ben two billion. Oh, and that loud mouth you hear right now? That's Stieg. He's a Scandinavian trust fund baby worth five billion. My girls are here to party with me, but make no mistake, they're fishing for a big fish of their own to catch up with me. They're bored out of their minds, but…."

Portia rubbed her fingers together to indicate cash. She stood up and walked down the stairs, leaving Killmonger with Tiana. He sat in silence for a moment before standing up to leave.

"You sure you'll be okay up here by yourself?" he asked, glancing over at the balcony.

Tiana looked heavily inebriated.

"I can hold my liquor," Tiana said.

"Alright then, I'll leave you to your bottle and privacy—"

He glanced over the railing and watched Portia saunter to the front of the yacht. For someone who stayed rude to him while he was on shift, her lax behavior at night intrigued him. Showing off her pussy had to be an amusing game to her. Killmonger liked what he saw and slid his wet tongue across a gold fang.

The rest of his rounds were completed, and he gave one of his men a twenty-minute smoke break starboard side once the guests had turned in to sleep. He took over the watch temporarily and cast his glances out toward the tranquility of the sea. Heavy breathing brought forth curiosity, and he strolled down to a lower deck to investigate.

Portia was on her back naked, legs spread wide as Quinton exerted desperate dick strokes inside of her.

"You're so good, baby. Yes, that's it," Portia said with lukewarm enthusiasm.

Her eyes faced the sea, and she offered no effort to reciprocate affections or even movement as her man pounded her. The detachment on her expressionless face bothered Killmonger. Quinton gave her the world and she couldn't be bothered to give some passion? Even if it was a fake? A true pillow princess, Portia laid there with minimal effort to even wiggle her hips. She managed to push her breasts together and jiggle them, but she refused to look at Quinton's face. The man stared at the fat titties and pumped his way to a sad orgasm. When he collapsed on top of Portia, she took her expensive nails and raked them on the back of his neck and cooed phony words of praise. A smug look painted her face.

Killmonger gripped the railing, and a surge of anger sparked inside of him. He wanted to wipe that petty smirk off Portia's face. He knew fully well that her relationship with Quinton was a transactional one based on the rules of patriarchy. Men bought women as commodities and arm candy all the time. Killmonger knew what the game was, and Ma played it like the pro she appeared to be. However, it irked him that Quinton didn't fuck the shit out of her and make Portia earn all of her riches from him.

Quinton rolled off of her on the wide sectional couch and pulled off the condom that sheathed his average-sized dick. He balled it up and tossed it onto the table next to them. Within seconds, he was fast asleep, and Portia rested her head on a throw pillow. Her eyes squinted in surprise when she noticed Killmonger looking down at them. She slid a finger to her pussy lips, teasing Killmonger by opening her legs wider so he could see all the wet pink of her succulent entrance. His lips twisted up and there was a tightening in his pants. She traced a finger in a wide circle around her folds, then licked her fingers, dropping them onto her nipples to tweak the tips. He gripped the front of his pants to adjust his dick, thinking of all the ways he would fold her body if he had the chance to teach her a lesson about teasing a nigga like him. Her writhing body was doing all the things she should've been doing for Quinton if she hadn't been a lazy fuck. Portia dipped her fingers inside of her pussy and pursed her lush lips as she watched his face grow more aroused watching her display of ridiculous seduction right next to her snoring boyfriend. But he couldn't look away. Her fingers spun magic as they played in her slick folds. She flicked her clit and widened her legs for him until she raised her arm up and flipped him off with a moist finger. Portia cackled and clutched at her stomach, delighted at her teasing. She grabbed the shift dress she had on earlier and put it on, leaving Quinton behind by himself on the sectional. Tossing the used condom in the sea with the flick of a diamond nail, her laughter floated up to Killmonger as she headed to her cabin.

"Bitch," he grumbled.

She had him going, toying with him by using her physical blessings against him long enough to tell him to fuck off. Portia wanted to play cat and mouse, thinking he was the silly little mouse. Little did she know she had a vicious panther on her hands.

They docked in Crete at the crack of dawn.

Killmonger had two of his team stay behind to watch the yacht, and the others dressed in civilian clothing to blend in and trail the women who went shopping and out for lunch with the billionaires and Quinton. The blistering heat didn't let up. He wiped the back of his neck and under his chin several times while tracking Quinton. Portia stayed on the yacht to sleep in late. Her man seemed to find his balls again when he wasn't around her. The passive energy disappeared, and he took on a personality with bravado, impressing Tiana, who laughed at his corny jokes. Their lunch break was long and Killmonger took time to smoke a cigar near an open market. He played tourist watching the surrounding activity, checking the time on his watch constantly, and checking in with the yacht.

In his peripheral he caught Quinton slinking out of the high-end restaurant and entering the luxury hotel next to it. Killmonger stayed put hidden behind a marble statue of Athena, keeping his steady gaze on his client. Quinton checked his surroundings before dashing into the hotel. Killmonger entered the hotel and discreetly shielded his body from the other tourists. Moments later, Tiana walked into the lobby and headed toward Quinton. The tech wiz grabbed Tiana's hand and they entered an elevator together. Killmonger grinned and left the hotel.

The pillow princess's man was getting better pussy elsewhere with her bestie. Killmonger shook his head and checked on the people milling around the hotel lobby. He stayed put until the illicit couple came back down the elevator twenty-five minutes later, fixing their rumpled clothes to look presentable again.

"Quick ass," Killmonger mumbled, sticking a piece of gum in his mouth to chase away the taste of cigar on his tongue.

The trip back to the yacht was uneventful an hour later, and Portia's girlfriends carried plenty of gift bags to commemorate their visit. Portia stood on the top deck with a martini glass in her hand wearing an alabaster knit bikini. A giant floppy sun hat shaded her face. She pranced around on her chunky platforms, waiting for her friends to share their bounty with her.

"Fuck," Killmonger uttered, staring up at her.

Her body was insane. The bikini top only covered her nipples, and the bottoms barely shielded her vulva. He licked his lips again, staring at how fat her pussy looked up there. Tiana was nothing compared to Portia, but Killmonger knew that a lot of beautiful women had trash box and men fucked with women who made them feel good. Looks had nothing to do with keeping a man in the long run. Plenty of mid-looking and ugly women had snatched away prizes from bombshells. Perhaps Portia needed a man with good dick to turn her out correctly. There was no way all that body was going to waste because some rich dude couldn't handle her spunk.

Portia caught him checking her out, and she leaned over the railing to eye him back. Killmonger sauntered to his cabin to change back into his serious work clothes. He checked in with the mercs left behind on duty and all reports were good. The ship's captain updated him with a weather report and soon they were back out at sea for the rest of the trip.

Quinton and Portia threw a costume-themed dinner party and everyone wore Mardi Gras masks and sipped champagne before devouring salty caviar, Kobe steak, and lobsters. The yacht staff hustled to please, but Portia became a bitch when things didn't go as smoothly as she wanted. She reamed one female server so badly for stepping on her dog Mimi by accident that the woman slunk away in tears. Quinton said nothing about the bullying and everyone else was too drunk to comment on anything. Portia snapped at two mercs while moving into their next party area for charades and Killmonger had enough of the poor attitude. When Portia went for a restroom break in her cabin, he followed her. She caught him waiting for her in the narrow hall.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Her icy tone and polar stare made him want to flip her around and spank her ass like an insolent child being reprimanded by a fed-up parent.

"You need to check your tone with the staff and my men. These people are working hard—"

"Shut the fuck up, you simpin' bitch," she said.

Portia lifted the Mardi Gras mask onto her forehead and glared at him. Her little cat woman bikini costume showed off every curve, and he became distracted for a second by the veracity of her tone and demeanor. No woman had ever tried to come for him like that, especially one who didn't know him from Adam. Her breath smelled like the expensive French wine she had drank all night, and he considered her drunken state before speaking. He leaned in, and Portia leaned back until she was jammed against her cabin door. Killmonger bared his teeth at her and she acted as if he had snarled like a beast. Her eyes darted toward the stairs that led to the top deck, expecting someone to rescue her.

"Treat people who cater to you with respect. They don't get paid enough to take your verbal abuse," he demanded.

She looked away from his heated glare and gold canines. He caught the subtle tremble in her body, but then she turned her face back to him and smirked.

"Those people are paid well and competed to get this job—"

"You ain't paying 'em," he said.

"My man is. His money is my money—"

"You sure about him being your man?"

Her eyes narrowed and her lips curled into a tight grimace. Killmonger decided to blow up her spot and teach the brat a lesson. Every bully needed to be humbled in their life. There was no better time than the present for her.

Portia put a hand on her hip and waited for him to run his mouth some more.

"He had a little quickie with your homegirl Tiana at a hotel while everyone was having lunch."

He cocked his head and waited for the explosion and waterworks to begin. Portia stared at him hard, then started cackling.

"Think I'm joking? I followed them there," he said.

Portia snorted and grabbed her stomach to control her laughter. He waited for her to notice that he was serious. She patted his chest with her right hand and he rolled his eyes with impatience.

"The look on your face right now… as if you got me with something!" she heckled.

Portia wiped her almond eyes and touched her chest. Her diamond nails glittered and that cool exterior returned in full effect.

"I sent that bitch there myself," Portia said.

Killmonger's brow wrinkled, and Portia gave him a little twisted lip pout. Then she grinned.

"Aw, I'm sorry boo boo. You really thought this was a gotcha moment. Ever hear of keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer? Tiana is a free-loading cunt… yeah, I said cunt like the white girls do. She's not my homegirl, just competition who has been trying to be me from day one. I let that heffa into my inner circle to keep her on a leash. Quinton is going broke and all of this…?"

She waved her hand above her head.

"All of this shit is about to disappear soon, so to teach her a lesson about coming for what I got, I'm letting her have that limp dick brokie. She thinks she's on the come-up sneaking around with him, but I fed her fake bread crumbs to that nigga. Lied, and told her we were having relationship problems, and that I was worried that he wanted someone else. That little worker hoe really thinks she's better than the queen bee. I stayed on the yacht on purpose so she could make her move on him. Now she knows shiny things aren't always diamonds with that weak peen. In her mind, she thinks she has him and his money. The reality is, she's with a broke faker. Checkmate, bitch."

Portia guffawed and pointed to Killmonger's face.

"I respect you for trying to break my heart to humble me, but you can't play a player," she said.

She shoved him out of her way and strutted up the stairs, tooting her ass out so he could see it jiggle as she walked. Stopping halfway, she looked back at him.

"I'll act nicer with the staff just to make you feel better," she said.

Killmonger chuckled and shook his head. Baby girl was cold-blooded. Respect. He eased his big body up the steps and did quick surveillance all around the ship. Portia acted better with the servers, but she was still icy with the other mercs.

The next few days were dull and humid.

Boredom set in with the women, as the men only drank, ate, and slept for hours on end. Killmonger observed how Portia maneuvered around Tiana. Deadly sweet. It was like watching a scorpion slowly poison a frog as it rode the weaker creature's back. The shine of being with Quinton wore off Tiana, and he caught her brushing off the advances of her secret lover when they thought no one else saw them around the yacht. Portia knew everything that went on between them, orchestrating their dismal affair right under the noses of everyone present.

New Year's Eve rolled around and the trip was nearly over. He had to admit that the assignment wasn't as troublesome as he thought it would be. Quinton hired a fireworks crew to meet them on a separate boat at a rendezvous point in the middle of the ocean. Killmonger sent his mercs over to check out the other smaller ship with metal detectors, heat sensor devices, and a thorough inspection of the crew while he scuba-dived under the boat to sweep for explosives and hidden weapons. They inspected the fireworks being used, too. When one of his team helped him out of the water, he pulled off his scuba gear, and Portia watched him undress. Her eyes grew enormous when his scars came into view. The shiny lumpy brown flesh decorated him with a deadly artistic beauty, displaying every life he had taken in his line of work. He walked across the deck, dripping in seawater and muscles. A hunger grew in her aroused eyes to see more under the wetsuit.

"All safe," he said, whisking past her, carrying his air tanks to a rack.

He took his time pulling off the rest of his wetsuit, shaking his thighs, and grabbing his dick through his tight trunks to adjust the weight there.

Quinton walked over, clapping his hands together.

"All good?" Quinton asked.

"You can have your show tonight," Killmonger said.

Portia flounced away, shaking those ass cheeks, and his dick jumped in his trunks. The last few days she'd been a lot more suggestive with her behavior toward him, teasing him with flirty glances, and tugging on her swimwear suggestively in front of him that had Killmonger undressing her in his mind at night. He jerked off on his bed after taking a shower from scuba diving, imagining himself bending her over a railing and spanking her ass, rubbing his dick tip against her while she glanced back at him with those spoiled eyes and luscious, pouty lips. She needed to be punished. Needed to be on her knees and sucking his dick. If she complained about his length choking her, he would slap her and train her to show some respect for the gift of having his length stretch her mouth.

His erection was harder than steel and he kept playing an image of her begging forgiveness for being such a bitch. Killmonger wanted to cum all over her face and mess up that illusion of perfection she had about herself. Knowing what he did about her for nearly a week, he already understood that she would try to break his resolve and manhood down to control him. She needed a strong Daddy to put her right, and the thought of her sucking his balls while she stared at him with insolent eyes sent him over the edge, and ribbons of hot cum shot all over his hand and midsection. His dick was still hard as he beat it again, thinking of her pussy contracting all over his erection. She just had a way about her that made him want to tame her. Break her down. Force her to submit and sit that plump ass on his face.

He rolled over, groaning into his pillow, angry that she had reduced him to playing with himself when he was supposed to be overseeing his men. Cleaning up quickly, he went topside to check on the action above. Quinton and his guests had all retired for late afternoon naps to prepare for the evening's festivities. A fancy seven-course Mediterranean meal was planned for the New Year's celebration and they invited all the mercs to join in the fun with their shifts.

Portia wore her alabaster bikini again with a coral beach wrap skirt. Diamond earrings decorated her ears and a huge blue diamond necklace sat on her neck worth more than Killmonger made in a year legally. She toned down her make-up, going for a natural look, and the switch-up was extraordinary. It softened her face more, and she became even more beautiful.

Killmonger ate his fill of the gourmet food and allowed himself one glass of champagne before changing shifts with another merc. He kept his dark clothes on and strolled alone along the uppermost deck. The ship captain ate from a plate and Erik glanced over at the fireworks ship. He lifted the work binoculars from his chest and stepped back outside to observe the water and sky. No moon. Just stars stretched across the heavens, sparkling the jewels all over Portia.

The fireworks show started at eleven-thirty for a slow countdown to midnight. Killmonger positioned himself on the deck overlooking the stern. Below him, the rich guests gathered with more champagne and small desserts to watch the show. It was spectacular. Fireworks had never impressed him before, but he found himself looking at the sophisticated light show over the sea. Dazzling shapes and styles of explosives brought a magical ambiance all around them. Portia squealed and clapped her hands like a child, often pushing her face against Quinton's shoulder whenever an explosive boomed too loud and scared her. She looked cute while enjoying herself and Killmonger wondered why she couldn't be like that all the time. A certain type of sweetness exuded from her, as if she had put away that mask of cool she always wore, just to be a regular woman having a good time.

A server approached Killmonger with a tray of champagne.

"Why not?" Killmonger said, lifting a glass.

He drank it down and kept his eye on Portia, enjoying the fireworks.

Portia gulped down another glass of champagne and watched a firework turn into a rose in the sky. She clapped and oohed and ahhed to her heart's content. It was a beautiful way to end a relationship. A part of her actually felt a little bad about dumping Quinton after the trip. He would find someone new with a lower income bracket, hopefully, someone who loved him for who he was and not his wallet. The poor schlep was the type of dude who used money to buy his way into the quality of woman he wanted, which was not who he needed. Perhaps if Portia had remained a small-town girl working finance at a bank or small business in her old hometown, Quinton would've been deemed, in her mind, the catch of a lifetime. Alas, that was not the ocean current she rolled in. His ego was big, and he felt entitled to beautiful women simply because he had a dick and some money. Cultivating a personality, hobbies, or real solid friendships was not in his wheelhouse. Trophy girlfriends would never bring him happiness.

The champagne bubbles in her flute tickled her nose. She glanced over at Tiana who looked seasick from too much liquor in her system. Maybe there was some hope for Quinton being with her enemy. Everyone deserved love.

Portia was about to go check on Mimi in her cabin before it hit midnight. She gave the Pomeranian a doggy sedative to keep her from anxiety with all the fireworks noise, and she worried her fur baby would be frightened without checking in with her. The crackle of a spectacularly loud firework drew her attention to the sky again. A chain of enormous fiery lights popped off, and she glanced at her dainty Patek Philippe watch. It wasn't midnight yet for any kind of grand finale. Unless something bigger was about to erupt in the sky after that volley of bright multi-colored lights. She clapped and heard a loud popping sound.

"Did a firework not go off?" she asked.

Her girlfriends shrugged before a gigantic explosion rocked the bow of the ship that was not part of the show. The yacht lurched, and Portia fell to her knees off-balance with her platform heels. Smoke and flames filled her shocked eyes. Everyone nervously headed toward the front to see what the hell happened and more popping sounds commenced from behind them. Tiana fell on top of her with Carlos. Portia's two other friends shrieked and ran, cut down by a hail of bullets through their backs. Portia pushed the limp and bloody woman off of her legs and shoved Carlos away too. The man's eyes looked up at her with a lifeless stare, and Portia screamed. She stayed on her hands and knees to keep low while looking up toward the higher decks. Killmonger had a modified M249 up and shot toward the sea targets. The fireworks ship exploded into a reddish-orange fireball, blazing the night sky with more flames and thick smoke. Parts of that ship flew over onto the deck of the yacht. One of Killmonger's men shot a grenade launcher from his weapon, aiming for some enemy Portia couldn't see on the dark water.

"Portia! Stay down!" Killmonger called out to her.

She did what he said and hid under Carlos and Tiana again, trying not to lose it as their warm blood dripped all down her legs and pooled at her feet. She swiped some of the cooling blood from her limbs and wiped it all over her throat to make herself look injured and played dead on the deck. Quinton ran toward the side of the yacht, and Portia wanted to follow, but the volley of intense bullets whizzed over her head. She covered her face, hearing loud splashes of water and yelling. The mercs around her scuffled with people who had climbed aboard. A powerful arm lifted her up by her waist.

"You been hit?" Killmonger asked.

"No!"

A merc near Killmonger took a shot between the eyes and dropped in front of her.

"Let's go!" Killmonger yelled, helping a server go with them.

The attackers cut the server down in mid-step and Portia realized with horror that all the guests except for her and Quinton were in a dead bloody heap all across the deck. She only lucked out because two bodies fell on her, shielding her from becoming human Swiss cheese. Another of Killmonger's team ran past them to fight, giving cover. Killmonger led her to the secret emergency door that held the military boat.

"Wait! I have to get Mimi!" she yelped.

"Fuck that dog!" Killmonger yelled.

Portia pushed back on the tears that welled up in her eyes. Her poor baby was locked inside her little travel kennel. She'd die all alone in her crate without her Mommy. The yacht tipped to the side, knocked by another explosive. Killmonger helped her into the emergency boat and made her put on a life vest.

"Wait here," he said.

"Don't leave me!" she shrieked, clutching his free hand with desperate fingers.

"I have to check for other survivors on the yacht's crew."

Her heart thudded in her chest so fast it made her gasp for air. She sat inside the boat and grabbed one of the gray emergency blankets and pulled it around her, hiding down low in the boat in case an armed pirate burst in. Portia was small enough to look like a lumpy seat. The odor of smoke crept down to where she was, and after some time, she worried Killmonger was dead. She wanted to wait another ten minutes for him, and then figure out a way to get the boat out onto the water by herself before the entire yacht sank into the sea.

It became hard to breathe under the blanket. She made a little breathing space for herself where she could still be covered up, but the smoke from the fires above seeped down to where she was. The sounds of shooting had stopped. Silence took over, and she debated about going out to see if the pirates had left. Time kept ticking, and the boat listed. Adrenaline had kept her going. But now the tears flowed.

The emergency door burst open, and Portia held her breath and stayed perfectly still. Mimi's woozy and weak bark yapped for her. She threw off the blanket and Killmonger was there, carrying Mimi's travel kennel and a backpack. He handed Portia the dog and tossed the backpack on the boat. Pressing a few buttons on a side wall of the yacht, a release ramp opened and slid down toward the water. He pushed the boat more, and it slid easily with a quiet splash. The yacht leaned further over and they would have to hurry to avoid being sucked down with it.

Killmonger untied ropes that secured the boat to the off-ramp. His face was full of concentration and determination to get them out of there. He put the safety on his weapon and leaned over to drop it in the boat when a masked man wearing dark clothing similar to Killmonger's uniform charged him, jamming his AK-47 under his throat and choking him.

Killmonger flipped the man over onto his back, punched him once and whipped out a Glock from his waist, and blasted the man's forehead. Blood and brain matter splattered, and Portia was too shocked to scream. Killmonger leaped into the boat and started the quiet motor, guiding them away from the yacht. She watched the burning luxury boat slowly sink as they bounced across the water. The pirate boat that attacked them sat on the other side and she thanked God there was no moon because the flames from both ships burning distracted their attackers from seeing them. Portia closed her eyes and let the cool sea breeze dry the sweat of fear all over her. The further away they were, the safer she felt. Her breathing returned to normal once the yacht and the surrounding madness became a tiny shiny speck on the horizon.

Killmonger checked some guidance apps on his military watch computer and took them toward some uninhabited Greek island chains. After about forty minutes, they hid their getaway boat on a small rocky isle inside an island littoral cave that made Killmonger feel secure staying there until he could contact help. Waves had eroded away an opening in the limestone, creating a sea cave that hid and protected them from the elements. He stuck a small headlamp on his head, giving them the only light source to look around. Killmonger handed her one too, and she placed it around her forehead. He dragged the boat once they hit soft sand. The cavern was dark and warm, like a womb. There were flares and a bulky charged satellite phone on the boat.

"I'll use the phone tomorrow and shoot off a flare for rescue when it's safe. We may have to stay out here a few days," he said.

"A few days? Why that long?" she said.

"That was a coordinated attack. They'll be looking for survivors all night and tomorrow. They knew exactly how many people were on that yacht, and you and I are no longer there. It was a hit… on everyone," he said. "There's also a storm moving in and that will hinder rescue efforts."

"Maybe they'll think we drowned and just go," she reasoned.

"They will sweep for floating bodies. Trust me."

He stopped and looked at her hard. She had opened Mimi's crate and held her frightened dog on her lap.

"Portia… Quinton set this whole thing up. I saw and heard him talking with the hit squad when I grabbed Mimi. He left with them on the attack boat."

Portia shook her head.

"No… that's not true… Quinton's a tech guy. He doesn't know pirates and shit…"

"He's going to disappear like he's dead, too. Collect on all the insurance he had on everyone there and that yacht. You told me he was going broke. He fixed his financial problem by getting money for you, your friends, and his billionaire buddies. The men he hired are going to make sure you and I are dead, so we don't snitch on what really happened."

Portia looked down at Mimi and felt the blood rush to her head like she was going to pass out.

"I can't believe this. He killed all those people to save his ass financially."

Killmonger pulled out a cold bottle of water from the backpack he brought and handed it to her.

"Can we last for three days out here?" she asked.

He nodded and showed her a wide variety of goods stored on the boat.

"There's enough food on her for several days that could last a week if needed. Since there are only two of us, we can eat as much as we want and stretch it out if we have to. We have fresh water… blankets. Toilet paper, sunblock, bug spray. We're good. Just have to keep hidden from the clean-up crew."

Killmonger sounded confident, and Portia inhaled deeply. He saved her life and would protect her on their…

New home. She looked around the boat again. There was plenty of room on one end for them both to stretch out and rest. The weapons attached to the hull could thwart a small army. Portia sipped a little water, gave some to Mimi with a cupped hand, then placed the dog back in her kennel. She prayed her fur baby didn't bark after the sedative wore off completely.

Killmonger made soft pallets of extra blankets for them to sleep on while she turned off her light and stepped out of the boat. She walked back to the water. After rinsing the blood off of her body and shoes, she returned to him, and they both stretched out in opposite directions. She felt him move around on his end. Lifting to see what he was doing, she caught him taking off his uniform. He stripped down to his black boxer briefs and huddled back up under his covers. Portia changed positions and crawled to his end when her body spasmed. She rested against his back, spooning him to capture some of his warmth, hoping the shaking in her limbs would stop. Her body moved with uncontrollable, jerky movements and she felt cold. Killmonger faced her quickly and put his arms around her.

"What's happening to me? My arms and legs keep shaking," she whispered.

"You're going through adrenaline withdrawal. Shit was crazy that you went through, and your body was all keyed up for action. It's trying to get back to equilibrium."

"How do you seem so calm? Shouldn't you be shaking too?"

"I'm used to it. Don't worry. It won't last long."

He opened up his blanket to her, and she eased her face against his wide chest. The keloid scars were smooth and slippery-feeling against her skin. His heartbeat was a steady drumming to her ears. Her shallow breathing eventually evened out to match his, and she could rest calmly next to him. The scent of his skin had a soothing musk odor, some cologne mixed with his own sweat, giving off an intoxicating smell. He adjusted his body to give her more room, and she closed her eyes to sleep.

Waking up hours later, she opened her eyes to see him looking down at her with the softest brown eyes. For the entire yacht trip, he always wore a scowl on his face with narrow cruel eyes that held disdain for her. Now… she looked at another man completely. A roar of water drew her attention back toward the opening of the cave. The light pastel colors of dawn greeted them with shades of turquoise and honey yellow bleeding into a blood-orange tapestry. The rising tide rolled in, gently pushing their boat against the sand, rocking their bodies like a mother's hand tending to a cradle. Killmonger had the boat fastened to a stake that he pounded into the sand to keep them from floating out into the sea while they slept.

Sitting up, she admired the view. The clear, tranquil water sparkled as the sun rose higher and the colors in the sky changed into new brighter hues. It took Portia's breath away, bringing tears to her eyes. The rust color of the cave's roof seemed to glow. In the distance, she noticed other island chain formations that probably never had a human walk on them. She wondered if the awe she felt was the same awe that God had when the heavens and the earth were made complete. The scene before her looked like a painting. She spent most of her life drinking, partying all night, burning through rich men's money, and sleeping hungover until noon. When had she ever witnessed a sunrise like the one spread before her sober eyes? What a way to enter a new year.

Porta laid her head back down and noticed that her bikini top had fallen off in her sleep. She was topless in front of him. Throwing an arm over her chest, she glanced around for her knitted top.

"Don't trip," he said with a grin.

He reached above his head and handed her a small container of grape juice. She took it and drank down the sweetness.

"Hungry?" he asked.

She shook her head no, the fruit juice helping revive her blood sugar. Pushing the blanket away from her lower body, she luxuriated in the balmy comfort of the air. Tilting her head back, she noticed an opening at the top of the cave that dropped a beam of early morning light on her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the inside of her lids turn red from the sun bathing her more. A calloused finger stroked down the side of her cheek. Portia's eyes popped back open as Killmonger dragged his index finger against her skin. She lifted a finger and traced one of his keloid scars across his right pec. He was her hero. During the shootout and explosions, he had his eyes on her, making sure she was safe.

Killmonger dropped his head down and kissed her. She could taste toothpaste and fruit juice on his tongue. A static sound interrupted their joining, and he pulled away from her to pick up the satellite phone. He spoke in a rushed tone, giving coordinates and relaying a warning about the attack and Quinton's hand in it. There was a personal locator beacon with a strong GPS tracker he was going to keep on so they could find them. She closed her eyes and rested her head on her hands, letting Killmonger deal with everything. Soon after, he shut the phone off to save the battery. Turning to her, he stretched his arms and sighed.

"It's going to take time to reach us. The storm is sitting over Crete and moving slowly. Rough waves."

"But they are coming?" she asked.

"Yes."

Portia fell onto her back and stared up at the cave roof with relief. People knew where they were and would find them.

"I want to eat now," she said.

Killmonger pulled out MRE packages and small disposable plates. She dumped out a packet of southwest beef with black beans and tortillas. There was a chocolate banana nut muffin and apple slices mixed in a spice sauce, a cheese spread, and peanut butter. Portia made herself a burrito, and the food gave her the calories and energy she needed. Killmonger made them coffee over a small propane stove he put together and joined her with his own meal.

"Not bad," she said, stuffing the muffin in her mouth.

"We can have a white meat chicken salad with crackers and pasta for lunch," he said.

She wolfed down her burrito and wiped her lips. Finishing quickly, she let Mimi out of her cage and fed her from the packs of fancy dog food stored inside the kennel with her. She let the dog run around in the cave's interior to relieve herself. Mimi stayed away from the water and occupied her attention quietly by digging holes all in the back of the cave. Looking around, Portia was happy to see there was nothing inside the small cave with them except sand and the tiny beach made by the water lapping inside gently. Killmonger pulled out a large tan camouflage netting.

"Step out. Grab your top," he said.

Portia stunned herself by noticing she had stayed topless the entire time eating. She tied her titties up and draped her wrap skirt around her neck into a dress. She slipped on her platforms and picked up Mimi. Killmonger covered the boat up with the netting, blending it into the background of tan sand.

"Put the dog in its kennel so we can look around and I can plant this tracker up high," he said.

"She'll bark," she said.

Killmonger rolled his eyes.

"Then carry her," he said.

He pulled on his pants, and she eyed the bulge at his crotch. His flaccid state was bigger than Quinton's erect state. Portia checked herself for thinking sexy thoughts in their dire situation.

Dire?

It wasn't, really. They had all they needed and good people were coming for them. He placed several water bottles, a Glock, the satellite phone, and the beacon locator, inside a small pack and slung it around his shoulders. She followed him out of the cave, stepping on vast rock formations on the side to keep from getting her platforms wet. Climbing up the side of a hill, they made their way through brush and mostly barren land. There weren't very many trees and the ones that existed were small, or dead, and had fallen over. She kicked a few on the ground and they crumbled from contact, drier than the heat cooking their skin. Killmonger was already a shade darker, and it looked good on him. His biceps were beefy and darker brown. Her own dark skin took on a red tinge with her rich color. At a glance, they looked like tourists ambling about looking for t-shirts to buy for back home, not shipwrecked targets for death.

"Ow!"

Portia tripped on some sand and eroding rocks, bumping into Killmonger and almost knocking him over.

"Watch it," he barked.

"Sorry! I wasn't trying to bump into you—"

"Take those ridiculous shoes off so you can walk better—"

"It's too hot."

"No, it's not—"

"Yes, it is—"

They fussed like an old married couple all the way to the highest point of the island. He stuck the tracker in the ground and checked to make sure it was working properly. Gazing out at the sea around them, Killmonger lifted binoculars from his chest and peered out further.

"See anything?"

"No."

"That's a good sign, right?" she asked.

Portia put Mimi down so the dog could sniff around and urinate. Mimi happily sniffed and marked territory. When she padded over too close to a drop, Porta scooped her back up. There didn't seem to be any wildlife at all.

"Do you think there are a lot of snakes on this island?"

"Maybe. I haven't seen much scat or midden left behind," he said, searching the sea with the binoculars.

"What's that?"

"Scat is animal shit, and midden is their refuse… the food they've nibbled on and left behind. I only spotted some anthills and one bird so far. Not much to sustain a lot of snakes."

He glanced over at her.

"Just walk hard. Your vibration will scare them off. Keep that rat dog in sight, though."

"She's a Pomeranian."

"Looks like a rat dressed in a hot ass fur coat."

Portia looked at her baby. Mimi did pant. She grabbed a water bottle from Killmonger's pack and poured some on the dog.

"Whatchu doin'?! That's for drinking," Killmonger scolded.

"She's hot. I don't want her to get sunstroke."

He held his hand outstretched.

"We're surrounded by cool seawater. Dunk her rat ass in that. Stop wasting what we need to survive!"

Portia pouted.

"I wasn't thinking about that. I just wanted to help her."

"Let me do all the thinking then…" he grumbled.

They explored more, trekking around the entire island in under an hour. She dunked Mimi in a pool of water that came up from a natural aquifer of fresh water near the cave entrance. Killmonger grumbled again, so she walked her dog into the seawater and cooled them both off. He shut his mouth when she removed her beach wrap and frolicked with Mimi until a small wave knocked her poor pooch over. She walked out of the water dripping with her diamonds glittering, making her look like a Black Venus rising to the mortal world. He licked his thick lips, and she shuddered at the thought of that mouth on her body. Killmonger was bossy and so easily annoyed by her. However, he was also attracted to her and Portia played into that whenever he gave a tired sigh with her antics spoiling her fur baby. She made a little condo property for Mimi with her dog kennel. Moving it far back in the cave, she gave the dog a bowl of water and dried dog food with space to call her own to keep away from Killmonger. She decorated the front of the crate with pretty rocks and shells she collected and doted on her little one until Mimi fell asleep, farting from all the snack treats Portia gave her to help with the stress of a new environment.

He checked in with the rescue team on the phone and made them lunch. She sensed he felt more relaxed after finding fresh water on the island that they could use if they needed to. They ate in silence together, sitting on the sand and staring at the water. To be stranded on an island with a trained killer wasn't such an awful experience. Underneath the rough exterior was a man who held her hand to help her move around the island, and who also made sure she was hydrated. He pointed out natural formations of some of the island's geography around them and double-checked for snakes as they stepped over fallen trees. She gripped his arm when they moved into questionable areas, and at one point, she slipped her hand into his as he guided her back down toward the cave.

She took a nap on the sand and woke up to a crackling fire. Killmonger had gathered wood and dried brush, making a cozy glow that couldn't be seen from the narrow opening of the cave from the outside. They watched a new sliver of moon rise and a blanket of blue-black sky rest over the island for the night. She grinned and nibbled on chocolate chip cookies, humming and rocking on her backside as she ate. He laughed at her.

"What?" she said

"You look like a little kid on a girl scout campfire trip," he teased.

"Funny, because I used to be a girl scout."

"A girl scout… and you didn't know what scat and midden were?"

"I must've missed that part. I just looked good in the uniform," she said.

He smiled, and the bright, genuine light it brought to his face made him even more handsome. Killmonger was fine, no doubt, but there was something else deep within him that made him even more attractive. She thought of the way he lifted her up with one arm, shooting with the other as he rushed her to safety. His eyes always slid over to hers, even before the attack, when they were floating in tranquility. Portia had teased him sexually, doing things to get a rise out of him. It had started as a dismissive act, letting him see what he would never have in life, and it changed into active taunting, daring him to step up to the challenge so she could smack him down and belittle his audacity to think he was ever on her level.

Sitting in a cave with a peaceful campfire, her gaze on him brought clarity. She had been attracted to him the moment he put her in check on their first meeting. People always did what she wanted, and he had been the first man to push back on her attitude. She picked at him every time he showed up in her face.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said.

"You couldn't afford my thoughts," she said in a playful tone.

He smirked, then added more wood to the fire. Her eyes drifted up to watch the smoke go through the hole in the high roof.

"You think they're done looking for us? Should we even have a fire with the smoke floating… they could see it."

"By now, they should think we're dead. They never saw us leave on the boat and the yacht is at the bottom of the ocean by now, so they can't even check to see about the emergency escape, even if Quinton mentioned it. I won't have this going for long," he said.

"I like it," she said, holding her hands and feet up, warming her fingers and toes.

They didn't need the extra warmth. The cave was already cozy, but it brought comfort to their predicament.

"I'll sleep out here tonight and keep watch," he said. "I'll have to hike around a bit too, to check in other directions from the top."

She looked around for a blanket or pallet on the sand. There was nothing to lie on. Perhaps his soldier ways let him sleep cross-legged and upright. Her eyes became drowsy. Standing and stretching, she stared out at sea, admiring the sizeable chunk of island rock that faced across from their private paradise.

"I thought a storm was coming," she said.

"It is. Can't you feel the temperature drop? The sky is changing too. Won't hit until later tonight, and it won't be as bad out here. The sheer rock of that island over there is shielding us, and the tide doesn't get very high in here. We're good," he said.

She nodded.

"Night," she called.

"Night," he said.

She checked on Mimi, then snuggled inside the boat with the blankets. Killmonger went and grabbed the solar lights that he sat out in the sun all day and brought into the cave, jamming them down in the sand near the boat. He even posted two by Mimi's kennel because Portia told him the dog was nervous about being in the dark. Her mind tried to stay positive. She wondered how bad the storm could be if the hole at the top of the roof flooded with rainwater. Killmonger didn't appear concerned, so she let the thought drop.

After an hour, a soft splash of water forced her to lift and see what the noise was. Mimi hated water, so there were no worries there. Portia spotted Killmonger on the far side of the cave, splashing his naked feet into the liquid heaven.

"Lord," she whispered into her own mouth, watching him.

He was totally nude and moved his body with an assured grace that made him look like Poseidon returning to the sea. She could not stop staring at his taut glutes and powerful thighs. His keloid scars were all over his back, too. Killmonger walked in waist-deep before dunking his head underwater and wetting his locs. He ran a hand over his hair and shook them, stretching his arms out wide, traveling deeper into the sea until she could only see his head. Going under a few times, he moved closer to shore, and she noticed the small bottle of liquid soap in his hand. He washed all over, rubbing his muscles, and cleaning between his toes and elsewhere. Rinsing off, he dropped the bottle of soap on the sand for later and put on his pants without his boxer briefs. He padded back over to the dying fire and stopped when he saw Mimi sitting near his previous seat.

"Getcho ass back in that kennel," he ordered.

Mimi only sat and stared at him.

He sat down next to the pampered pooch and placed Mimi on his lap. Portia giggled and hid under the blankets.

Smoke and flashes of a blazing fire blinded her eyes. The shouts of fear and the odor of fresh blood grounded her back on the yacht. She had moved so slowly. Champagne and the thrill of fireworks put her in a loopy mood and the horror of the attack froze her and probably saved her life. Tiana and Carlos ran and Portia stood there like a statue, her mind trying to fathom what was wrong with the scenario before she was tackled by the running dead and free-falling onto her back.

"No!"

Portia shot up inside the boat, her heart jackhammering in her chest. Her throat clogged with a scream as she relived the attack. Staring at her shaking hands in front of her face, she expected to see blood and brain matter again as another scream ripped from her lips.

"Hey, it's okay… shhh… it's only a nightmare…"

Killmonger jumped into the boat with her and the fading dream had her beating his chest thinking he was an attacker. The lucidity made her claw at his face and he pulled her into his chest, rocking her, cooing soft words into her ear to bring her back to reality and the safety of the cave. Mimi whined behind her and the sound of the dog snapped her to the present. She fell apart then, wailing into Killmonger's chest, her mouth wide open and unable to close as if the terror she endured would crawl out of her throat. Quinton tried to kill her. Her body could've been at the bottom of the sea becoming fish food and no one would know the truth of what he did to her or all of their so-called friends. Portia moaned and jammed a hand against her mouth.

"You're good, Portia. I'm here and we're okay. Just a bad dream…"

She looked up at his face, then wrapped her arms around his neck. He leaned back in the boat, letting her rest on top of him. He stroked her spine and his rough hands on her bare skin brought her back from the brink of totally losing all control of her emotions. She wiped her eyes and covered her face, weeping quietly against him.

"I was waiting for this. Some people take longer to process what happened to them. You tried your best to act like you were okay all day," he whispered.

Her breath shuddered as his soothing voice and hands brought her into a calm state.

"I was so scared," she said.

"I know."

"It was so fast and… I couldn't move…"

"You did well considering all that was happening at one time… even wiped blood on yourself to fool them. That's thinking on your toes, Ma. Most people just scream and holler, then get caught up in the shock. You ran and did what you had to do."

"Thank you for saving me," she whispered.

"That was my job."

His fingers dragged up and down her spine, making her skin feel tingly and warm. She crawled off of him and snuggled into his side, hiding her face in his chest. Portia enjoyed being there. It felt comfortable and safe. He stroked her arms and tried to leave her side to return to his post, but she gripped his arm and pulled him back next to her.

"Don't go," she said.

A soft sprinkle of rain fell on the water. The storm had arrived. The pleasant patter of droplets striking the sea eased her mind and body. Her nightmare faded, easily forgotten, while cozied up against him.

"Try to sleep," he said.

Killmonger rested his head on the makeshift pillow his work jacket made and she stared into his eyes. The solar lights gave her a soft ambiance to look at him with.

"By tomorrow evening, they should be near enough where I can shoot a flare so they can pick us up. Hang on to that thought," he said.

She nodded into his shoulder and released a final shudder that loosened all the tension in her body. Absent-mindedly, she rubbed her fingers across the top of his naked chest, feeling the slick contours of his keloids against the pads of her fingertips. Tracing her fingers under his neck, she took a bold step and ran her finger across his full lips. Raising herself higher, Portia kissed him, enjoying the sensation of warm plush fullness outlining her own plump softness. His lips smothered hers as he took over the kissing. She expected a feral roughness with him, but he was buttery soft and so gentle with her mouth. Even his large tongue surprised her with how seductively slow it was exploring the inside of her mouth. Their kisses were languid and so unrushed that she could almost fool herself into thinking that they had been lovers in some other past life together. There was no clumsy fumbling newness as their tongues sought an understanding of their changed physical relationship.

She tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth, and he smiled. He kissed his own trail down her face and onto her neck where he buried those sharp gold teeth and nibbled on her throat, shooting sparks of pleasure down to her toes and back. Groaning out loud, she delighted in his fingers pinching her nipples through her bikini top. She untied it and freed her breasts. His hand palmed their fullness, and she glanced down at his crotch. His dick tented his pants. She helped unfasten them, releasing his erection. It was a hot, rigid thing in her hand and his head fell back, allowing a deep groan to release from his mouth.

"Stroke that shit," he huffed into her neck while untying the bottom of her bikini himself.

She moved over as he wiggled out of his pants and gasped when she saw his dick and balls together. Her pussy throbbed while looking at the heft and length. Pre-cum pearled at his tip and ran down the sides and she helped slicken that big dick in a hurry, eliciting more guttural moans from him. She liked the pleasurable sounds falling from his lips and squeezed her fingers around the bulbous tip. The hole there opened wider and clear fluid drizzled onto the gap of her thumb and index finger.

"Fuck, baby," he gasped when she twisted and tugged under the ridge.

His fingers found her clit and her pussy wasted no time becoming slick and wet, her folds opening up for him like a blooming rose. He stared between her legs, licked his lips, and flashed those gold slugs. She lost control of the tremors making her body weak for him. Slick sounds met his fingers, and he played with her pussy lips until she was begging for him to do more.

"Play with your pussy. Lemme see you do what you did on the boat when you were teasing me," he huffed.

Her diamond-crusted fingernails made her pussy so pretty for him. She could see his arousal grow in his glassy eyes. She rubbed her clit, then held her folds open. He licked his fingers and stuck them in her mouth. She sucked on them, showing him everything she could do for his dick. He closed his eyes and his lips parted. Panting, he played in her mouth. His big dick twitched and jumped against her thigh, spewing more pre-cum.

"Lemme play in this pussy," he begged.

She opened her legs, and he inserted two fingers inside of her opening, gently testing the limits of what she could take. Portia whimpered when he started tapping on the sides of her walls, flicking his fingers back and forth like a butterfly fluttering away. He knew how to stimulate pussy. Killmonger wasn't rough or jerky with his movements either. He watched her face to read what she could handle from him and kissed her often, slow and steady, binding Portia to him like he was kissing a magic spell into her mouth, conjuring more pleasure from the nerves that woke up all over her writhing body. He fingered her pussy and sucked on her nipples, turning her body into mush that the sea could wash away with the tide.

"Listen to that pussy… fuck… I knew this shit was good… fuck…" he moaned.

"Killmonger," she cried out as his fingers hit spots in her that hadn't been touched in so long.

"You loved showing this pussy to me. So fat in this bikini. Letting me see these pussy lips all the time… teasing me…"

He pulled his fingers out against the clenching she began doing around them. He sucked her juices from his fingers and admired the frothy wetness that glistened all over her puffy folds. Slapping her vulva, he stood up and forced her to her knees.

"Suck this dick," he commanded.

Portia obeyed, jumping to her knees and swallowing his dick head like it was her last meal in life. He pushed his dick in further and her mouth stretched around it. She pressed her hand on his stomach to control the depth, but he slapped her face. The shock of the sting aroused her, and she stared up at him with heated eyes and a throbbing pussy.

"You gon' take this dick how I feed it to you… spoiled bitch. Now suck on it… put those fucking hands away. I want all mouth, Portia."

Portia opened her mouth wider, and he went in deeper. She gagged while trying to suck and slurp, and her eyes watered, but Killmonger slapped the other side of her face, disappointed with her performance.

"I thought you were better than this. You can't handle this dick?"

Her forehead creased with anger. She always gave world-class head. No man had ever complained about her oral skills. She gripped the root of his dick and he slapped her hands away.

"I said all mouth, and I meant all mouth!"

He pushed her back, and the anger that sat on his face excited her. Killmonger wasn't pleased at all. She licked his balls and kissed her way back to his dick again to try better. Taking her time, she licked around the slit and under the head, coating her tongue with all the pre-cum that dripped from him. He dragged his tip across her lips, making them glossy, and nudged the seam of her lips back open.

"Let's see if you can do better," he said.

She adjusted her knees with the blankets and sucked on that dick tip, using her full concentration. Her suction with her lips improved, and she even grazed her teeth gently around him to switch up her performance. He treated her like a little puppet that needed her strings pulled when she didn't suck to his satisfaction. She worked her ass off to get a groan, a moan, or a "Good girl," to drip from his sexy lips. He patted her head and sometimes pulled her braids to force her lips to do better.

"How are you gonna pull that nut outta Daddy when you stay playin' like that? Huh? Is this your best?" he asked.

She popped his dick out of her mouth with a torrent of saliva falling onto her breasts and pouted.

"Not as good as you thought you were. Do better," he said, shoving his dick back in.

Portia wanted to cry. She gave him grade A head, and it still wasn't up to par. All the tricks she had used over the years to get men off failed her. There were moments when she thought she had made a breakthrough, but he grumbled and told her she was not even close to getting him off.

"Look up at me when you suck that dick," he said.

Frustrated, she gazed up at him as he deep-throated her neck. That gorgeous face and big ass lips had her pussy clenching on nothing but air. Her walls felt so swollen and ached for his dick to lay her out. A few tears streaked down her face as her frustration grew.

"That's a good girl. Now take some more of Daddy's dick. Show me you can follow directions," he said.

She wanted to please him so badly. He played with her nipples and breasts as she worked her neck, throating him down as best she could. Her loud gawking echoed throughout the cave.

"Jaws getting tired?" he teased in a mean tone.

He pulled his dick out and glared at her.

"Tell Daddy you're sorry for letting him down with that mouth," he demanded.

The gruff tone ignited the ache in her clit. He threaded the braids in the back of her head with the fingers of his left hand and tilted her head while fisting his dick. He gently yanked on her hair.

"What I say? Tell Daddy you're sorry for that trash sucking," he barked.

"I can do better," she pleaded.

"You had a long time to show me, and it didn't happen."

He grunted and stared at her ripe lips, his right hand working that length like he was ready to burst. Gripping her head with his hand, he bared his slugs.

"Sorry, Daddy—"

"For what?" he gasped, narrowing his eyes as he brought his tip closer to her whimpering mouth.

"—for not sucking your dick right. Please, I can suck your dick so good!"

Portia fondled her left breast and groped between her legs to flick her clit. Begging him for a chance to prove herself was the only goal she had in life. She needed him to cum… couldn't take her next breath until he was satisfied. Killmonger had scorn written all over his expression.

"Daddy, I'm sorry…" she whined.

"Oh fuck, dassit, dassit!" he shouted.

Hot cum shot out in thick ropes all over her cheeks and lips, accompanied by a roar from his throat that enhanced his release. She opened her mouth to catch the last drops of his orgasm and she came all over her own fingers while enjoying the pure ecstasy on his straining face.

"Damn, Portia… oh… baby… shit!"

Another streak of cum shot out, and he aimed it for the other side of her face. His ejaculate dripped down, and she rubbed it onto her chest, showing him how much it meant to have him all over her breasts. He gave a low laugh and stumbled back.

"Whew… damn, girl. I was tryna hold back for so long. Your head game is fucking superb."

She licked her fingers and then stared at him.

"You were playing with me?" she asked.

"Not at first. You're used to simps being satisfied with the bare minimum. I'm a grown-ass man who needs you to show and prove with this dick. It's not for the weak, and you showed the fuck out."

He lifted her up, and she didn't want him to do anything else until she had wiped her face and chest off with a wet wipe. Killmonger hugged and kissed her afterward. They stood in the boat, necking until she couldn't take any more. She climbed him like Santa Claus was bearing gifts and wrapped her legs around him.

"I want you sitting on my mouth," he said between desperate kisses from her lips.

She slid down his body and he situated himself comfortably on the blankets. Portia squatted over his face and planted her pussy on his lips. He let it rest there, feeling the wetness all over before humming and moaning into her flesh.

"Ooh," she moaned, scissoring her clit.

He slapped her fingers away, and she looked down at him. The glow from the lamps made his eyes a liquid brown dream, and he slathered that wide tongue up and down her folds, circling her clit with the tip. He held onto her ass cheeks and she mewled and bit her bottom lip to keep from hollering out his name. Killmonger slapped both of her ass cheeks before sliding his hands under and over her thighs to lock her down on his tongue. He made it stiff, and she lifted herself to let him insert it nice and snug inside of her. Cradling her breasts, Portia went up and down and he fucked her with tongue, lips, and groans that vibrated her folds.

"Killmonger!" she yelled, not caring if pirates, snakes, Mimi, the Coast Guard, or God heard her cries of pleasure.

His tongue was delectable on her pussy and inside of it. The strength of his hands supporting her, his burning gaze rooting her to his lips… everything about him gave her chills. The effort to cum was minimal. Her orgasm shattered her ability to think clearly anymore. She babbled something or other like she was talking in tongues at her old church back in South Carolina. Bucking and yelping made no difference. That man was going to turn her pussy out. She whimpered and fell forward, unable to move any limbs. His laughter at pleasing her bounced all over the cave and she joined him, reveling in the joy that their bodies could share with one another.

Killmonger held Portia carefully in his arms as they kissed.

The taste of the deepest part of her stayed on his tongue and he shared the gift of that with her. She clung to him as if she feared him disappearing into the wet, rainy night. He had to do a patrol and fished around for night vision goggles he found stashed in a sideboard on the boat. Putting on his pants and combat boots, he didn't bother to wear a t-shirt and just tossed on his black jacket. He stuffed the satellite phone into an inside pocket and strapped his Glock around his thigh.

Portia watched him under the blankets, staring up at him with so much lust that it tempted him to forego an island sweep to stay with her. Grabbing an unfinished water bottle, he knelt down next to her and pressed his warm lips against her forehead.

"Keep it hot for me," he said, winking at her.

He wasn't finished with her by a long shot. They only experienced oral sex, each taking turns to taste and learn the other's private parts intimately.

Killmonger trudged out of the cave with Portia's scent on his beard. He placed the night vision goggles on once he was out of her sight. He hiked around, searching the sea even as a light rain came down on him. Without Portia being with him, he could get around fast. He turned on the phone and checked for any missed calls from the Greek Coast Guard. They were operating under extreme weather conditions on their end, despite the mild display on their side. Killmonger was glad that they found a place to hide that shielded them. He hoped the bad weather stayed outside of Crete and didn't follow their rescue unit.

Nothing unusual appeared on the horizon. Confident that they were in the clear, he took a moment to let the soft rain bathe his face. He hiked back to Portia and rinsed himself off before getting back into their boat bed with her naked again. She threw her arms around him like she was his woman, greeting her man after a hard day's work.

Oh, how the tables had turned!

Hiding away turned her into a bubbly, humorous woman who sought beauty all around her. It mesmerized him, watching the glow on her face as the sunrise brought her to tears that morning. She was thankful for the plain food they had to eat, and she didn't complain too much about their situation or bug him about checking the phone more than he did. His leadership and take-charge attitude allowed her to fall back into a space of just living in the present. He liked that version of her and wondered if the ice princess persona would return once they were rescued. Killmonger hoped not.

He sank his tongue back in her eager mouth and they kissed for an hour, stopping to catch their breath and caress each other. Her eyes became dewy for him and she couldn't stop touching him or being hugged up next to him. He made her lay back and played with her clit, dipping his finger inside her pussy just to watch it contract around his fingers, trying to keep them inside.

His dick became a turgid beast and hung heavy between his thighs. There were no condoms available. He had some on the yacht where he thought he might need them if he found a babe to his liking, but the only woman who turned him on was Portia. On the ship, he knew there was no way they would ever hook up. He wanted to fuck the boldness out of her back then, just to wipe that bitch queen attitude off her face. It baffled him at how quickly she wanted to submit to his domination of her body with his. He had suspected she wanted to be dominated, but not that fast.

Killmonger could've busted a nut all over her from the first ten minutes of sucking she did, but he pushed her to the limit to see if she would fight his heckling of her throat game. How he was able to keep control over his release was a miracle. He was ready to blow his load when she spit on his dickhole and cradled his balls in her hand, staring up at him with those formerly insolent cat eyes. Killmonger kept pushing her until she broke and gave him what he wanted. Her apology made him cum so hard. All he could think about was her telling him to shut the fuck up when he told her about herself. That woman got on her knees and sucked the glory out of his dick. Begged to please him. That shit amped him up.

Portia held his dick in her capable hands. They both wanted to fuck.

God!

Nice tits. A dangerous ass. Mouth game beyond ridiculous. How was Quinton not in that woman twenty-four-seven the entire time on that yacht? Portia walked around with that prize pussy, advertised it to the world all week with skimpy swimsuits, and Killmonger regretted not throwing caution to the wind and just stepping to her. Game peeped game. They could fuck and fight afterward. She was most definitely throwing hints he could get it on the yacht, but he stayed professional.

He leaned down and sucked on her neck. She panted, squirming against him, and he fingered her pussy slowly until she squeezed her eyes shut and her mouth fell open in agony.

"Fuck… I wish I could give you what you need, girl," he groaned into her ear.

She touched his scars like they were precious to her.

"You can," she said in a hushed voice.

"Without a condom?" he said.

Her gaze didn't flinch, and she pouted those succulent lips.

"I almost got killed. I'm stranded on an island with a mercenary. A hurricane could blow through here and end us both tonight. I have nothing to lose," she said.

Shit.

Killmonger regarded her face to make sure she was serious.

"I'm checked for STIs every three months," he said.

"Six months for me. I've been with Quinton for a couple of years. We normally use condoms and have unprotected for special occasions only. He's a germaphobe and I'm pretty sure Tiana was his first outside fuck. I'm on the pill, and… well… like I said, tomorrow isn't promised. This entire trip taught me that."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Trust. I want to. Been wanting to."

She grinned and ran her hand over his locs, rolling the end of one between her fingers.

"I have, too. All that teasing was to get your attention."

"You had it the moment you walked on board that yacht. I didn't like you… but I liked your confidence," he said.

He played with the end of one of her braids and fondled a diamond hair jewel.

"Are you like this in private, when you aren't being theatrical with all the spotlights?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"Unguarded. Open. Friendly."

"Sometimes. I run with a crowd that I have to have a protective shell with all the time."

"Sad life."

"What about you? You also put on an act. You're not mean all the time," she said.

"I'm direct. There's a difference. My job is life or death in precarious places with dangerous people."

"Have you ever lost an entire team before?"

"No. This was a major hit. Practically overkill. There were about ten men compared to my five, and they were using high-grade explosives. Most pirates want hostages or the ship itself. Those people came there for one thing. Do a wet job and bounce. You and I aren't supposed to be alive, Portia."

He cradled her in his arms. The scent of her hair was sugary sweet, like some exotic fruit and nutmeg. Their ardor cooled with their private thoughts and Killmonger listened to the rush of water lapping onto the cave shore. The wind picked up and howled down from the four-foot hole in the ceiling. He stayed awake and Portia slept deeply, the rise and fall of her chest soothing to him. If she had another nightmare, she'd wake up with him holding her. At two in the morning, he snuck away to patrol again. Heavier storm clouds accumulated in the distance and he expected stronger weather soon. A boom of thunder and spidery streaks of lightning zig-zagged across the sky. He popped the collar on his jacket and used his night vision goggles. A vast emptiness stretched out before him. For all he knew, they were the only people in the entire world. The cell phone had poor reception and the battery life was low. Hell, if no one showed up, they'd have to chance it back on the water. There were paddles and he'd get them to Crete one way or another with his own arm power once all the gas was used. He flipped on the locator beam's distress signal light. Survival was second nature to him. They would make it out.

Killmonger took his time going back to the cave. The darkness, the wind, and the rain comforted his mood.

No more civilian gigs.

He took the job as a favor to Clark, but he missed the offensive action of being in foreign countries. He'd give Clark a piece of his mind when he got back. The men he put together for Killmonger should not have allowed those killers to get that close. He had four men on water detail in all directions, and they allowed a boat to hit them swiftly and deadly. They were all executed, so he doubted they were in on the take. He would've caught on right away that it was a set-up when he first arrived. The attack crew had to have used a submersible to plant the explosives against the hull. It was something he would've done.

A heavier thunderstorm arrived, and he jogged back to the cave.

Portia was still asleep. Mimi was up, digging holes in the back of the cave, too distracted to bark or whine at him for attention. He took off his jacket and boots, climbing back beside Portia for warmth. She had curled into the fetal position under a blanket and looked so vulnerable. The cooler air and rain on his body made him shiver a bit, and he went to make another fire.

By early morning, the storm kicked up and the tide level in the cave increased. It wasn't enough to make them leave because the giant boulders and jagged smaller island formations surrounding the cave kept the larger waves from crashing to shore on them. The gigantic grayish-black clouds made the interior darker, adding to the dreary atmosphere as large raindrops showered their private beach.

Portia ate a cold-weather MRE of scrambled eggs, fruit bars, oatmeal, and a bland trail mix. He made them coffee again and ate his own meal before catching some sleep. With no phone reception and the bad weather making visibility terrible, he could afford to rest for an hour or two. He listened to Portia bathe on the other side of the cave. She hummed with a pleasant voice and spent some time by the fire alone with her dog.

The storm kept them quiet, and they became occupied with other things rather than each other until she found a kit of tiny board games inside a sealed bag. There were checkers, chess, Tic Tac Toe, and a deck of cards. They played speed with the cards and hunkered down to play checkers before lunch. Hunger and lunch skipped them as they got into a serious chess match. Later, they both played with Mimi, letting the dog chase them around the cave until Erik shouted bloody murder and flailed his arms around.

"What is it? What is it?" Porta shrieked, scared out of her wits.

"A spider dropped down on me!"

Portia blinked a few times, then burst out laughing. He swiped at his locs and a quarter-sized furry brown arachnid fell out of his hair and scurried on the sand. Mimi chased after it and they both beat pieces of wood on the ground trying to smash it. The dog gobbled it up and Portia grabbed her stomach from laughing so hard.

"Your big butt was scared of that little thing? I thought a tarantula fell on you!" she cackled.

"It's all the legs that creep me out, and they move real sneaky," he grumbled, embarrassed that he showed a weakness in front of her.

"Poor baby," Portia said, patting his back, "Mimi saved you."

He chased after Portia and lifted her over his shoulder, spanking her backside for teasing him. Another bigger spider dropped from the roof and landed on Portia. She damn near came out of her own skin trying to swipe it out of her hair. Killmonger let her run around like a chicken with its head cut off to teach her a lesson about making fun of him. She walked around with the heebie-jeebies afterward, terrified more spiders would come raining down on them like a horror movie. Rain, thunder, and spiders were forgotten when they crawled back into the boat together for a nap. She traced the shape of his scars with her fingers again, and he rested his chin on her head.

"I know this sounds crazy, but I really like it here with you," she whispered.

"Yeah?"

She nodded against his chest.

"I thought I would go stir crazy, but I'm actually grateful to sit still. Weird, huh? No TV. Internet. People. Just peace. No distractions. No one to impress or look good for. It feels like we're Adam and Eve here."

"No apples or snakes, though," he joked.

"What do you do when you don't work?"

"I sit still. Like this."

"Where?"

"That's classified information."

"Really."

"The less you know about me, the better."

"Is Killmonger even your real name?"

"No."

She never asked for his name. He was glad. She took the hint.

"We'll never see each other again after this," she said.

"No, we won't," he said with finality.

"You make me laugh, and you're a skilled chess player."

"You're not too bad yourself."

Portia sat up and took off her bikini again. Her eyes were loving and drank in his face. She helped him undress, then kissed him all over his face, touching his chin, and giving her lips to him before kissing down his chest, following the trail of hairs below his belly button until she had his dick in her mouth. She bobbed her head, and he said her name softly, praising her for how good she made him feel. Pushing him back, she held his dick upright and aligned it with her opening. He held his breath as she sank down on him. She grunted when she reached the bottom. His dick had her folds stretched all around him tight, creating a snug suction as she went up and down, taking her time. They locked eyes, and the arousal overwhelmed him. He gazed at their connection like he was in a daze and her pussy made his thickness shiny and slick. Portia rode him so well that his back arched and he lifted to press her against his chest as he thrust into her. Up and down she went, caressing her nipples, those expensive, icy-looking fingernails highlighting the hidden treasure that she was beneath all the posturing.

He had looked down on Portia before meeting her, his disdain at her Sugar Baby ways clouding his judgment on who she really was as an individual sans the glitz. Fucking him like that in a hollow cave on a lone island proved to him she was worth pampering and spoiling. If he had the money, he'd spend it on her himself. The pussy taking care of his dick was priceless.

"Turn around," he gasped.

Portia lifted and swung her legs the other way, leaning forward as she wiggled her backside for him. He palmed a fat cheek and her pussy swallowed his dick. She rocked back on him and he was blessed to watch her ass jiggle and his dick stretch her out at the same time. He whimpered in his throat with his entire face scrunched up at the intense pleasure. She rode the tip of his dick, and then placed those diamond nails on her ass cheeks, spreading them wide so he could see her pussy work. He slipped his thumb in her ass, and Portia moaned. She drenched his dick and the gushy sounds harmonized with his groans.

She showed out.

Circling her waist, she twisted her pussy on his dick and he couldn't take it anymore. He slapped her ass and forced her onto her hands and knees. Clapping her cheeks was the goal, and he made Portia call out his name as he gave her what she needed. Her pussy became disrespectful, and he tamed her depths, gripping her waist and deep dicking her nice and slow.

"Killmonger… Killmonger… Killmonger…" she panted.

The need to dominate surged in his loins. Flipping her over, he forced her to take the dick she so richly deserved. The pillow princess vanished and in her place was an erotically in-tune woman with full-body engagement. He threw her legs over his shoulders and cursed at how satisfying her pussy felt all around him. She had to have diamonds on her walls because whatever amount of money rich men spent on her wasn't enough. Her grip on his dick had him moaning and choking up his curse words in his throat. She took him deeper and his glutes clenched tight, helping him pump death strokes into her. The cave was full of squelching and grunts, and he watched their shadows moving on the cave walls from the fire. Her hips wiggled seductively, and he hunched down low to kiss her lips and feel her breasts smashed against his chest. They were beyond fucking at that point, moving into the primal state like they were the first man and woman to ever make love.

Scooting to her side, he held her legs up and stroked her walls from a new angle that knocked the sense out of her. Those pouty lips stayed open and her eyes took on a glazed look as if she couldn't believe what was happening to her. Her breasts bounced with each thrust and she glanced down to watch his dick ruin her. She chewed on her lip when she saw what was happening to her pussy. He snaked his hips and hit another angle within her and she called out to God. He stayed working that spot, stroking it until his body became a stiff plank focused on only one task: making her cum hard on his dick.

She rubbed on her clit, and those pretty nails had his balls moving.

"Baby… I feel it… 'bout to cum…" he gasped.

"You wanna cum in my pretty pussy?"

The wantonness in her voice urged him on.

"Pussy so good… fucking me so good… dick so hard…" he chuffed with abandon

"You want to make a big mess in my pussy?"

Her voice electrified him. It pushed him to give her his best and yet it challenged him like she was internally comparing him to others and he was coming up short. It was arousing, but it irked him too.

"Take it… take Daddy's dick," he grunted.

Her eyes changed, became coquettish, and it threw him off. His skin was on fire and dripped with sweat, and the sound of her voice encouraged him to tame that pussy. She dared him to. Portia's face transformed into a woman who wanted some Daddy dick to control her. Her right hand fondled the nape of his neck and those long nails scraped there with seductive pressure.

"I don't know if I can take all this dick the way you want," she taunted. "So big…"

He groaned, and she latched on to that sign of weakness.

"You're taking it… all this dick," he grunted.

"Are you sure? I'm trying to make it all fit for you," she said, all breathy.

"Oh, fuck!"

What was she doing? Playing coy? She acted like some virgin who had never had dick before. Her tone was ultra-feminine. She tucked the nail of her index finger between her teeth and looked down at his dick stretching those sweet walls. Her eyes were wide with wonder at the sight, and that coquettish energy fed him what he needed. Dominance.

"Nobody fuck you like this?" he grunted.

She shook her head and kept her eyes on his dick, with that finger still in her mouth.

"Fuck my pussy," she said.

She looked at him with sweet, innocent eyes.

"Goddammit!" he cried out. "Spread those pussy lips!"

Portia widened those sticky folds and the sides of her fingers glided along his dick as he gave her all that he had left. She kept her finger in her mouth with her other hand and her beauty pushed him to the brink. He mounted her again in missionary and his sweat fell on her like the rain falling on the water. She kept her legs up, that pussy open, and that damn lone finger between her lips. Her reckless eyes gazed at him and his dick swelled.

"I'm cumming! Oh shiiitttttt, I'm cumminggggg," he yelled.

He shoved his hips forward and Portia pursed her lips. She squirmed and lost the battle to hold on.

"Ohmigod… Killmonger!" she shouted.

Her head fell back and her pussy contracted with strong clenches all along his erection. Their shouts of pleasure intertwined and became one with the back and forth of their bodies squeezing and throbbing together. He caught himself before collapsing on her, pulling out his dick and fisting the last of his cum all over her clit. She was a pool of sweat and satisfaction, and they gasped for air, staring at the cave ceiling. The rain continued to fall.

Portia curled against his chest.

Sleep came fast.

He woke up, and she was gone. So was Mimi.

Killmonger called to them before putting on his clothes and grabbing his pack. It was only early evening, and the rain had stopped. Fat gray clouds still squatted over their island, but the storm's driving power had moved on. He found Portia and Mimi at the peak near the beacon.

"Went for a walk," she said.

He sat down next to them and pet the dog on the head. Mimi licked his hand. Pulling out the binoculars, he checked the sea. A cool breeze ruffled his locs. The wind was still strong, and the water had a few whitecaps.

Wait…

There!

A ship.

Killmonger honed in for the telltale signs of Coast Guard markings. There was a Greek flag waving from the gray and white ship. Greek lettering in big white caps spelled out Hellenic Coast Guard. He watched it approach to make sure it was the real deal before pulling out the flare gun and shooting it. Dark orange smoke shot up high in the sky.

"It's them?" Portia squealed.

"Yep."

She hugged Mimi, and he turned on the emergency cell. The power went out, but he didn't care. He held Portia's hand, and they walked down to the cave. There was nothing to do but push their emergency boat into the water. It had just enough gas left to power them out into the open sea. Killmonger didn't want to wait for them to send a smaller boat. He needed Portia in a safe place fast with Greek government protection.

They sped out on the water, bouncing on the choppy waves. Porta kept looking behind her like she wanted to keep the image of their island in her mind. He gave her his outer shirt to wear on top of her bikini. She curled her legs under her wrap dress.

Killmonger aligned their boat against the large Coast Guard ship and the crew helped Portia up on a side ladder. He tied their boat to the larger one and knotted a rope around Mimi's dog crate so a crew member could help the dog get on board. Finally, he climbed up himself. The captain of the ship greeted them and gave them both blankets and hot coffee. Portia was damn near teary-eyed and she pressed herself against Killmonger, afraid to leave his side.

"Come inside," the captain said when the weather picked up outside.

They followed the man into a busy interior and sat down on cushioned seats that felt good after sitting on the sand and a hard boat bottom. A crew member handed them mugs filled with a thick Greek soup. They ate and Portia asked to use the head. She was led away further into the interior. The weathered-face captain asked him some questions and Killmonger's sixth sense kicked in.

Something was wrong.

There were too many men on the ship not dressed appropriately. Only the captain and a lieutenant had on a proper Greek Coast Guard uniform with their ranks on them. The others had dark clothing without rankings or insignias. The captain gave a weak smile and the perspiration on his forehead didn't go with the cool interior. Killmonger kept his tone normal.

"How soon can we make it back to the mainland?" he asked, thrusting his empty mug out for more hot coffee.

"It will take time. The weather has been tricky. We almost lost your signal," he said.

Killmonger nodded and moved over to a window. He counted the other men outside to get an accurate assessment of what he was up against and thanked his lucky stars that he opted to keep his Glock under his jacket. When he contacted the coast guard for help originally, he kept his identity vague, pretending to be a guest of Quinton. The attack team must've intercepted the Greek Coast Guard for their own nefarious use as a getaway ship. It had become a death trap for him and Portia.

Portia returned, all chipper. Her ice princess personality snapped back like a rubber band. She glanced at him and he pretended things were all good.

"Hey, baby, put Mimi back in her cage. We don't want her running around," Killmonger said.

The forced affection in front of the others surprised her. She walked over to the dog kennel near him and bent down to place Mimi inside it. After she locked the crate, Killmonger slipped an arm around Portia's waist and gently had her sit next to him.

"More soup?" The captain asked.

"No, thank you. When will we get back to Crete? Or is Athens where we're headed?" she asked.

Portia looked at Killmonger, and he sipped on his coffee to keep from answering right away.

"Would you like to rest, Miss Keith?"

The nervous lieutenant sensed the tension that had risen in the galley.

"There's an empty bunk you can sleep in until we reach port," the man said.

His name badge said Makris.

"You should go lay down. I'll check on you later. Take Mimi with you," Killmonger said.

Portia caught on that something was off. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"If there's a door, lock yourself in there," he whispered in her ear.

She kissed his lips and picked up Mimi. Portia showed no fear as she followed Makris. She played it cool and calm, like an iceberg. Good girl, he thought.

Killmonger had fourteen rounds in his Glock. He counted seven false crew members and only two regular ones. The rest of the original crew were dead somewhere on the ship or tossed overboard. He assumed Quinton had escaped on some other watercraft to separate himself from the killers. They wouldn't rush to kill them all until nightfall, with darkness as a cover. Something must've happened to their ship in order for them to risk hijacking a Coast Guard operation.

"She has heart medicine she needs. I forgot to bring it up from the boat we used," Killmonger said. The lie rang true to the men.

"We can have someone go down and get it for you," the captain said.

Vlachos. The captain's name badge gave Killmonger a second to look away from a bulky merc who sized him up.

"It's in a side slot in the back," Killmonger said, following the man out onto the deck again.

The bulky man climbed down the side of the ship and rooted around.

"The back," Killmonger called down.

The man held up his hands.

"Hold on," Killmonger said.

A few more killers came out to watch him as he climbed down. One in the boat. Six up top. Perfect.

"That boat has a lot of tricky compartments," Killmonger said.

A wave buoyed the boat, and they both lost their balance for a second. Killmonger pretended to dig into a slot near the side of the ship and unlatched the boat, letting it float away. He dropped low, pulled out his Glock, and shot the bulky man dead. The man fell over the side with a soft splash. Shots from above popped over his head, but he turned on the motor and glided around the other side. Once he reached the gap he needed, he slammed his hands around the front M60 7.62mm machine gun and blasted at the men. He ripped through four right away. One caught him slipping and clipped Killmonger in his shoulder. It wasn't enough to stop him, but the distraction gave Vlachos and Makris the opportunity to jump the last two killers and wrestle them. Killmonger zipped back toward the ladder again. He hooked the boat and hustled back to the top. Vlachos took a shot in the chest but apprehended one assailant. Makris knocked the gun out of another merc's hand and bashed his head against the deck floor, knocking him out.

Blood pooled and cooled all over the deck with the other dead men.

Portia ran out of seclusion and grabbed him so hard that it knocked the wind out of him.

"Your arm," she said, touching his bleeding wound.

Killmonger shrugged it off.

"We gotta help him," Killmonger said, nodding over to Vlachos.

Vlachos waved them away.

"Bullet passed right through," Vlachos said.

Makris helped the captain back into the galley and tended to both injured men with a first aid kit. They revealed to him the sordid story of how they ran into the armed men on their way to find them, coming across their distressed vessel that had stopped working because an engine fire left them stranded. The hijackers shot their initial crew of eight down to only two when they tried to fight back.

Killmonger was exhausted by the time he tried to rest on a bunk bed. Blood loss tired him out and so did Portia, who fussed over him with tears streaming down her face, thinking she had heard him being killed. She crawled on top of him despite his pain, too frightened to leave his side. He fell asleep to her soft humming and stroking of his locs.

Portia, Makris, and Vlachos arrived in Crete the next morning.

Killmonger had disappeared.

The military boat they escaped with was gone. She relayed the deadly adventure to the press and her photos were blasted worldwide. First came the press tours, then the exclusive paid interviews. A book deal followed along with a movie deal and three-part docuseries. She milked every opportunity to tell her story as the only survivor and was paid handsomely for it.

Returning to New York, she hid out in a penthouse for months, searching all over the internet for any trace of Killmonger. If it had not been for Makris and Vlachos corroborating that the man did indeed exist, she may have convinced herself that he was a figment of her overactive imagination. Two of the killers that survived the Coast Guard ship confessed to being hired by Quinton. A global manhunt seemed never-ending. When billionaires were murdered in cold blood, people cared. She attended memorials to all the victims, making sure she looked fabulous in Thom Browne and Prada fashion with her signature Chanel shades. Portia wasn't close to any of the people she partied with on the yacht, aside from Quinton. However, leaked photos from her private social media account showed merry faces prior to them leaving Athens on the first day of the New Year's trip. It brought comfort to the families, and they invited her to spend weeks in various billionaire enclaves where she spun stories about their rich sons being brave and attempting to save the women. All lies. But it gave the loved ones a sense of closure and peace.

After a year, her life returned to jet-setting and fashion weeks all over again. Her misadventure bolstered her popularity because of the glamorous photos of her being escorted from the Greek Coast Guard ship in her knitted alabaster bikini. For someone experiencing a traumatic event, Portia looked fashionable as fuck.

Media ate up the haunting tale of Quinton living a double life somewhere. Media blasted his life history around the world as the biggest true crime story to come along in years. Many speculated that he had drowned or killed himself because he couldn't be found anywhere. Portia guessed he lived in a country where he couldn't be extradited. The hoopla died down until her book came out. Then there was a buzz about the casting for the movie. Depression set in then.

Portia visited a few therapists, but none could help her cure the anger that sat in her spirit like venom that she couldn't spew out. She wanted Quinton's head on a plate. He needed to pay for what he had done. It didn't matter to her that the people he killed weren't her genuine friends. He ended human lives because of greed. She couldn't get over that he took the bitch route to jumpstart his fortunes. As smart as he was, he couldn't develop or create something new and amazing that made him rich in the first place. An existential dread lived in her gut. Portia couldn't free herself from the lack of justice. Jetting around the world with Mimi in tow didn't heal the pain. New diamonds, furs, and fancy cars lost their luster. Revenge burned in her soul.

She turned toward the dark web to search for Killmonger. Using some of her movie money, she hired the best ex-CIA and former Black Ops agents to help her find her mercenary lover. One former field agent told her the best that could happen was Killmonger would catch wind of her search, but no one could actually contact him. That was good enough.

The Swiss Alps looked like he imagined.

Cold, white, and jagged.

The job called for a remote location and this was as remote as it got. Killmonger rolled the late-model SUV into a long, isolated driveway that hadn't been plowed for a while. He parked when he couldn't drive any further, and dragged a large black duffel bag out of the trunk, along with an arsenal of small weapons in a backpack. The thick powdery snow cushioned and muffled his steps. All the lights were on in the mountain luxury chalet he came to. His target was inside. The cloudless night sky made the snow glittery with the moonlight and security lights surrounding the property.

Cold air made puffy clouds of his breath. His lungs burned from the exertion and altitude. He tapped his wrist computer and all the security cameras shut down within the chalet. The woman inside had a wineglass in her hand and talked on a cell phone, clueless that he was outside approaching with stealth. The lights in the interior winked out, then came back on suddenly. She turned her head and stared out through the large glass windows. Her eyes glossed over the valley below that was filled with snow that would have more dumped by midnight. Flakes had already fallen down on his way up a winding road.

He waited.

The front door opened, and the beauty stepped out in a long white fur coat reminding him of Goldie from the old Black flick, "The Mack". She still rocked expensive diamonds, and Ma carried herself like the ice princess she would always be.

Portia.

He stepped into the light and she grinned, relief creasing her brow and her lush lips spreading into the biggest smile. His heart dropped for a moment. She almost looked like she did back on their island.

"Killmonger," she said.

Her voice made him move toward her. She helped him with the small backpack and he hauled the duffel up the steps and into a cozy, warm interior. A fire burned in the fireplace and Mimi jumped around his legs.

"Hey rat dog," he teased.

He dropped the duffel near the door and lifted the dog. Portia took off her coat, revealing the slinky silver dress with the low-cut front he admired before he came in.

"Bring yourself over here," he said, dropping Mimi to the floor.

She sauntered to him, walking like a runway model, exaggerating her hips as she moved and draped her arms around his neck. He inhaled her lovely scent and memories rushed back of him and her alone… making love. Killmonger kissed her first, and she opened her mouth to envelop all the warmth of his tongue.

Two years.

They hadn't been in contact with each other in two years since he disappeared from her life. He went back to work for Clark and dropped off the radar soon after. The fame of their adventure dazzled his eyes when he went to a movie theater in Morocco and watched a film that was almost true. The actress that played Portia was gorgeous, but she lacked aloofness and sublime sensuality. Their sex scenes were amplified and gratuitous. There were long scenes of them fucking in water that never happened, and also one of them screwing on the Coast Guard ship. Also, untrue. The actor that was supposed to be him wasn't even a close approximation of Killmonger, but women loved him at the box office and the film became a blockbuster. The docuseries blew up, too. Portia became a media star and super-rich by doing nothing except being beautiful and caught up in some greedy foolishness. Some girls had all the luck with pretty privilege. The anomaly was her being a beautiful Black woman with an intriguing action-adventure-romance story. It did not shock him when Hollywood tried to white-wash the film by recasting Portia as a white blonde. That idea dropped, but they did cast a Black biracial British actress to play her. Think pieces blew up around that.

He got word of her searching for him.

It was only a matter of time. He thought of her often as he worked throughout the Middle East and West Africa. His notifications blew up during fashion weeks and he scrolled timelines to see what she had on and found out how her life was going. She dated often, but nothing serious. Her mystique intensified and everyone wanted her at their major events and parties.

He sensed her unhappiness.

Quinton, getting away with murder, rubbed too many white, rich people the wrong way. A Black man double-crossing billionaires and profiting from it... alive somewhere? Unheard of. Portia survived with the sting of betrayal hovering around her.

Killmonger smacked her ass, and she gave him the glass of wine in her hand. He drank it down, and she took it away, resting it on a side table.

The duffle moved.

Mimi growled and barked at the large black canvas bag and Killmonger knelt down, unzipping it. Stuffed inside was Quinton, tied and gagged. Portia picked up the smaller backpack she carried into the chalet for Killmonger. She opened it and he moved his hand around in it.

"Your choice of weapon, Ma," Killmonger said.

Portia lifted a modified Maxim 9 with a built-in silencer.

"What a way to ring in the New Year," she said, kissing him.

She dropped to one knee and peered at her prey.

"Hello, Quinton. Long time no see, baby," she said.

The iciness of her voice chilled Killmonger. Quinton's desperate eyes pleaded for mercy. She would give him none.

Portia zipped the bag up and stuffed the Maxim 9 back into the pack. She grabbed Killmonger's hand and pulled him toward some stairs.

"I'll save him for midnight when the fireworks go off. Right now, I want you," she purred.

Killmonger followed his ice princess. They had some reacquainting to do in the privacy of a luxury bedroom with fresh snow falling outside.

"Happy New Year," he whispered before kissing her all over.

A.N.:

Brought an oldie but goodie back! I first published this on here back on October 11, 2022, a month before "Wakanda Forever" came out. I thought I would expand this into a longer piece and indie publish it with some other stuff I took down from here, but I decided to put it up again because we need fun things to read in these daunting times with Cheeto dust back in office. Enjoy and please reblog!

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

dear sweet m if you end up writing about bucky with a vibrating arm can i pretty please be tagged?? (i don’t know if you do taglists, i couldn’t find anything that indicated either way, totally fine if not!)

Ah yes, Bucky and his vibrating arm. I’ve been hinting at it for ages. And you’d be surprised to find out…

There is no reason for the Wakandans to give the arm some extra functions. So any other vibrations than the mild ones from the inside mechanics were unnecessary. But as we’ve seen from Bucky ever since the 1940’s, he’s quite fascinated by technology himself. Also quite skilled with that brain of his. And as mentioned a while ago, this man has the sexual curiosity of a teenage boy – especially after everything that has happened to him.

So it took him some time to perfect using tools with just one hand, but he has managed to add in some extra functions to his arm. Peeling away at the vibranium carefully and programming some new things into the limb. Some things functioning as an element of surprise in battle, yes, but some functioning as an element of surprise in bed.

The first time he tried it on himself, he had taken a few deep breaths before activating it, squeezing his cock in his metal fist and supressing a low grunt. He had already been so close and had been edging himself for a while. He’d been throbbing and the artificial nerves in his metal arm could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat pulsing through his cock. How had he gotten so nervous doing this all of a sudden? It was a lot, but God, he’d needed to come! It had been unbearable, the need for release. Almost as unbearable as the thought of finishing it the way he normally would.

So he had turned on the added function, the vibrations rising carefully to a steady buzz the way he had programmed it, and the noise that sprang from his mouth had been borderline pornographic.

And he couldn’t stop. Moaning and whimpering as his palm vibrated against the hilt of his cock, he had barely managed to squeeze and pull his hand up to the aching tip of himself. Definitely hadn’t managed more than two pulls before he had spilled months of pent up frustration onto his toned chest with a helpless cry as the vibrations dimmed and he pulled himself through his vision-blackening orgasm.

And as much as he loved using the hidden feature, he hadn’t yet used it on a bed partner. It felt too intimate, too controlling for some reason. Until you, of course.

Because yes, Bucky has a kink for corruption and even though he knows there’s little left of you to corrupt, the small nudges out of your comfort zone felt like drugs to him. The man loves to be on his knees for you, worship the ground you walk on, but there are few things better than getting you to submit to him. Even fewer than ruining the sheets below you while he is still dressed.

And tonight, you looked beautiful. Sinful in the classiest way. He’d suffered through wearing a tuxedo to the party, as long as you felt confident next to him. And in turn, he felt powerful next to you. It was one of those moments where Bucky’s heart swelled three sizes because he realised that you both make each other want to be better. In the big things, but also the small things like tonight. Looking good, charming people, bragging about each other and hyping up one another. He was in cloud nine and it was about time he paid you back for it.

You are already breathing heavily, draped on your shared bed with your dress discarded and your heels still on. Your hair messy and makeup smudged slightly. Your skin is throbbing and flushed and the ache between your legs is nearly numbing. You stare up at the ceiling lazily, coming down from another Bucky-induced high as he prowls around the bed and watches you – jacket discarded and the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows.

“I’ll never get enough of making you come, you know,” he says before he once again climbs over you. Kisses are pressed to your belly, your breasts, your neck. You almost purr at the feeling. “And I will always look for new ways to get it done. New ways to make you feel better.”

You want to tell him you already feel great, fight him on it, tell him there is nothing he needs to compensate for. But you’re so dazed and selfishly, you love it when he talks to you like this. It makes goosebumps prickle over your skin. And Bucky laughs softly at the sight, teasingly trailing fingers up your damp inner thighs. You shudder at the touch.

He continues, “But tonight… Shit. You looked so beautiful. So tempting. I want to use all of my ways on you. I want to make you come and moan and scream until you are nothing but a puddle of sweat and tears and come.” You whine softly at his words and drape your hands over his neck, urging him closer. He breathes onto your lips, “I want it all from you. Forever. Give me everything, baby. I know you can–”

The surge of vibrations against you cunt is so much, you gasp for air and freeze all the same. You try to snap your legs shut, but Bucky’s body is keeping you from it. You open your mouth to say something, but everything has left you. Thoughts, words, willpower – it’s all gone. Your body tightens and loosens, pleasure unfurling throughout it like light in a glowstick.

Involuntarily, your hips buck and grind against his hand and the sounds that escape you are torturous. You feel Bucky’s smirk burning over your skin and you only barely manage to look down.

You’ve used toys before, but these vibrations… It feels like the toy is made for you, rolling over every single nerve of your clit so precisely it feels out of this world.

And as you look down, Bucky’s gaze follows, and you see three of his metal fingers rolling over your clit. You let out a moan at the sight – a sound Bucky answers with a deep groan of his own. Nothing will boost his confidence more than your responses to him. Especially when he knows there is no room left in your brain to overthink the responses. These are purely natural. Needy and appreciative.

The two of you look at his hand in trance, breaths and moans fanning over Bucky’s cheek. And then he slips two fingers into your soaked core, curling them up against your swollen walls and the both of you let out a carnal groan, your hands clutching him tighter.

Oh shit, oh shit…

“B-Bucky,” you gasp and he presses a kiss to your temple in answer. You sigh and close your eyes, sinking into the sheets as he pushes and pushes against the growing bubble in your belly. Rolling a vibrating thumb over your clit and pushing vibrating fingers against your deepest spot.

“Give it to me,” he murmurs, but he sounds rushed. Impatient. Like there is nothing in the world he wants more than to have you fall apart for him. Nothing more than feeling you squeeze around him again. He watches it build. Something big, something neither of you can come back from. He watches you nearly vibrate yourself with pleasure as the pleasure builds, and builds, and builds–

And when you burst, Bucky watches you lose yourself entirely to him. More importantly, only three fingers from him. And he wonders how you would look and sound if you lost yourself to him entirely. In love, in pleasure, in need, in life–  

Aaaand he wonders if he could do this in public.

[vvinirl]

bucky. b

fluff

bucky barnes arrived in wakanda under the cover of night, his mind a chaotic mess of memories and triggers implanted by hydra. the wakandan air felt fresh, a stark contrast to the dark and cold places he had been before. he was here to be freed, to finally break the chains that had bound his mind for so long

bucky was escorted to the research facility where shuri awaited, accompanied by a team of scientists. among them was you, a dedicated scientist specializing in neurological rehabilitation. you had been working with shuri on various advanced technologies, and your expertise was crucial for bucky’s recovery

“welcome, sergeant barnes” you said with a warm smile, trying to put him at ease. “we’re here to help you”

bucky looked at you with wary eyes but nodded, trusting that wakanda, a place of unmatched technological marvel, might finally bring him peace

the first few weeks were intense. shuri led the efforts, using a combination of technology and traditional wakandan methods to deprogram bucky’s mind. you were responsible for the one-on-one sessions, a crucial part of his mental recovery. these sessions involved talking through his past, helping him distinguish his true memories from the ones hydra had implanted

at first, bucky was resistant. his trust in people had been shattered long ago. but your patience and kindness slowly broke down his walls. you listened without judgment, providing a safe space for him to express his fears and frustration

furing one session, bucky looked at you with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. “why are you doing this for me?” he asked

you smiled softly. “everyone deserves a chance to be free, bucky. and I believe you have the strength to overcome this”

as the weeks passed, the bond between you and bucky grew stronger. you found solace in each other's company, your shared moments becoming the highlight of your days

you discovered that beneath his hardened exterior, bucky was kind, thoughtful, and fiercely protective of those he cared about. he, in turn, admired your intelligence, compassion, and unwavering determination to help him heal

one evening, after a particularly grueling session, you found yourselves sitting under the stars, the serene wakandan night sky providing a moment of respite

"thank you" bucky said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. "for everything. i don't think i could have made it this far without you”

you smiled, your heart swelling with warmth. "you're stronger than you give yourself credit for, bucky. and i'm honored to be a part of your journey”

the day finally came when the results of your and shuri's efforts bore fruit. the final sequence of codes that held hydra's control over bucky's mind was neutralized, freeing him at last

as the realization dawned on him, bucky turned to you, his eyes filled with a mix of disbelief and gratitude. "i'm free" he whispered, as if afraid to believe it

you nodded, tears of joy glistening in your eyes. "yes, you are"

without thinking, bucky closed the distance between you, pulling you into a tight embrace. the world seemed to fade away as you held each other, the connection that had been growing between you culminating in this perfect moment

as you pulled back slightly, bucky looked into your eyes, his gaze intense yet tender. "i couldn't have done this without you” he said, his voice filled with emotion. "you mean more to me than you'll ever know”

you smiled, your heart full. "and you mean the world to me, bucky”

with that, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a gentle, heartfelt kiss. it was a promise of new beginnings, a testament to the love that had blossomed between you during his journey to freedom

in wakanda, under the watchful eyes of the stars, you and bucky found not just healing, but a future filled with hope, love, and endless possibilities

months after bucky’s recovery, you and bucky were living peacefully in wakanda. the serene environment allowed your relationship to flourish, and soon, you discovered you were expecting a child. overjoyed, you planned to share the news with bucky after his mission to help captain america

but then, everything changed. thanos arrived. his forces overwhelmed the avengers, and the snap wiped out half the universe. bucky was gone, disintegrated into nothing right before your eyes. you were left alone, heartbroken, and pregnant

determined to bring bucky back and ensure a future for your unborn child, you joined the Avengers in their fight against thanos. with a fierce resolve, you used your scientific knowledge and wakandan technology to support the team. every battle, every challenge, you faced with the hope that one day, you would see bucky again

years passed and your son james was born. he grew up in a world without his father, but you told him stories of bucky, of his bravery and kindness. the fight to reverse the snap continued, and with each passing day, your determination grew stronger

the day of the final battle arrived. the avengers assembled, ready to face thanos and his army once and for all. the fight was brutal, but you fought with a ferocity fueled by love and the promise of reuniting with bucky. when the moment came, and iron man made the ultimate sacrifice, the snap was undone

and then, there he was. bucky emerged from the chaos, alive and whole. tears streamed down your face as you ran to him, your heart bursting with joy. he saw you, and a smile spread across his face as he opened his arms, pulling you into a tight embrace

“i thought i’d lost you” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion

“i’m here,” you replied, holding him tightly. “and there’s someone else you need to meet”

after a few days with repairing all the damages made by thanos and tony stark’s funeral, you brought bucky back to your home

bucky nervously entered the home and was instantly met with a little boy

“bucky, this is james” you said, your voice trembling with happiness. “our son”

bucky’s eyes filled with tears as he knelt down to embrace the boy. “james” he said softly, his voice breaking. “i’m so sorry I wasn’t there”

james hugged him tightly. “it’s okay, daddy, mommy told me all about you”

as you watched bucky and james together, your heart swelled with love and relief. the battle was over, and your family was finally reunited

the future was uncertain, but with bucky and james by your side, you knew you could face anything

[naomis-daydream]

on the throne // shuri udaku

summary: just read tbh….ok fine i’ll explain😒. being queen comes with a load of royal responsibilities; from border patrol, to technological advancements, and everything in between. though wakanda’s ruler realizes there’s a special someone she’s been neglecting. shuri’s come up short, and her wife’s coming to collect what’s hers.

warnings: pregnant!wife!reader. descriptions of pregnancy (obvs), teeny weeny bit of oral (shuri receiving). barely proofread.

a/n: this is the product of baby fever and ovulation😜 also this is a draft from forever ago, it kinda sucks so im dropping it under the cloak of night🥷🏽.

there were many things shuri loved about your body.

your hands, for instance. they always offered her a soothing rub or relaxing touch whenever she became stressed or overwhelmed with the weight of the crown. or something soft to hold as you spent evenings watching the wakandan sunset from the palace garden.

then there were your arms. shuri found that she only slept peacefully when yours were wrapped tightly around her middle. and if the royal ever woke to realize you rolled away, she’d assure she wiggled her way back into your grasp.

and bast your thighs. if the queen could spend the rest of her days between them, the soft, plush cushions, there’d be absolutely no resistance from the panther.

now it was worse, and it was all your fault. it was one of the many nights the queen spent inside you. somewhere between when she slowly pushed into you and when she brought you nearing your third high of the night, you had joked about her getting you pregnant. something about her having the genius and the looks to make a great gene pool. “fill me up, my queen,” you uttered, “give it to me. i want all of you.” you we’re fucking tantalizing.

it didn’t help that she had the science to make what originated as a lustful thought a reality.

now, seven months later, everything she loved about you only grew as your body changed. your natural curves only hypnotized her more as your hips widened and breasts swelled.

shuri also couldn’t help but smile when you wobbled cutely around your shared home due to the swell of your ankles, and while you refused to be helped with an act as simple as walking, you would feign resistance to shuri’s pleads to ease your pain before caving to let her massage your aching joints.

but the absolute worst part was the hormones. the cravings that made shuri tip-toe into the kitchen for you well after midnight, the hot flashes that would cause you to walk practically bare around the palace, and your sex drive, yours nearly matched that of her’s when she took the herb. though, only two of those things seemed to be prevailing today, where the only thing separating you from her was the thinnest dresses. it wasn’t unusual for you to forgo a bra this late into your pregnancy, but it seemed you’d forgotten any undergarments at all today as you sat on the lap of the queen, grinding helplessly into her thigh.

“yiza, mntwana,” you purred. come on, baby. “let me touch you.”

your wife squirmed from her place on the throne, hands on your hips as she guided you. you trailed your lips down her jaw to land on her pulse point before sucking intently.

while you were preoccupied, the woman took the chance to glance at the clock in the room, hissing slightly when noticing the time and when you sunk your teeth into her flesh. you were going to ruin her, she knew that much. the sad part is, she was gonna let you.

“the elders,” she whined, finding words rather hard when you moaned against her. “our meeting, they’ll be here in minutes!”

you pause your movements to lean up to her ear, whispering, “fuck the meeting.”

shuri threw her head back, sinking further into the the chair and further into the trap you set in motion the minute you walked into the room.

you always started by entering with a sweet smile, followed by asking her how her day was or what project she was working on. then you’d begin rubbing her shoulders, kissing her neck while muttering sweet nothings and telling her she worked too hard. “let me take care of you,” you’d say, “you deserve to feel good, don’t you wanna feel good?” and soon shuri would end up on her back, eyes wide shut as her legs were thrown over your shoulders and your fingers snug between her walls.

this time was different though. it had to be. the council meeting was nearing by the minute, and you showed no signs of waving the white flag.

“entle,” she began, licking her lips as she spoke. “i-i really think we should wait.” you continued to kiss her, attaching your lips to whatever skin you could reach as shuri continues. “once it’s over we can do whatever you want, my love.” her hands run over the curve of your ass, squeezing gently.

you pulled away from her, hands still cupping her cheeks. “i wanna do whatever i want now.”

“i know. i promise i-i’ll make it up to you.” she says, tilting her head up to look at you before placing a soft kiss to your lips. it’s sweet, the taste of her, and as much as you wanted more, she pulls away. “you better,” you scolded, “you’re the one who did this to me anyway.” you nod your head down to your stomach, stretching against the fabric of your maxi dress. the hormones had been driving you insane. and it didn’t help that shuri spent so much time away with all her new duties. this left you to take care of your own needs more often than you’d like to admit. you needed her. to feel her. while it might seem like you were caving, her majesty should’ve known better than too assume her wife would back down so easily.

your words bring a smile to shuri’s lips, a laugh escaping her as you sigh while you rise off of her, giving her a full view of your bump as you do so.

“whatever you want, mama.”

you hum a lazy response as your queen visibly relaxes, no longer antsy with your aroused antics. though she wasn’t in the clear just yet, you came here for a reason, and wouldn’t leave unfulfilled.

a simple idea sprouts in your head, and soon, a mischievous smile dances across your features as you reach back to unclasp your necklace. shuri raises a brow in question, but remains silent as you both watch the dainty jewelry slide down your chest and onto the floor, right between her feet.

“oops.”

the royal shakes her head, already having a clue of where this was headed. but you’re already sinking to your knees, eyes never leaving hers.

you rub your palms along the fabric of her black dress, reaching just below her knees. you play with the hem, eyeing the fickle fabric before tracing your fingertips higher. and higher. and high-

“thandiwe.” she warned.

beloved. how wholesome a name in contrast to your actions upon her. you peered up at her, batting your lashes at her. “yes, my queen?”

“we have ten minutes before our meeting-”

“i’ve made you come in less,” you continue, hooking your fingers around her underwear.

shuri wanted to protest, she really did, and she tried to. she mutters tiny objections at first, and you almost believe them, but the way she lifted her hips to help you remove her underwear, the way she whined when you tugged her to the throne’s edge, and the way she threw her head back with the first stripe you licked up her center told you all you needed to know. let’s face it, she knew she was done for the minute you walked in the room.

you begin to place gentle kisses to her clit, giving her a little stimulation, but not quite enough for her liking. shuri shudders above you, legs shaking gently. she began to realize just how long it’d been since the two of you had sex.

“still want me to stop?” you asked, tongue twirling around her entrance, to which she moaned in response. a light chuckle escapes your lips. “i’ll take that as a no.”

[tchallasbabymama]

Ménage à Trois Part Deux: Chapter Two

I'm still here (Tisha Campbell voice.)

Y'all... I've been working on this chapter for over a year. I literally JUST finished it and can't even wait for beta readers; I gotta post this now!

Life's lifing, but I haven't forgotten about my stories 💕

As usual, check out my masterlist for more of my work, let me know if you want to be tagged in anything, and make sure you reblog and/or leave a comment if you like it!

Without further ado, here's chapter 2!

Word count: 6,043

CW: smut

Among the many visitors who made their way to Wakanda to experience the kick-off of Queen Zora’s student exchange program was Amanda Livingston, a reporter for the New York Times. She had been assigned the potentially life-changing gig by her editor, and although she wasn’t looking forward to visiting the continent due to all the horrible propaganda she’d heard about it over the years, Amanda eventually came around when she saw the technologically advanced country with her own eyes. Wakanda outdid her wildest expectations, but she wasn’t content with simply enjoying her time in the foreign land. She needed to dig deeper to find dirt on the country that welcomed her into their borders.

When Amanda arrived at the gala, she instantly became uneasy. Looking around at the other, much more stylish guests, she felt underdressed. Their ornate cultural attire, vibrant jewels, and intricate hairstyles made her feel dull and unimpressive for the first time in her privileged life. Her basic navy blue shift dress was a business casual bore against her pale, freckled skin. Despite the thick layer of greasy sunblock clogging her pores, she could already feel her skin turning red after just a few minutes of exposure to the setting sun. Amanda grabbed a glass of champagne from the nearest server and downed it to calm her nerves before scanning the courtyard for shade, observing every person and their interactions. Unfortunately for her byline, both the Wakandans and visitors alike seemed to be enjoying themselves. No salacious stories had revealed themselves to Amanda yet, but she perked up upon noticing that a spot had opened up in the gazebo.

The journalist awkwardly squeezed her way into the ornate shelter, sandwiching herself between a prominent Congolese activist and a gaggle of excited Wakandan teens whose endless supply of questions grew louder and more animated as they listened to the visitor’s stories of grassroots organizing in his home country. Amanda listened along with the Wakandans while her eyes wandered around the rest of the gala, admiring the architecture and landscaping of the palace courtyard. It was so different from what she was used to in the States. Beautiful, sprawling, centuries-old fruit trees surrounded the space in lieu of carefully carved topiaries, and a large golden statue of a panther gleamed brightly as the centerpiece of a magnificent fountain. Amanda’s eyes fell to the water pooling beneath the towering feline’s paws, and she noticed unusual petals floating delicately on the surface.

Amanda whipped out her phone to snap a picture of the beautiful sight, but she noticed a familiar face just beyond the curve of the statue’s tail. Sure enough, there stood an old fuck buddy she hadn’t seen since her Ivy League years. In college, Mitchell Van Buren was a well-connected frat boy with a heart that appeared to be of gold, and fifteen years later, he was riding that squeaky-clean reputation all the way to the presidential campaign trail. Amanda had always thought that he favored the Ken doll she had as a young girl. As if he felt her gaze, Mitchell’s piercing blue eyes found hers, and he smiled as he recognized an old fling. 

Amanda found herself standing next to Mitchell in no time flat, and the two of them lost track of time as they caught up on their lives. The friendly chat became more suggestive as time went on. They flirted back and forth until the queen’s speech, where Mitchell allowed his roaming hands to do the talking under Amanda’s dress. By the time Queen Zora returned to her seat, they were already sneaking off into the gardens to escape the crowd.

The politician and the journalist reconnected in a deep, dark corner of the gardens far away from the event. Their reunion was brisk, and as they straightened themselves back out, the sound of footsteps heading in their direction made them fear they had been caught. They stayed ducked behind the bushes as the queen swished her hips into view, followed by a very large man who stared at her with stars in his eyes. The two accidental voyeurs watched as he kissed her hand tenderly, and their eyes bulged in their sockets. Neither could believe what they were seeing. The queen of Wakanda cheating on the king…

The shock of it all made Mitchell freeze on the spot, but Amanda nearly salivated as she pictured the headlines. This was just the story she’d been looking for! Acting quickly and without remembering to turn the sound off her phone, Amanda snapped a picture of the couple. At that moment, the shutter seemed to be the loudest sound she or Mitchell had ever heard. 

The queen and her lover pulled apart, and the mystery man barrelled towards them. Amanda and Mitchell ran in the opposite direction, but Mitchell tripped, nearly busting his chiseled chin on the ground. Amanda ran as fast as she could towards the gala until she rounded the last corner and noticed the Dora Milaje blocking the entrance to the garden. The much taller man shouted after her, and the guards turned around with their spears at the ready. Amanda froze and let go of her phone, but not before pressing send on a message that would surely cause a headache for the royals before the device could even crash to the ground.

“Th-the queen is a cheater! I saw it! We saw it!” Amanda yelled, purposely causing a bigger scene than necessary while squeezing out crocodile tears to gain sympathy points. Unfortunately, it worked, and the crowd turned around to gawk at the spectacle.

--------

Zora woke up to the sound of light snores to her left and warm breaths against her right ear. As usual, two heavy arms were slung across her body, but instead of starting her day filled with the joy of being in her lovers’ arms again, flashbacks of the night before played on a loop behind Zora’s eyes. She absentmindedly watched the ceiling fan rotate slowly and sighed as she cursed herself for slipping up, prompting T’Challa to tighten his grip on her waist.

“Stop thinking about last night,” he grumbled in her ear.

Zora turned to look at him questioningly, and he smirked without opening his eyes. She didn’t even bother asking how he knew what was on her mind, choosing instead to focus on the upward curl of his thick lashes. As if he felt her gaze, those lashes fluttered open, allowing the king’s precious gemstones to sparkle in the early morning sunlight. 

“It was a disaster,” Zora whispered, trying not to wake her other husband from his deep slumber. 

“Try not to focus on the ending.”

“I shouldn’t have gone into the gardens,” Zora whined. “I just-”

T’Challa cut her off with a kiss.

“You blame yourself too easily.” 

He was right, but nonetheless, she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

“How are you so chill about this?”

T’Challa brought his hand up to caress her cheek.

“I have watched you live a lie to the rest of the world since the moment you stepped into this role, Babygirl. And I have watched that lie eat away at you every time you have to uphold it. As a man, and a Wakandan one at that, I will never fully understand the pressures of living in a world that dictates you move in such a way. From my point of view, it seems exhausting.”

“It is,” Zora croaked around the lump forming in her throat and turned to look at M’Baku, still splayed out on his stomach and snoring away. “I can’t help but think I’m hurting him. He says he’s fine, but I wouldn’t be if I were in his shoes.”

T’Challa decided it would be better to let M’Baku express his own feelings later, so he held his tongue instead of confirming Zora’s speculation. M’Baku had recently confided in him that he wasn’t as fine with their public arrangement as he let on, but since he didn’t want his feelings to stand in the way of Zora’s success, he was wary of telling her.  

“You should talk to him about it,” the king advised.

“I will, but I’m pretty sure the whole world knows by now,” Zora huffed as last night’s events played in her mind again. She relived everything from the shutter click in the gardens to the crowd’s murmurs at seeing the Dora Milaje with their spears trained on two guests. Nearly every phone was up recording the catastrophe as it unfolded, several of which were streaming live, and they all captured the moment Zora’s carefully crafted image shattered into millions of pieces thanks to colonizers sticking their noses where they didn’t belong.

“No, they know what those people think they saw. The world has yet to hear your truth.”

“I don’t think the world’s ready for the truth.”

“Not everyone will be, but imagine what you will be doing for those that are.”

“You always know what to say,” Zora complimented him with a warm smile.

“Is that not why you married me?”

Before Zora could respond, he kissed her deeply, and she moaned into his parted lips. The sound coursed through T’Challa’s veins and woke up the rest of his body until his every cell ached for his wife. He hadn’t touched her body in two weeks, and the time apart was starting to catch up to him the longer he kissed her. With M’Baku being around and a very willing submissive for them both, the king wasn’t in need of release, but he missed the smell of Zora’s skin and the taste of her juices seeping out for him. He longed to feel her contract around him when she climaxed, and the memory of her screaming his name had him prying her legs open and sliding his fingers into her depths.

“Mmmm-”

“Quiet, or your husband will catch us,” he ordered softly in Zora’s ear, turning her on even more. It wasn’t often that they engaged in cheating roleplay, but when they did, it turned Zora into a sopping wet mess. “You don’t want him to know how filthy you are, do you?”

Zora shook her head and trapped her plump bottom lip between her pearly whites in a feeble attempt to quiet her moans. Her big doe eyes dared not look away from T’Challa’s piercing gaze when he found a spot inside her that made her release a noise much too undignified for a woman of her royal ranking. 

“I said be quiet, Zora,” T’Challa sneered, his breath hot against her ear as his teeth dragged along the lobe.

“Uxolo baby, I-I-”

Zora’s desperate whispers tickled T’Challa’s skin, and his ears grew hot the way they always did when she spoke his native tongue to him.

“Thula!” he growled, pulling his fingers out and slapping her sensitive vulva. The small whimper that she managed to squeak out upon impact made him smile. She was trying to be good for him, so he let his wet fingers trail up her pussy lips to the bundle of nerves that poked out like a beacon of pleasure, calling out to be touched and handled with care. 

Zora’s body felt electric everywhere T’Challa touched her skin. Her fingertips longed to feel him, too, so they found their way to the coils of his beard and pressed his face closer to hers. Time seemed to move slower with every stroke of his fingers around her clit and every filthy and loving word he uttered. His words came out in husky whispers at first before transforming into guttural growls the more his erection pressed into her thigh. Zora was careful not to wind her hips too much to keep from waking M’Baku, but the way T’Challa zeroed in on her pleasure zones and overstimulated her body made it near impossible to lay still. 

Kisses to Zora’s collarbone made her heart beat out of her chest. Her head jerked to the left, and she locked eyes with M’Baku as she heaved through T’Challa’s tortures, making the king chuckle darkly.

“Look what you did,” T’Challa teased as he angled his hips so that he could slide into her wetness, his hand placed firmly around her neck. “You woke him up, and now he knows you're my little cumslut. How do you think it makes him feel to see you like this?”

Zora’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as T’Challa bottomed out inside her, but no matter how good it felt, she knew one thing: she better not let go of her legs, or there would be delicious hell to pay. Since most mornings consisted of the throuple making vigorous love to start their day, they often started in this very position when the queen was the center of attention. T’Challa would find a way to slide in either from the back or the side, depending on how Zora was lying. Every time, without fail, he would assign her the task of holding her legs back for him, and every time, without fail, he’d beat the breaks off her pussy so good that she’d lose her grip, making him fuck her harder for insubordination.  

Today, he could tell by the strained look on her face that she was determined to be good. He hadn’t forgotten about her eight infractions over their time apart, but Zora wasn’t in the right headspace for punishments. Naturally, she was stressed and scared about how the previous night could affect her career, but most of all, her guilt over hiding M’Baku from the world, combined with missing them both, had made her soft, and she’d need a thick skin for what T’Challa had planned for her.

So, the king fucked her slow and deep and watched with an amused smirk as she struggled to grip her legs. As if he read both of their minds, M’Baku’s large hand covered Zora’s, and he easily held her thick bronze legs in place the way he knew the king liked. Zora’s eyes met his again, and she pulled him into a kiss, their tongues colliding before their lips ever touched. They got lost in a cycle of licking and sucking and biting at each other until Zora’s hand wandered down to M’Baku’s naked dick, hard as Jabari wood and throbbing with the desperate heat of a man that missed the feeling of his wife’s inner workings. He moaned into her mouth as she worked her hand up and down his thickening shaft, and Zora answered with deep moans of her own that were prompted by T’Challa’s even deeper strokes. His grunts of pleasure in her ear just turned her on even more, and the three of them soon became composers in a beautiful symphony of swirling notes belted into the air while the percussion of their bodies kept rhythm. 

Beep, beep-beep, beep, beep-beep.

Zora went rigid with an influx of anxious energy that filled her body from head to toe, swiftly replacing the waves of pleasure that she had been immersed in before T’Challa’s kimoyo beads began ringing. 

“Ignore it,” T’Challa ordered through gritted teeth. “They will call back.”

“It could be important.”

“It is too early. Leave it be for now,” M’Baku nearly begged as he thrust into Zora’s hand.

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

Zora’s beads began vibrating from the nightstand, and she released M’Baku, placing her palm on T’Challa’s chest. A growl escaped his lips as he pulled out.

“Zora, it can wait-” T’Challa cut himself off and turned towards the door with a curious look on his face just before someone’s knuckles banged against the vibranium.

“This can’t be good,” Zora murmured, untangling herself from M’Baku, reaching for her kimoyo beads, and sliding them onto her wrist. 

T’Challa begrudgingly agreed with a nod of his head as he grabbed his black silk robe from the back of his chair. The knocks came again, this time sounding even more urgent than the first set, so when the king swung the door open, he was unsurprised to see Kidada, Bahati, and Dembe flanked by Okoye and Ayo. They exchanged the proper greetings and salutes, and upon hearing all the voices of those present, Zora’s heart sank to her stomach.

“Ugh, all hands on deck?” Zora groaned, burying her head into the pillow and covering it with the flimsy white sheet they slept under. M’Baku rubbed her back in comforting circles, but his eyes stayed glued to the doorway.

“We really hate to wake you up like this, but it seems we could not stop the footage of last night’s incident from leaking to the global press,” Bahati explained calmly.

Kidada held out a holopad for the king to scroll through news articles and social media posts. A thick silence filled the air as he read page after page of people’s disdain for Zora and her perceived infidelity.

“How bad is it?” Zora’s voice wavered, her mind already expecting the worst. She had been trying to gauge the degree of disaster from T’Challa’s responses, but his features were frozen in a carefully crafted poker face. He could hear her heart thumping wildly in her chest and smell the panic seeping from her pores.

“It, uh…” T’Challa trailed off as his eyes focused on a headline from a popular gossip column. The writer speculated how quickly the king should divorce his supposedly adulterous wife. “It could be worse.”

---------

Over the years, Zora had exposed M’Baku to her people's art, culture, and history. From the triumphant to the traumatic, he learned more about the Lost Tribe than he ever anticipated. He respected their tenacity and ingenuity in surviving their colonizer’s oppressive regime. Seeing her world through his eyes made Zora appreciate it more, but sometimes his inquiries forced her to interrogate the parts of her society that even she didn’t understand. 

For example, Zora could never properly explain assimilation to M’Baku in a way that made sense to him. Probably because, at her core, she didn’t understand it either. Every answer she gave the man confused him more than the last, and after all this time, he still didn’t get it. He couldn’t wrap his mind around people who chose to side with their oppressors, specifically the Black folks who adopted conservative sensibilities. 

In the wake of the gala incident, M’Baku’s confusion grew tenfold as those same conservative Black folks got wind of what was happening in Wakanda, and their collective reaction was even stronger than the KKK whites over at Fox. His eyes glazed over every time Bahati and Kidada updated the royals on the situation. News briefings and viral videos lambasting Zora’s behavior seemed to be coming out every second, and the global scale of it all made M’Baku feel small. 

Handsy megachurch preachers with a penchant for inflicting the fiery numbness of the male gaze onto the young women in their congregation spouted whole sermons to their flocks about the importance of wives remaining submissive and faithful to their husbands. Longstanding problematic radio personalities lamented the fact that the women they deemed golddiggers didn’t seem to know their place anymore. Most perplexing of them all, podcast niggas laughed at T’Challa and called him weak from behind their shitty microphones set up in their mother’s moldy basement. What was left of Black Twitter was in disarray. The royal Wakandan wedding had broken the internet the year before, and the news of Zora’s philandering sent waves through the app again. In just twenty-four hours, Zora had been called everything but a child of god, and T’Challa’s masculinity was questioned by those who clung to the patriarchal idea that his woman’s behavior determined his manhood. Meanwhile, the whole world speculated on the identity of the mystery man caught canoodling with the queen.

Under normal circumstances, the royals could have easily avoided the ruckus of the outside world when safe inside Wakanda, but the scandal’s timing couldn’t have been worse. For the first time in its long and storied history, Wakanda was hosting hundreds of outsiders from all over the globe. Zora’s unprecedented position within the royal house had truly brought forth a new age of diasporic collaboration, but the second the scandal broke, so did the facade. Of course, her people and most of the visiting children were unbothered. After their second full day, the exchange students had taken to calling Wakanda their ekhaya, their home. It warmed Zora’s heart every time she heard their foreign accents dance around the Xhosa words with varying levels of ease. Even more surprising was the Wakandan children blending their own words and mannerisms so seamlessly with their guests. Seeing their exchange in such a short amount of time was the only thing that fueled Zora as her public life crumbled around her. 

Even though the exchange was for the benefit of the children, and therefore, it was shaping up to be a success, the adults weren’t shy about making their displeasure known. Many of them showed their nasty true colors the moment Zora’s supposed indiscretions went public. Some went as far as returning home and dagging their helpless children with them. Those who remained were either chaperones forced to stay with the few children whose parents hadn’t withdrawn from the program, or just looking for more dirt to take back home with the hopes of collecting a check. Unsurprisingly, the journalists and politicians were especially heinous in their approach, and T’Challa was steadily growing tired of walking the paper-thin line between needing to maintain diplomatic relations and swiftly dropping them all over the border in Niganda. 

In just two days, the program had already lost nine students, and three schools in two separate countries had pulled out of the partnership. In that same amount of time, M’Baku spoke maybe ten words, and Zora weathered four panic attacks. The first of which came shortly after Bahati, Kidada, and Dembe interrupted the royal throuple’s morning lovemaking to break the news of the international scandal. The second two were due to her fear of failure being triggered by the waning participation in her exchange program, but the last one caught her off guard.

It struck while she was visiting her mother. Shortly after Zora’s weddings, Cheryl retired from teaching AP English Literature, packed up her Atlanta home, and moved into the house that T’Challa had given Zora when she accepted the liaison position. She just couldn’t bear being so far apart from her one and only child, and the time change was too much for her to keep track of. Truly, the first time Cheryl visited, she knew she’d be moving soon. For Operation Stepdaddy, if nothing else, which commenced as soon as she set down her suitcase.

Cheryl was backstroking through the Wakandan dating pool. According to the exploits she would dish to Zora and Ramonda about, the quantity was low, but the quality was high. Most of the men in her age range were already partnered, and she wasn’t one for polyamory like her daughter. However, the generous handfuls of men she’d interacted with restored her faith in their genderfolk. 

In short, Cheryl was living her best life.

Between her newfound social life and lending her expertise as an educator to help shape Zora’s exchange program, she felt more fulfilled than ever. Zora had noticed the change in her mother. It was a change she had dreamed of seeing all her life. Cheryl seemed happy. She smiled all the time now, her shoulders didn’t carry tension, and the only thing stressing her out was the heat. She seemed free.

Cheryl was so used to seeing that same look on Zora’s face that she immediately knew something was wrong when she opened her front door to greet her daughter. Her energy was just off.

“You ruin your fancy shoes stepping in rhino shit again?” she quipped with a raised brow.

Zora couldn’t help but crack a small smile as she stepped over the threshold and into Cheryl’s outstretched arms. 

“That was one time, momma.”

“And I still don’t know how you missed that big-ass pile.”

Ayo stifled a laugh as she entered the familiar space and allowed Cheryl to embrace her as well. They all knew that nobody was exempt from her hugs.

Zora was quieter than usual as she made her way through her former home. Cheryl had already made it her own, filling it with plants that Zora would’ve killed within a week. The walls were a deep maroon and covered in locally woven tapestries and baskets, and the entire home smelled like warming spices. The abundance of natural light peeking through the windows kept the place bright despite the darker color palate. It felt like Cheryl’s Atlanta home, but bigger and with a higher budget.

As soon as Zora sat down at the kitchen table, Cheryl handed her a mango juice mimosa–their favorite. The second their glasses clinked, the queen downed her cocktail in one gulp. 

“Oh, it’s that kind of day?” Cheryl asked, sipping her glass once before setting it on the kitchen table between them.

Zora nodded, but before she could open her mouth to explain further, a calendar reminder popped up on her beads that made her head spin. She had forgotten about her doctor’s appointment—the one where she was set to have the birth control removed from her arm. 

The thought of juggling the complete dumpster fire her life had become seemingly overnight with the possibility of bringing life into the world overwhelmed Zora. She could feel her heart thumping in her eardrums, and her jaw tightened as she tried to breathe through the anxiety crashing into her. 

“It’s too much some days.”

The queen’s voice sounded small, so her mother laid a soft hand on her shaking knee. 

“What is, honeybun?”

Zora’s mind raced. Where to begin?

“Now I see why Wakanda stayed isolated for so long,” Zora sighed before walking her mom through the events of the last few days. As she laid down her burdens, heavy iron gears turned in Cheryl’s mind. She couldn’t help but try to figure out a way to fix her one and only child’s problem, but the politics of it all stumped her. 

“I don't even know what to say, baby.”

They sat in a thick silence for several moments until Cheryl broke it by refilling Zora’s glass. This time, the royal sipped it slowly before parting her lips once more with a question that had been weighing her down since her calendar dinged. 

“When did you know you were ready to be a mom?”

Cheryl’s heart nearly beat out of her chest, but she played it cool. She had never been one to push Zora to have kids, but it was one of her deepest wishes to grow old and experience being a grandmother. 

“Not until I gave you your first bath,” Cheryl chuckled. “I was scared to death to hold you– you were so tiny. I just knew I’d break you.”

Zora remembered the many stories she’d heard over the years about Cheryl’s tumultuous pregnancy. How ashamed she was for ending up in that situation, and how alone she felt. That man really put her momma through it…

“Why do you ask?” Cheryl cut her eyes at Zora’s mimosa glass, “I know you ain’t pregnant drinking all that champagne.”

Zora shook her head.

“Not yet. I was thinking about having my implant removed, but now,” the queen shook her head and took another sip of mango mimosa. “My timing couldn’t be worse.”

“There’s no such thing as the perfect time, honeybun.”

“Yeah, but in the middle of a media shitstorm?”

Cheryl chuckled before turning up her drink and finishing the last drop. By the time she placed the glass down on the table, an idea had churned up between her ears. 

“Maybe that’s exactly what you need.”

Zora looked at her like she had two heads, but Cheryl continued, “They’d eat up a royal baby! Plus, you’d have an excuse to step out of the spotlight for a little while, and by the time you come back, they’d be too enamored with my grandbaby to give a damn about your sex life.”

“Momma, I’m not having a baby as a PR move.”

“Let me ask you something, Zora. Do you want to be a mother?”

Zora’s eyes softened as she pictured her future, and a saccharine smile hung on her lips as she nodded softly.

“And do your husbands want to be fathers?”

Zora couldn’t contain her giggle.

“You already know they’re just waiting on me.”

“Then you have that baby whenever you damn well please, and the rest of the world will just have to keep up. You’re a queen, Zora. You have so much more than I had, or my momma, or her momma. We had to deal with all kinds of stigmas and oppression that you’re free from. So, do what the fuck you want.”

---------

Those words danced around Zora’s head all that night, but she still chose to postpone her appointment. Not by long, just a few more weeks. However, Cheryl’s passionate refrain inspired a different course of action regarding the gala incident. Instead of praying that the ordeal would blow over, Zora and Bahati spent the next two days crafting a statement to take control of the narrative. After Cheryl lent her wordsmith expertise to the speech, Zora felt that it was finally ready for public consumption. But she needed to ensure it landed with her target audience before anyone else. 

Excitement made Zora giddy, and she was barely able to sit still while Bahati quickly ran through her end-of-day update on the student exchange program. The remaining students and their chaperones had spent the day in the Border province, sharpening their language skills while learning about Wakandan agriculture and traditional cuisine. She had been missing out on so much…

When she and Bahati parted ways for the night, Zora checked her kimoyo beads to see where her husbands were. M’Baku’s avatar stood in the kitchen housed in their royal suite, which made Zora’s stomach growl in anticipation of whatever he had whipped up. Her eyes drifted to T’Challa’s avatar darting around the training room, and she wondered who his sparring partner was today. What lucky foe got to witness the Black Panther in all his sweaty, aggressive glory?

She licked her lips as she called him.

The communication bead buzzed in her palm, and seconds later, T’Challa’s glistening form came into view. His locs were loose, so he tossed them back out of his eyes as he caught his breath. 

“Good evening, my queen.”

“Hello, husband.” Zora couldn’t help her lusting, “You look delicious.”

“Eish!” Okoye cursed off-camera, making Zora giggle.

“Uxolo, general,” she apologized with a smirk. “I thought you were done for the day.”

“She was, but I convinced her to stick around and lose a few rounds.” T’Challa dismissed Okoye and waited until she left the training room before turning back to Zora. “I still have a few more rounds in me, Babygirl.”

Zora stepped onto the elevator and let the doors swish closed behind her.

“Tempting, but business first,” she teased.

“What business?”

“Come home and find out.”

Zora ended the call before he could respond, smirking to herself. He hated it when she did that, but she loved pushing his buttons. Especially when he was already sweaty, shirtless, and revved up.

The elevator doors slid open, and she was welcomed home by the aroma of M’Baku’s home cooking. She tried to guess what it was, but it eluded her. It was definitely something she’d tasted before, but not often. The spices that swirled in the air hinted at local cuisine, nothing from the international cookbooks he had come to collect over the last few years. Something rare, as if for a special occasion–

Zora stopped in her tracks before she entered the suite. 

The date.

She had forgotten its significance to her husband, and her stomach churned with guilt. She had been so busy dealing with her own mess that she forgot it was the worst day of his life. 

Shortly after M’Baku won the Jabari chiefdom, his mother fell ill. Her lungs were weak, too weak to make it through the changing of seasons. His father wasted away slowly over the next year and finally wandered into the snow on the anniversary of her death.  

M’Baku had spent the last decade without his parents, and it had been nearly as long since he’d last spoken to his siblings. Growing up, he was the eldest of four, and all Zora knew was that only three of them remained on this plane. M’Baku refused to speak about them, so she didn’t push him on it. 

But Zora knew this day always came with heartache, so she slid out of her shoes and padded across the sunken living room to the open kitchen. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around M’Baku’s trunklike waist and buried her head in the soft fabric covering his back. She felt some of the tension release from his body at her touch, but plenty remained. 

“How was your day, my sweet?” he asked softly, and she hugged him tighter.

“I should be asking you that.”

“No need; my answer would be bleak.”

Zora released him just enough to circle around and squeeze between his body and the stovetop, forcing his sad eyes to peer into her soul. Her hands on either side of his face brought him to the verge of tears.

“I don’t care how bleak it is. I want to know everything you’re going through, baby.”

M’Baku nodded and surrendered to her delicate kisses.

“I-” he began but stopped himself from voicing the words that brought him so much guilt.

“I just miss them,” he sighed. “Every day, my home reminds me of them. Every mountaintop, every fish in the river… I am tired of the memories.”

Zora let his tears fall from his tired eyes but wiped them away with her thumbs before they could reach his beard. She walked him over to the kitchen table and sat him down as T’Challa entered the suite. He took in the scene and understood immediately.

“I’ll finish dinner, baby.” Zora kissed M’Baku’s forehead and let T’Challa take over while she kept their yearly repast from burning. She kept an eye on them from the other side of the room, watching as they mumbled to each other. M’Baku let out his tears on T’Challa’s shoulder as the king comforted him. Every now and then, Zora and T’Challa would lock eyes, and their silent conversation spoke volumes. In all their time together, they had never seen this day hit him so hard. 

M’Baku barely spoke through dinner, a haunted look in his distant gaze that unnerved Zora while they ate. It wasn’t until T’Challa cleared the table that a sigh escaped M’Baku’s lips.

“I want this more,” he stated, confusing the other two.

“This?” Zora asked, and the chief nodded.

“This. Normal life.”

T’Challa had been feeling inklings of M’Baku’s ambivalence towards his chiefdom for quite a while now. With the Jabari throne not being a blood right but a title only won through battle, M’Baku didn’t have the same sentimental connection to ruling his people. T’Challa often wondered if he would feel the same under different circumstances.

“What does normal mean to you?” T’Challa invited him to say the words that would free him.

M’Baku considered his words carefully. Over the years, he had grown to love living in the capital, far away from the ghosts that haunted the snow. The more time he spent away, the more he realized just how miserable he was at home. Since getting married, he’d spend four or five nights a week in Birnin Zana with his bride and her other husband. The Jabari elders hated him for his constant absence, but even they could see how much lighter he seemed every time he returned. The chief was unhappy being chief. It seemed that everyone knew it, and none of them could blame him, given the circumstances. 

“I no longer wish to be chief of the Jabari.”

Next chapter

Taglist: @maddeningmayhem , @theblulife , @motheroffae , @love-mesome-me , @toni9 , @brihann, @impremenior , @nahimjustfeelingit-writes , @brattyfics s, @cecereads209, @afriendlyblackhottie , @queengodiva619 , @musicisme333 ,  @dersha89 , @ljstraightnochaser , @bornamiracle , @xoxovivafics , @goddessofmischief0711 , @issahyland , @blkbutterfly816 , @judymfmoody, @novaniskye , @prettystringbean , @martakllv, @blackpinup22 , @mermaidchansons, @jadedjotun , @branium , @abeautifulmindexposed d, @prettyisasprettydoes1306 6, @reneinii

[elegantauthor]

Saving Grace Chapter 19

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Aurora Stark

Summary: Aurora relives the moments she lost Tony and Bucky, and how she lost her powers.

Warnings: allusions to Endgame & Infinity War, grief, husband-wife banter

Series Masterlist

Hours before dawn, Aurora awoke with a start. Snow was still falling, though not as heavy as before. Moonlight reflected on the ice particles, creating fractals of iridescent light on the window panes. If she was anywhere but confined in Zemo’s manor, it would have been a beautiful sight, indeed.

Realizing the room was dark, save for that light, she frowned. Zemo must’ve turned it off, and… put a fleece blanket over her. Throwing it off was a mistake. No sooner than she had, she began to shiver. Perhaps he was right; she was spoilt, but who didn’t have central heating? Then again, the manor was probably generations old.

And that’s what fireplaces were for—her gaze alighted on it with a huff. She was not about to wake him to help her. Picking up the blanket, she burrowed into the warmth it provided.

The only good thing to come of her captivity was the time she had to think. No longer distracted by her phone, television, or anything else, all she was left with was her grief. Like being reacquainted with an old stranger, it overwhelmed her.

~ * ~

Six months ago

Aurora waited on pins and needles. As the Avengers endeavored to undo Thanos’ Snap at the Compound, she was told by her father to stay put at the cabin. It was an order she would’ve easily disobeyed, if it wasn’t for the severity in Tony’s voice when he left, with Steve’s shield in the trunk of his car.

Then, the most miraculous thing happened. Birdsong filled the air. The forest was alive again with birds, insects, and other fauna. She stepped outside, tears welling up in her eyes, as she cupped her hands over her mouth.

They’d done it. They undid the Snap.

Hours later, the familiar footfalls on the front porch roused her attention. She leapt up from the couch, flinging the door wide open. She couldn’t believe it. He looked no different than on the day he joined the Wakandans to fight Thanos’ army—long, disheveled hair and blue eyes that had seen too much for one lifetime, sporting a black bomber jacket.

“Bucky!”

He caught her in his arms, shuddering a husky-soft breath in her ear, as he held her against him. “Aurora…” His voice cracked with emotion as sobs wracked her body. Every sniffle sent a pang through his chest. “I’m here, you’re okay, I’m here,” he murmured soothingly.

“Bucky,” she repeated, a whisper on her lips, as if she was going to wake up any second, and it all be a cruel dream.

He nuzzled his face in her hair, inhaling her scent. After the final battle with Thanos, it grounded him. She was back in his arms, everything would be okay.

At the sound of more people approaching, Aurora lifted her head. She looked directly at Steve, whose grave expression told her everything she needed to know, and yet she asked anyway. “W-Where’s Dad?”

~ * ~

Five years ago

“T-There are a-liens out there!” Body flush against Bucky’s, Aurora clung to his biceps. He was a head taller and larger in frame, especially now, with his new vibranium arm.

He cupped her chin with his vibranium hand, using his flesh hand to wipe her tears. “That’s why you gotta stay here. If anything happened to you—” He choked up before he could finish, the distress he felt palpable. Aurora reeled in it from the moment T’Chaka brought him the new appendage.

Sleek black with gold inlay, it was Shuri’s finest piece of technological ingenuity, apart from removing the code words from his mind. She’d watched him earlier toss a tree like it was a piece of paper, but he held her chin as if she was made of porcelain.

“Always my doll.” His husky-soft breath fanned her face, words meant to reassure, to keep her going in the event the worst should happen.

“I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you, too. Now, you gotta be strong for me, okay? No matter what happens. Can you promise me?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, squeezing her once more.

Helplessly, Aurora watched from the tallest tower. A slew of alien lifeforms tore across the field with speed that she could barely quantify. Calming her own emotions did little to assuage her.

Bifrost struck down from the sky in a ray of spectral light and starfire, as Thor appeared, adding a twinge of envy to her growing agitation. He was a god, with powers of lightning and thunder. What good was she, a demigoddess, doing up here?

To obey a direct order from her husband? Folly, but it was an err in judgement she was willing to make.

She sprinted to the elevator; it couldn’t touch ground floor fast enough. She ran in the direction she last spotted Bucky going. Through the trees, which she’d mapped out by memory, she followed the sound of automatic gunfire.

The gold flecks in her eyes gleamed, slicing straight to the heart of any enemy who crossed her path. Felled at her feet, like Moses parting the sea. Now that she could sense Bucky, she felt less erratic. His emotional signature reached her from yards away, guiding her like a GPS.

Reacting to the sight of his prone form flailing on the ground, canting his head to avoid being attacked, her voice echoed like a warble. One alluring command. “Stop.”

And the creature did, giving Bucky the opportunity to stab it with his knife. He scrambled to his feet, eyes meeting hers in a fury of recognition. “I told you to stay put!” he shouted.

“I couldn’t, not while everyone else is risking their lives.”

Holding his rifle aloft in one hand, he pointed his vibranium finger in her face. “We’re going to talk about this when we get home.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” Grunting, Bucky shook his head, though the slight curl of his lips did not go amiss. “Do you at least know how to take orders on the battlefield?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” she sassed.

“Doll,” he growled.

Aurora smirked, grumbles of “I swear, when we get home” reaching her ears. They fought alongside each other in harmony, issuing one-word commands, as long as she could tether to their heartstrings, while he gunned them down.

Suddenly, all went quiet. Where there was chaos, now there was silence and an unsettling stillness in the air. Aurora dropped to her knees, as Bucky rushed over. “Aurora?”

“I don’t feel them,” she gasped, clutching the middle of her chest.

Bucky straightened, catching sight of Steve, and walked toward him. “Steve?”

A handful of moments collided and folded in on themselves, before Aurora understood what just happened. Seeing Bucky turn to dust and scatter in the wind didn’t register as real until she could no longer sense him. Fingers digging into the loose soil, she tried to claw into anything, to feel something, other than the numbness slowly coiling around her heart. She curled in on herself, as Steve rushed over and held her. He rocked her gently, more for his benefit than hers.

[dino-fart]

My Jade Heart

Pairing: Namor x Female Reader

Genre: Romance, Comfort, Fluff

Summary: You saved Namor’s life but ended up with severe wounds. You are now in the medical bay of Wakanda in recovery. You haven’t seen Namor but can only hope he is alright. Good thing the King of Talokan had a feeling you would be worried about him and decided to pay you a visit. 

You lay there on the bed with the IV in your arm. The doctor told you that you would be fine thanks to Wakandan technology. You suffered from broken ribs and a large wound on your right side. You had a few bandages on your cheeks and head from the cuts. The surgeon had stitched your wound and you were on strict orders to not move for at least two weeks until therapy would come in and work with you. 

You were worried sick about Namor the whole time. You knew he was fine for the most part but how fine was he? Did he get any injuries? Princess Shuri kept telling you to stop worrying and that she’d sent a message to him. But you were getting restless. Okoye had to threaten to knock you out once. 

You now sighed as you sat up on the bed and scrolled through the iPad. You were catching up on emails, texts, news, etc. Whatever you can do to keep your mind off of the king. You closed the iPad after you had enough and closed your eyes to sleep. A gentle touch to your face awoke you from your nap. 

Your eyes opened to meet the gaze of the king. You let out a soft gasp and smiled softly. “Namor...” 

The great king smiled at you softly and gently cupped your cheek, “Mi salvador (My savior).” 

You blushed at his touch and felt his thumb gently stroke over the bandages. “I’m glad you’re okay.” You smiled. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner. I was tending to my people.” Namor leaves your side and pulls up a chair to sit by your bedside. 

“It’s okay, as long as you’re okay.” You nod. 

Namor gently set his spear against the wall and moved his hands to hold your bandaged ones. He pressed kisses to your covered knuckles. You blushed more at how tender he was being with you. The two of you had unspoken feelings before, lingering looks and gentle touches. And now, well now, nothing was holding you two back. 

You felt a fire stir in your stomach and leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek. Namor turned his head to look at you and leaned forward to kiss your lips softly. You moved your hands from his and wrapped your arms around his neck. Namor rested his hands gently on your hips as he kissed you passionately. You moaned softly as you deepened the kiss. 

Namor let out a purr and gently laid your back against the bed. You winced in pain and Namor pulled back immediately. “My apologizes, mi yakunaj.” Namor whispered against your lips and pressed a few kisses along your jawline. Namor pulled back and reached for something in his pocket. You lay there, waiting for him, not having the energy to sit back up. 

Namor leaned back over on you and gently brought over a necklace. He gently put it over your head and around your neck. You picked up the pendant and gasped at the beauty of it. “A jade heart.” You smiled. 

Namor smiled back and kissed your brow. “Yes, my love, a jade heart for my jade heart.” 

You set the pendant down and cupped Namor’s face. You met his gaze and smiled at how he looked at you with so much love. You leaned forward and kissed him passionately. Namor pulled back gently, “Not too much, my love, you need to rest.” You nodded and nuzzled your head on the pillow. 

Namor stroked your hair back and his other hand held yours. Namor rested his forehead against yours and hummed a soft tune that lulled you to sleep. 

[whaddayadothatfor]

An Overwhelming Hunger

“You’ve had a stressful day, my love. What can I do for you?”

“I am hungry,” Namor replied, staring at you through his brow. “But not for food.”

—————————

Pairing: Reader x Namor

Summary: BP:WF complete AU (T’Challa isn’t dead and Namor didn’t kill the Queen) Namor has decided to attend peace talks with Wakanda to avoid war with the powerful nation. However, when frustrations towards his diplomatic mission grow, you decide to help him destress in the best way you know how. Namor, however, has other plans.

Warnings, content: fluff, smut, bondage, overstim, committed relationship, unedited

AN: Hey y’all! Just trying to get into the flow of things and see what works and what doesn’t. I hope y’all like it.

————————————————————————-

You had been here for hours. A pillow tucked underneath the small of your back, your hands tied to one of the posts on your headboard, and your panties stuffed in your mouth. The sheets underneath you were warm to the touch and soaked with your sweat. Your hair tussled from writhing against the sheets and makeup smudged from the tears streaming down your face, and you were sure you looked a mess. But you knew Namor only the saw your state of undress as the result of his handiwork.

You knew this because he had told you as much when you expressed discontent at how ridiculous you must’ve looked earlier. He reassured you that you were the most lovely woman in his Kingdom and any other. He made it clear that he wouldn’t stand to be challenged on his opinion by anyone, including you. Then he shoved your panties in your mouth and went back to working on your third orgasm on the night. That was two orgasms ago. You struggled to remember how you ended up in this predicament in the first place.

Four hours ago

It all started because of politics. The root of all evil, in your opinion. Namor, in an effort to sustain peace and maintain security for his people, decided to meet with the royals of Wakanda to work on an alliance while you stayed home to guide and protect the Talokans in his stead. He did not expect that building an alliance would keep him away from you for days at a time. The Wakandan elders had been particularly headstrong and full of opinions, which slowed progress from time to time.

Namor, communicating through the advanced technology Shuri lent him that allowed him to video call you even miles under the sea, lamented at just how slow the progress was. He simply wasn’t used to being so far away from his people, from you. Not for so long. Unaccustomed to seeing your husband so stressed, you decided to spoil him when he returned. After all, the distance between you hadn’t only been hard on him. You missed your husband, in more ways than one.

You didn’t have to wait long to set your plan into action. Namor had sent word that there would be a seven day recess, so he’d be home by evening. You took the time to doll yourself up and wear the night gown he likes the most. It’s blue and adorned with Jade, a testament to how he loves to spoil you. You cover yourself with a long, flowy robe, the same blue color as your night gown, and tie the robe together with the matching belt with a neat little bow. Like a present to unwrap on Christmas morning.

While you wait for your lover to return home, you also prepare one of Namor’s favorite dishes to eat. It’s a simple dish — fish and rice, but you prepare it in the way his mother did and it reminds him of her. Namor strolls into the room, shoulders tense and his eyes tinged with annoyance. His eyes light up into appreciation at the sight of you.

He trails his eyes down your body, coming back up to stop at the necklace that rests just in between your breasts. It’s a small intricate gold and silver necklace that ties into a knot where the two metals meet. He gifted that necklace to you when you got engaged. For many, it’s a symbol of your union. For the two of you, it symbolizes his deep need to possess even the smallest part of you and to have others acknowledge that you belong to him. That your fate is tied to his for as long as you both live. You shudder at his lingering gaze and try to ignore the tingle that spreads from your core.

Today is not about you, you scold yourself. You should at least feed the man before you jump his bones. You were so busy chastising yourself that you missed the way his gaze darkened, his eyes full of desire and want. You did however notice the tenseness in his shoulders, and the way his mouth was set into a thin straight line.

“You’ve had a stressful day, my love. What can I do for you? I made your favorite in case you’d like to eat.”

“I am hungry,” Namor replied, staring at you through his brow. “But not for food.”

In a flash, he covered the distance between the both of you and covered his mouth with yours. He was an all-consuming force, like a whirpool, and you were a tiny sailboat adrift at sea. You had no way of overpowering him, but you didn’t want to. He picked you up and threw you on the bed. He took the soft satin belt from your robe and tied your hands to the one of the wooden posts of the headboard.

“The only thing I want is for my sweet, pretty wife to come from my tongue as many times as she can stand it. Do you think you can do that?”

Present

Namor moaned into your pussy, only taking a moment to lick up the remnants of the last orgasm you had that had dripped down your thighs. He sat up for a moment and massaged your thighs. You felt delirious.

“You’ve been so good for me, my Queen. Taking each and every thing I’ve offered,” he said. He rubbed his clothed dick all over your slick pussy.

“I bet you could take one more.”

[tllgrrl]

The Favor by @tllgrrl aka Nefertiri Jones

Sam touched the biometric pad on the case, and heard three soft clicks.

[“I called in a favor from the Wakandans.”]

The last time he was in Wakanda, he was on a battlefield just outside Birnin Zana: The Golden City.

He and his friends were fighting to save…everybody…everywhere…but before the battle he’d gotten a glimpse of the Blackest nation he’d ever seen.

A nation that had never been touched by colonization.

Sam also saw technology he’d thought only existed in Sci-fi movies and books…or maybe in Tokyo…but even more advanced than that.

T’Challa introduced him to General Okoye, leader of the elite Royal Guard known as the Dora Milaje.

Sam was also briefly reunited with Steve’s friend Bucky Barnes, who Steve had taken to Wakanda to see if they had the technological wherewithal to remove HYDRA’s super-assassin programming from his brain.

Apparently they did, they were successful, and two years later, there he was. With what looked to be a brand new arm, Bucky was joining the Wakandans and the Avengers in the fight against Thanos and his forces.

And Sam met T’Challa’s younger sister, Princess Shuri. A Black, teenage, African Princess tech genius who, with her team of scientists, doctors and engineers, freed the brain of mildly annoying, staring, grumpy supersoldier Barnes, who is now his “co-worker”.

(… and who is also now trying to aim those blue eyes of his at my baby sister!)

Shuri was also responsible for, among other things, developing the newest versions of T’Challa’s Vibranium-infused, nanotech, fighting suit.

[“I called in a favor from the Wakandans.”]

Sam thought about that battle. How it ended with half the universe, including him and Bucky, turning to ashes one minute, then waking up the next minute…

5 years later.

Like a film clip, images started speeding through his mind: Things he’d experienced, people he’d met, places he’d been from the moment he met Steve Rogers—as they both were doing their morning run around the reflecting pool at the Washington Monument in DC—to now.

All of that…ending up here, back in the house he grew up in, staring at this fancy, high-tech case.

[“I called in a favor from the Wakandans.” ]

(I’m actually gonna do…this.)

He opened the case and took a breath to steady himself.

There was a schematic on the inside of the case’s lid, and what almost looked like some kind of hieroglyphs. Sam couldn’t decipher it, but he immediately knew where it was from.

He lifted the piece of handwoven fabric that seemed to serve two purposes: beauty and function, as he could see metallic threads woven throughout the rich, surprisingly dense protective cloth.

The fabric had Vibranium woven into it, and under it there were three items:

A wing pack like his broken StarkTech one, but lighter in weight. By feel he immediately knew that these wings, like his shield, were made of virtually unbreakable Vibranium.

A neckpiece that was similar to the one he saw T’Challa wear, but not nearly as large, also far less traditional and ceremonial in design.

And inside a pouch made of the same fabric as the protective cloth, was a beautifully carved wooden box holding a bead bracelet like the kind worn by nearly everyone in Wakanda.

He also found a large envelope containing some official-looking paperwork, and a manual for the items in the case.

On the front of the envelope were Wakandan glyphs, and underneath them it read:

Samuel Wilson - Captain America

He read the opening paragraph of the manual, slipped the bead bracelet (called kimoyo) onto his left wrist as instructed…and shortly felt the beads lightly vibrate as his cellphone rang…

* * * * * * * * * *

Fan Fiction and Fan Art Submitted for the @samsseptember Samtember 2024: Day 3 -Costume, Day 19 - Wakanda. I honestly don’t know where this falls. It’s kind of about the costume but it is more about where and who it is from.

Happy Birthday Sam Wilson!

[kamaluhkhan]

i'm not wanting anything (but your loving, your body, and a little bit of your brain)

pairing: shuri x fem!reader

summary: being an avenger doesn't leave you much time for college life (let alone a girlfriend), you and gwen stacy accidentally show up to a halloween party in a couple's costume, and shuri is determined to prove who you really belong to.

warnings: allusions to PTSD and death, mentions of alcohol and partying and smut - fingering (both shuri and reader receiving), oral (shuri receiving), thigh riding....

song inspo: "thats what i want" by lil nas x

a/n: hello!! this is my first time posting a fic on tumblr and im so nervous but very excited because shuri has been on my mind for the longest time. reader is an avenger in her senior year of college and best friends/roommates with peter parker. this is set before black panther: wakanda forever, and after endgame but some things are different (the blip was only a year, steve and tony both died in the final battle with thanos). anyways, please enjoy!!

before the blip, you had the whole work/life/superhero thing (mostly) down to a science. now, everyone was still processing the absolute mindfuck of half the universe being snapped away by a mad titan, only to be returned by a group of heroes one year later.

in the midst of it all, the girl you'd travelled across time and space for somehow ended up low on your priority list, but you found comfort in the fact that it was mutual. you were busy in new york, with college (senior year was kicking your ass) and avengers work (trying to keep the city safe with half the team gone and the others scattered across the universe was exhausting) and your internship at oscorp (basically unpaid labor, but you needed the credit to graduate). shuri spent most of her time catching up on what she missed, working on scientific and technological developments in wakanda whenever she wasn't travelling with her brother around the world for united nations or wakandan outreach reasons. there was only so much calling or texting that can be done before your relationship started to feel like an afterthought.

tonight was supposed to change all that.

harry osborn was throwing a 'halloween in january' party. shuri was in new york with t'challa, but she'd promise to keep this night free, and you promised the same. you were looking forward to being surrounded by a crowd of drunk 20-somethings, taking shots, dancing to music that was way too loud, feeling shuri next to you.

normally, you didn't dress up for the holiday - wearing a supersuit all the time kinda takes the novelty away from wearing a costume - but if halloween could be in january, you decided tonight would be the exception. you'd decided on a red lace bralette with a matching vinyl skirt, fishnet stockings, and a headband with devil horns. you didn't normally show this much skin. it was supposed to be a surprise for shuri, and the hope was that the outfit would drive her crazy. you had finished decorating your face with glitter and were about to swipe on some red liquid lipstick when the text signal rang from your phone.

shuri ♡

i won't be able to come to the party tonight - brother wants me to join him at an ambassador's dinner. i'm sorry. love you.

you knew that there had been one too many times when you had done the same to her - needing to attend to your avengers duties instead of spend time together, cancelling at the last minute on plans you were both looking forward to. you would see each other next time one of you happened to be in the same place, which started to feel less and less likely. that was just the way things were. you were fine with it. totally fine.

after you send shuri a quick no worries! i understand, you finish applying your makeup, taking one last look in the mirror, ready to party even if you didn't have your girlfriend by your side.

harry osborn was shirtless, wearing only a red and gold tie, jeans, and round glasses. you were pretty sure peter choked on spit when harry walked up to you, chest sparkling with a mixture of sweat and glitter under the disco lights.

"magic harry potter, right?" you guessed, glimpsing the lazily drawn lightning bolt on his forehead.

harry grinned and did a little spin to show off his costume. "hogwarts student by day, stripper by night," he said, voice strong over the pounding music. he gestured to your outfit, eyes lingering at the top of your bralette. "you look amazing. and you...." he looked peter up and down. "damn."

peter was wearing an earlier model of his spiderman suit. you'd told him it might not be the best costume to wear when he was still very much clinging to the whole secret identity thing. he didn't particularly care, though: apparently, he overheard a certain heir to the oscorp dynasty gush about how hot spiderman must be under the suit, and how much hotter it would be to be tied up by his webs. needless to say, by the way harry looks equally entranced by peter as peter is by him, your guess is that his eavesdropping paid off.

"come on parker, let's dance." harry didn't wait for an answer, only pushed through the crowd of people. he turned around and locked eyes with peter, a flirtatious grin on his face. you spotted a bar in the corner, and bartenders dressed up as various halloween creatures who walked around with trays of bright neon shot glasses. when a skeleton offered you some, you grabbed a few before they moved on to a trio dressed up as the powerpuff girls.

"i don't have to go if -"

"go," you interrupted, handing peter one of the drinks in your hand. "one of us should get laid tonight."

even though the flashing multicolored lights made it difficult to know for sure, you guessed that peter was blushing. you clinked glasses, downed the shots. peter kissed your cheek.

"love you!" he said before disappearing into the crowd to find his wizard with shining abs.

you smiled, and made your way to the bar. next to the bar was a table of halloween themed snacks - candy, sugar cookies in the shape of ghosts, orange cupcakes and more - so you popped a few pieces of candy corn into your mouth before ordering a drink. you took another jello shot while you waited, this one sweeter than the last and neon green. looking around the room, you were impress by how decorated it was: orange string lights, pumpkins, ghosts and bats floating from the ceiling. you wouldn't have guessed that harry osborn would be into this kind of thing, assuming that he was a trust fund kid used to parties at yacht clubs, but as "monster mash" played through the speakers, you had to admit you were pleasantly surprised.

you scanned the room to see if there was anyone you recognized. you spotted a mermaid making out with a pink power ranger; a group of fairies doing body shots; someone wearing a zombie captain america costume (steve rogers version) and another in a zombie iron man suit, both of which felt more than a little insensitive. it hadn't even been a year since they were gone, and you didn't need the reminder. you glared at the zombies from across the room, and the captain america actually noticed you, offering some sort of awkward salute, like you were a war hero. somehow, that made everything worse and the room suddenly felt suffocating and you just needed some air -

that was how you found yourself on the balcony, overlooking the manhattan skyline. there were heaters outside, thank the gods, so it wasn't too cold. you could still hear the chaos of the party from behind the glass doors, but other than that you were alone - or so you thought.

"you look hot."

you turn around to see gwen stacy in all her glory, wearing an almost perfect replica of claire danes' angel costume from romeo + juliet. the two of you were co-workers more than friends, both working at oscorp along with peter and harry, but it was comforting to see a familiar face.

"and you look amazing," you complimented.

"here, you looked like you might need this." she handed you a sugar cookie decorated with orange frosting and black sprinkles, which you gratefully accepted.

you split it in half, handing one back to gwen before devouring your own. you washed it down with the neon orange drink you'd ordered earlier, before offering a sip to gwen.

"god, is that --"

"vodka and orange crush," you explained. "apparently harry osborn likes to color coordinate his parties like he does his lab notes. at least this makes sense."

gwen laughed, angelic and carefree. "you wanna go back inside? i've always wanted to dance with the devil, and i was hoping this would be my lucky night."

you'd been around long enough to know that gwen was flirting with you and even if you were totally, completely committed and in love with a certain wakandan, you were feeling a little tipsy (probably more from sugar than alcohol, it was hard to tell), and it felt nice to be complimented, to be noticed, to be touched. so, you let gwen lead you to the dance floor, your bodies close together. you let her flirt with you, and maybe flirted a bit with her back. you let people compliment your accidental couples' costume. you weren't sure how long passed, after a while you heard your name being called over the sound of "somebody's watching me" by rockwell. ironic, you knew.

instantly, you recognized the familiar accent and lilt of her voice. you turned around to see shuri, wearing a black satin suit lined with dark burgundy, the shirt underneath long gone, revealing only a black lace bra and a gold body chain and gods she looked so fucking hot right now, it felt like your entire body was on vibrate.

"shuri!" you exclaimed, voice an octave higher than usual, a little thrown off by her sudden appearance. "um, this is gwen."

"hey! it's nice to meet you. i like your vampire costume --"

"i'm not a vampire," shuri interrupted gwen before dragging you to the bar. she leaned against the counter and ordered a whiskey, draining it in one sip before practically slamming the glass back down. "what in bast's name was that?"

"we were dancing," you explained.

"it looked like the two of you were about to rip each other's clothes off," shuri snapped. "i didn't realize that was how you danced in america."

you bristled. shuri was the one who ditched you tonight, and now she was mad at you? "it's a party. we were just having fun. you're overreacting!"

"i showed up to surprise you, but maybe you'd rather go to bed with that angel over there."

"that's bullshit."

"no, what's bullshit is me walking in on my girlfriend grinding on someone else while wearing this outfit." her eyes grazed your body dangerously, and from the clench in her jaw you could tell she had to restrain herself. "so don't pretend you need me here. it seems like there are other girls you'd like to fuck instead."

shuri ordered another drink, but before it arrived, you dragged her to the nearest bathroom. one of the zombie avengers from before - iron man - was about to enter, but you beat them to it, effectively closing and locking to door behind you. you ignored the subsequent banging on the door. harry's apartment was huge; you were sure there was at least one more bathroom, and you couldn't bring yourself to care about whether that asshole got a uti or not.

while shuri remained standing, pacing back and forth on the marble floor, you leaned against the counter, watching her.

"what the fuck was that?" you asked, arms crossed over your chest. "you walk in here accusing me of what - wanting to cheat on you? do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"

"you have to admit, it couldn't have looked good from where i was standing. you grinding on some blonde girl, wearing a couple's costume. don't think i didn't notice that, too."

your cheeks felt warm, knowing that shuri might have a point. "in my defense, the costumes were a coincidence and the grinding.... maybe that was less of a coincidence," you admit. you walk over to shuri, placing your hands on her cheeks to get her to finally look you in the eye. she gently pushed you away, looking down instead, but stayed in front of you. "look, i get that it probably looked like --"

"like you wanted to have gwen's babies."

you took shuri's humor as a good sign, continuing with a soft smile on your face. "please know that i'm 110% committed to you. i would never want to do anything to make you think otherwise. but...i'm not going to apologize for dancing, and having fun, because shit's been....fuck, shuri, it's been hard."

"you don't think it's been hard for me, too?" she scoffed, finally meeting your gaze. "i was gone for an entire year, and the world just moved on, and - and maybe it doesn't need me anymore. maybe you don't -- " she let the words get caught in your throat, and she broke away from your gaze once more.

oh.

what you thought was a burst of jealousy was actually...something else.

"hey." you take her chin between your thumb and your index finger, turning her head to look at you. "hey. i don't care how many dates either of us miss, how many oceans or time zones separate us, you are my person and i'm yours, okay? i will always need you." you moved to drape your arms around her neck, and she instinctively grabbed your hips, hands dangerously close to your ass. your bare torsos touched, the cool metal of her body chain brushing against you and sending shivers throughout your body.

you could tell that her eyes were slightly glazed over, and wondered if she was about to cry. your heart ached as you placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, as if to let her know: i'm here, and i'm not going anywhere anytime soon.

she didn't say anything, but instead closed the gap between your lips. it was such a rush kissing her, after all this time. her lips tasted like whiskey, mixed with sugar from the candy you'd been eating. when you pulled apart you felt dizzy.

"shuri." you whimpered. she lowered her head to the side of your jaw, placing a kiss just below your ear before whispering:

"tell me what you need from me."

"so much," you answered. "i need you on top of me, under me, inside me."

shuri's lips ghosted yours, the hint of a smirk.

"come on, sithandwa," she taunted, letting her xhosa slip out. "you can do better than that. be specific."

"fuck," you groaned. you found yourself being pushed back against the counter, the marble cold against your bare skin. shuri didn't stop kissing you everywhere, her hands exploring your body. "i - i don't know. something, anything, everything. any time i try to get off i need to think of you, but it's never as good as the real thing. and now that you're here now...." your words trailed off into a sigh. right now, you couldn't make a reasonable argument, let alone a logical sentence, even if you tried. you just wanted to relish in the moment - to enjoy her.

you throw your head back when you feel her thumbs brush underneath the vinyl of your skirt, the slight pressure reminding you that she was here, with you, for you.

"fine, i'll decide," she said sternly. she gestured for you to sit on the counter, and you did just that. shuri adjusted her body between your thighs, spreading them wider. she shuddered seeing the red lace thong you wore, the lack of fabric covering you, and met your gaze once again, eyes darker than before. "you don't get to come if you don't stay quiet. so be quiet for me, yeah?"

you bit your lip and nodded. anything, everything. she smirked, pushed the fabric of your panties aside, and sunk two of her fingers into you, knowing you were ready for her. even after weeks, months, apart, shuri could always read your body, know what you needed, how you needed it. the answer was simple, really; like you said, it was always her, her, her.

she kissed you, harsh and messy, tongue and teeth, swallowing your moans as her fingers brought you closer and closer to your release. shuri pulled your bottom lip with her teeth before moving to suck on your collarbone, your jaw, your neck. she bit down on your skin, right at your pulse point.

"i thought - i thought you weren't a vampire," you attempted a joke, but that was a mistake. you'd let a low groan tumble from your lips. another when she let her tongue soothe over the sting from her bite.

"i don't appreciate the attitude," shuri replied, her voice steady, but the corners of her mouth, slightly upturned, threatening to turn into a smile, gave her away. she was loving this. "and, i told you to be quiet."

she removed her fingers from your cunt and promptly shoved them past your red lips. you groaned again when she kissed you roughly, the taste of you dancing across your tongues.

"we'll try one more time to see if you can follow instructions. make me come, and maybe you can finish after."

she swapped your positions and unbuttoned her pants, pulling them off along with her briefs, as you got on your knees before her.

there was a joke here about the devil worshiping an angel, but you were too focused on her. her smell, gods, her taste - it was too overwhelming, and all you wanted was more. you'd spent your whole life on your knees for shuri if you could: worshiping her body, worshiping her.

you draped one of her legs over your shoulder, giving your tongue better access. shuri tugged on your hair slightly and you moaned, sending vibrations up her body.

"bast, that's it," she groaned. you added a finger, while your tongue worked her clit. "fuck. i missed you."

you brought her to the edge, stayed with her as she came. she probably expected you to get back on your feet right away, but you stayed, adding another finger and sucking her clit. she moaned your name.

you pulled away slightly. "one more, pretty girl," you promised. "can you do that for me?" she nodded furiously, and you went back to work.

when she came once more, you kissed her ankle before releasing her leg. shuri pulled you up to your feet, sucked the taste of her off your tongue.

"i missed you, too." you pull away, breathless, heart racing. "do i get to come now?"

shuri hummed. her thumb wiped the smudged lipstick below your lip. she studied you, admired you, like you were a fucking work of art that belonged in the met, like you hadn't just fucked her through two consecutive orgasms in the bathroom at a rich kid's upper east side apartment while michael jackson's "thriller" played outside the door.

"take off your thong." you did as instructed. she pulled you towards her, and lodged a leg in between yours. your cunt brushed against the skin of her thigh, back and forth as shuri guided your hips. "i can't believe you got all dressed up like this. absolutely sinful. and these...."

her hands moved to your thighs, nails digging into the flesh and dragging across your fishnets, effectively ripping them.

"shuri!" you protested, though it sounds like a moan.

"i'll buy you more. now, are you gonna come for me?"

the sound of her voice, the feeling of her skin against your heat, the smell of the two of you intertwining, it was too much. your orgasm crashed into you, and you were grateful that shuri held you through it. you kissed her once more before removing yourself from her grasp, smoothing down your skirt and looking around for your underwear.

"where are my...."

you looked over as shuri tucked your red thong into the inner pocket of her jacket.

"i'm guessing you'll buy me replacements for those, too."

she flashed you a shit eating grin before putting on her own underwear. she then pulled up her pants, not wiping your release from her thigh. the thought of her walking around, leg sticky with you, made your pussy clench.

the sound of someone banging on the door brought you out of your post-orgasm haze.

"holy fuck! hurry up!" they shouted.

"given your costume, i would say that was an unholy fuck," shuri joked, adjusting your headband for you. you nudged her playfully, rolling your eyes.

"how about we stay for a few songs, steal some cupcakes and drinks, and then head back to my place for round two?" shuri nodded.

"perfect."

before you opened the door, you shot her one last devilish grin. "oh. and this time, i'm in charge."

the next morning, shuri woke up to an empty bed and the smell of burnt cinnamon.

you were sitting on the small window bench in the corner of your room, a tangle of purple yarn on your lap and crochet needle in your hand. even though there was frost on the window, you only wore a pair of boxers printed with the word 'sunday' and cartoon suns, and an empire state university sweatshirt.

"sithandwa? the bed would be warmer with you in it."

you turned to look at her, snuggled under your brightly colored duvet, eyes half open.

"this should help."

you walked over and wrapped a purple scarf around her neck, sitting cross-legged in front of her. shuri sat up, but kept the duvet wrapped around her. there was still glitter decorating your face from last night, and shuri reached out to brush some away.

"you made this for me?" you nodded.

"rhodey taught me how. said it would help with...." you trailed off, not wanting to go into the details of your insomnia. "anyways, t'challa mentioned at our last team meeting that you're going to vienna after this. we went there once to take down a hydra base and gods, it was freezing."

shuri kissed you, pulling you into her blanket cocoon so that you were inside as well, straddling her waist. you broke apart, and she put her hands under your shirt. you shuddered at the sudden contact, her skin cold. her thumbs rubbed circles under your breasts.

"it gets pretty cold in new york, too, doesn't it?"

"yeah, but i can just make another one," you explained, letting your finger trace the details of her face, her sharp jawline. shuri took your hands in hers.

"no, i mean....i can still wear the scarf you made me when i stay in new york."

you brightened like one of those cartoon suns. shuri staying in new york for more than a day, more than a night, hasn't happened in so long. you yearned to wake up next to her regularly, kiss over coffee and bagels, take the subway together, show her the tourist sights you yourself haven't been to since you were a kid - the statue of liberty, coney island, the works.

you stopped your daydreaming there, not wanting to get too ahead of yourself. life is busy. plans change. people leave, for a little bit or forever. it happens.

"like for another day?" you asked, clearing your throat to subdue the excitement in your stomach.

shuri shook her head. you knew it would be too good to be true.

"like for me to move to new york. to live with you."

wait, what.

"shuri. wakanda's your home just as much as new york is mine. i know this long distance thing has been tough on us, but i would never ask you to leave your home, your family."

shuri said your name softly and gently brought her palms to your cheeks.

"you're not asking. i'm offering. the dinner i had to attend last night was to convince the UN to greenlight our wakandan outreach centre in new york," she explained. "if it goes through, my brother suggested that i be the one to lead it. on site."

"and that's what you want?"

"what i want to be wherever you are. i want to be part of your routine. i want to meet your friends, skip work and spend hours in bed together. i want to be here for you - for parties and movie nights and graduation."

at that word, you put your hand up. "i'm going to stop you right there before you send me into an existential crisis."

shuri grinned. "but yes to the rest of it?"

"yes. yes, of course." you pushed her onto the bed so that you were both lying down, facing each other, your legs tangled together. "so...when is this happening?"

"probably in a month, maybe a month and a half. there are still hands to shake, contracts to sign."

"bureaucracy," you sighed. shuri giggled, and your heart fluttered at the thought that you would get to hear that sound on a regular basis in person, not just through cellphone frequencies.

"i am, however, staying for a few more days while my brother takes care of things in vienna. so you're not getting rid of me just yet."

"now that is great news." you kissed her once, then twice.

suddenly, there was a knock on your door.

shuri readjusted your position so that the length of the duvet covered both of your bodies. "come in pete!" you said once she was done.

the door opened and peter parker's face came into view, along with a plate of those ready to bake cinnamon rolls that must have been fresh out of the oven.

"there's extra if you want," he offered.

"that'd be great, thanks." you gratefully accepted the plate, swiping some icing from the edge and licking it off your finger. "what's the special occasion?"

peter cleared his throat. "no special occasion."

you glanced the hickey on his collarbone. "oh, so harry stayed over last night and you wanted to make a good impression on him. breakfast in bed, domestic husband, sort of thing."

"that's not --"

"that's exactly it!" a voice from the kitchen interrupted.

"good morning, harry!" you replied, smiling tauntingly at peter.

"harry, i don't think we've met!" shuri added. "peter has told me so much about you...."

peter groaned and flipped you both off before shutting the door.

"thanks for the cinnamon rolls!" you shouted.

there was a pause before the door opened slightly. a curt, "you're welcome," was offered before it was closed once again.

you got up to put on a record as shuri devoured a cinnamon roll.

"you know, i'm really happy you're staying for a bit because i actually need your help with some things." you ripped off a piece covered in frosting and stuffed it in your mouth.

shuri raised her eyebrow, waiting for you to explain.

"my electric toothbrush has been weird - i can't figure out, for the life of me, what is wrong with it - and i've asked peter to fix it one too many times at this point," you continued, ticking off checkboxes in your head. "i wanted to talk to you about some potential upgrades for my suit that i would love your opinion on. oh, and i'm pretty sure i also broke my vibrator." you grinned sheepishly. "i didn't even bother to ask peter about that one because we don't need to be that close."

shuri stiffled a laugh, muffled by a mouthful of cinnamon and cream cheese frosting. she swallowed. "how do you even break a vibrator?"

"i don't know!" you exclaimed. "that's where you come in."

"baby." shuri wrapped her arms around your torso. "if i'm staying around for a while, you won't need a vibrator."

[blues824]

Helloo can I just request the dorm leaders + ortho(platonic obviously) with a gn!reader like shuri from black panther.

Like how would they react to them using their inventions against an overblot and them just being really smart.

Thank you and have a good day/night!

Going off the Wiki, but I love Shuri so freaking much. Also, I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT MALLEUS’S OVERBLOT, SO DON’T SPOIL IT!

Riddle Rosehearts

Mans acts as formal as T’Challa, but is way more strict with the rules. Even though you joke around with him, he remains formal. Very rarely does he respond with an attempted joke of his own. However, you both have a mutual respect and love for one another.

You don’t stick to tradition very much, and that is something that tends to get on Riddle’s nerves because he’s very traditional. Well, that was at first. After his overblot, he learned that he needed to not be so stingy. So, you were the first to lead him through breaking tradition.

Speaking of, you assisted in taking him down when he overblotted. He knew that you were very intelligent, but the use of vibranium machinery to fight was a whole other level. Riddle stood no chance against your genius. It took a few seconds and an infirmary trip for him to really be amazed by your brilliant mind.

Leona Kingscholar

He forms relationships based on trust and respect, so you both are actually perfect for one another. It didn’t take too long for the two of you to get together because of this. He’s not at all formal and also uses sarcasm, so it becomes a love language between the two of you.

Neither of you follow tradition or have the desire to, so that also pairs up very nicely. Sure, you will if absolutely necessary, but you won’t do it by choice. However, there were a few times where you did dress up in traditional clothing so that you can feel the comfort of being back home, and Leona doesn’t comment on it because he respects and loves you.

When he overblotted, he also stood no chance against you or the technology that you made to prepare for situations like these. You were always 5 steps ahead, using vibranium since it was the strongest metal there was in existence in any universe. 

Azul Ashengrotto

He also acts very formal and professional, but not as much as Riddle does. Sarcasm is thrown a bit here and there, but he doesn’t attempt to joke around with you. Respect goes both ways, but at the beginning it wasn’t always that way. He tried to get you to give up the vibranium you had access to, and you blatantly refused.

Azul doesn’t follow the traditions of the Coral Sea, and you don’t follow the traditions of Wakanda. However, the two of you are interested in each other’s cultures. So, there was one day where you met him in traditional Wakandan clothing, and he was absolutely fascinated. 

You were prepared for when he overblotted, and made sure that the machinery you used would work underwater. Since you were intelligent enough to predict his overblot, you knew exactly how to fight him. What he didn’t know though is that you operated away from the actual fight, and were controlling your technology remotely.

Kalim Al-Asim

Mans is the least formal person you will probably see, but he doesn’t understand sarcasm at all. He will joke around with you though, and it’s refreshing for you to see someone so light hearted at this school full of depressed people.

I don’t think he’s too traditional, but I could be wrong. You, however, are not traditional at all until he asks if you could wear something Wakandan to see the contrast. So, you did at the next party he threw, and he was amazed at how cool you looked.

When Jamil overblotted, you were nowhere to be seen. Kalim thought you got hurt and he was extremely worried until your technology showed up. You, with a speaker, said that you were operating it remotely, and that you were alright. Bro let out a huge sigh of relief.

Vil Schoenheit

He’s definitely very professional, but he won’t hesitate to use sarcasm and wit to put someone in their place as a nonviolent solution. So, when you decide to joke around and be all silly, he will reprimand you by making a sarcastic remark.

Vil has had to wear all sorts of traditional clothing because of roles he was casted for in movies, so he understands if you choose to wear Wakandan clothing. When you do, he will compliment you on how it looks on you, but won’t give it too much attention.

When this Housewarden overblotted, he foresaw your using technology. However, after all the others, you were constantly making upgrades as you learned more about the technology in Twisted Wonderland and how you could use it to add an element of surprise. Needless to say, your tech was the victor.

Idia Shroud

Mans really wanted to ask you to marry him once you showed him that your technologically inclined mind matched his. He just about made a ring when you helped him upgrade Ortho time and time again. However, he gets so flustered around you, especially when you get comfortable enough to joke around with him. Don’t expect him to make a sarcastic remark.

He understands not wanting to follow tradition, but he’s kind of forced to because of the curse that was placed on his family long ago. But, there was one time where you showed up to Ignihyde in traditional Wakandan clothing and he was shocked since he hadn’t seen anything like it.

You both actually clashed together when he overblotted, but luckily you didn’t tell him all of your secrets. You had the element of surprise on your side, and you used it to your advantage. Since your machines were made out of vibranium (the little key secret), they were nearly indestructible. He wasn’t even mad in the infirmary room.

Ortho Shroud

You first became friends with him because he broke down due to a bug in his system. You took him to Ramshackle and gave a temporary fix that would last until you got him back to Ignihyde. Through that, you became very close, like siblings.

Ortho is aware of the Shroud family curse, and he followed in his brother’s footsteps as he followed the traditional route of the family. You had briefly mentioned your homeland of Wakanda, but nothing popped up when he searched the entirety of the internet. So he asked a bunch of questions as you helped Idia upgrade him.

During Idia’s overblot, the younger Shroud brother was also never informed of your technology because you did something special with it. It wasn’t connected to any Twisted Wonderland database, and therefore there was no way that Ortho would have known about it.

Malleus Draconia

He genuinely loves your company. Your mind is incredibly interesting, and while he has no idea what you’re talking about as you rant about how Twisted Wonderland’s technology backed by vibranium would be better, he sees the passion in your eyes. 

This guy is all about tradition, but he doesn’t mind straying away from it every once in a while. After all, tradition is the reason why he has retainers. You are not one to follow tradition, but there was one time where you donned your Wakandan clothing and wore it to reminisce about your homeland, and he was very curious about where you come from. He’s not as technologically inclined as you are, but he’s seen how you use your creations in battle against all of the overblots and he is very impressed. You seem to have a lot of experience… if only he knew…

[talkingparrotkee]

After seeing disagreeable claims critiquing the end of Wakanda Forever float around for the nth time, I felt like organizing my qualms and putting them neatly into another blog. These are just my musings.

"Shuri should've killed Namor! Sparing him was wrong!" I apologize for my harsh phrasing, but this is a horrible and brainless take, especially when it's from begrudged shippers or anti-Wakanda Forever recasters 😭. Whenever I see it, I can't help but wonder if anyone who says this or agrees genuinely likes and (especially) understands Namor and/or Shuri's actual characters. And no, I do not mean the surface aesthetic of or attraction to them.

If you knew and understood what kind of character Shuri (at least in the MCU) is, you would know why she spared Namor's life after nearly taking it. If you understood the important messages carefully baked into the film, you'd understand the writing choice of Shuri sparing Namor and Namor not being the "incorrigible villain who deserves death."

Asking the silly question of why she didn't kill him in the form of critique, or worse, saying she should have or somehow should give him hell after the fact (fortunately, a regressive immaturity neither character has), is a clear show of media illiteracy. It neglects both characters and at least one pillar theme of Wakanda Forever. If Shuri killed Namor, Talokan and Wakanda would unnaturally be eating away at each other for eternity, allowing the surface colonist nations to swoop in as the destabilization process was done for them. The true villains and enemies that put them in that situation where they collided with one another would gain access to their vibranium and technology. Game over.

Shuri Was Never In Her "Villain Era"

The simple answer, Shuri is not Wanda Maximoff 😊. Goodnight. (Author's note because someone was troubled by this tongue and cheek remark: I don't hate Wanda at all. I meant what I wrote: Shuri is not Wanda, just Wakandan. People want her to be Wanda and have a Wanda arc when she is not and will not. 🫡)

Even at the lowest of her low, Shuri is no villain. Shuri was just a young woman trying to find what kind of leader she was in the midst of grief, inner turmoil, and human anger. I don't know why some fans say she had a "villain era" or want her to canonically have a "villain era," but ok. That is not Shuri, nor would it have filled the hole in Shuri's heart, as said by Nakia. It was not just because it endangered Wakanda and would spearhead them in an eternal war either. Although, that is reason enough for Shuri not to kill Namor.

Who Princess Shuri Truly Is

Princess Shuri is a natural healer, teacher, and creator. Shuri loves, designs, creates, innovates, builds, and protects. Shuri has people who would die for her and trusts her to make the right choice in the end, faithfully standing beside her even when they recognize that the trajectory she currently set them on wasn't a good one. Why do you think this is? Because they know and trust Shuri. They know her brain is as big as her heart.

Shuri is not inherently destructive. That was the uncharacteristic result of her gripe with death (thinking it meant gone) and destructive handling of her grief. Ryan Coogler even pointed out how Shuri's state was unhealthy and dangerous. Shuri and Namor were both grieving and asking themselves painful questions.

That is why Killmonger is who appears to her. Killmonger is a violent, radical character (made that way by neglect, grief, loss, militaristic molding, and the suffering African Americans face) who almost carelessly sent Wakanda spiraling into mayhem. He became the people he hated, in the wise words of T'Challa, and was an unworthy king, in the wise words of Shuri. If such a man is comparing himself to Shuri and is who her subconscious elicited on the Ancestral Plane (which Shuri seems to be taking to her grave now, refusing to tell Nakia), maybe she's not doing alright? Just a thought!

This is also why Ramonda took her out by the river. It's why M'Baku said what he said at Ramonda's funeral. It is so she can mourn properly. So she could heal properly. Something she wasn't doing since the day T'Challa died.

Killing Namor would've destroyed her, not just her people. It wouldn't have sated her despite in her rightful anger, feeling it would. It would've just sent her past a point of no return.

"Show him who you are." Ramonda told her this after she struggled on her own with killing Namor. Why do you think Shuri hesitated even without Ramonda's influence (which was just her presence and reminding Shuri who she already was) yet? It didn't feel "right" to Shuri as their moment together (watching the Talokan sunrise), how Namor paralleled her, and how their people were alike flew through her mind's eye. Shuri hesitated, not because she was "soft" or "nonsensical mushy writing." Shuri saw what they were and what this was. She thought beyond herself. As Editor Michael P. Shawver said, Namor's line of, "only the most broken people can become great leaders" is what they focused on. It is what Shuri finally realizes at the bitter end. They relate. The narrative, characters, and actors all recognize this; I don't see how some audience members do not.

She and Namor were perpetuating the destructive cycle of grief and vengeance while setting that example for their people, but she was strong enough to pull herself up and break that chain. Then she offered her his hand for the sake of not only themselves, but their people. She saw firsthand the beauty of Talokan. Like Namor admired Wakanda in the beginning, she admired Talokan. She remembered her visit to Talokan in the mix of her nation's beauty.

"Vengance has consumed us. We cannot let it consume our people."

Not "my" people. Not "your" people. Our people.

Shuri realized many simple yet, at the same time, humanly complicated truths of how they had connectivity and were broken, trying to be the best leaders they could be. Neither of them was the villain but are what they were due to the bitter hand life dealt them and the situations they faced.

The Real Theme of Black Panther's Wakanda Forever

This movie also had clear themes of:

A) how POC/indigenous infighting sucks and is counterproductive

B) connectivity of black and brown, from culture to shared wounds

C) the scars of colonialization

Shuri killing Namor would defeat the carefully woven narrative and betray all these well-built things. I know some of you guys don't like to hear this, but Namor is not of the archetype of Killmonger, nor is he the real "villain," so he was handled accordingly.

“We talked to so many experts and really made relationships with them, because there was a lot to go through,” says Beachler. “There are a lot of parallels between Africans and Latin Americans as far as the colonization of their communities and cities, the enslavement of their people, the lies that were told about their culture, the misinterpretation of their words, and the ways they were made out to look demonized in order to elevate a European country.”

Shuri Getting Her Lick Back

"Shuri should've beaten Namor until-" or "She let him off the hook unpunished!" If you paid attention to the movie, you'd see she literally beat him within an inch of his life? She definitely did get her lick back just as Namor got his. Wanting her to get "more" licks after the fact is regressive.

Shuri:

isolated and trapped Namor to weaken and drain his energy

ferally clawed both of his wings, taking out his ability to fly

made him bleed and bruised him up

roasted him in a firey explosion, effectively charring him and rendering him temporarily paralyzed

Shuri didn't play patty cake with him; she made an immortal bleed and fear death. She had him gasping for air on his back at the mercy of her spear tip. She made him yield and call off the troops. She made an ally out of him on her terms who exalted her strength and is currently bandaged up, flightless, and awaiting to aid her (rather than striking first, waging war as originally wanted). It's more than enough and was the best course of action. What do you mean? What are you talking about?

[sinukiyo]

You would think that the KDF has advanced and state of the art technology which the waste all their money on to make weapons instead of using said technology to create counter measures to protect the city and the people, but that tech can't even see through a simulation?

Either Kenji's tech is Stark Industries tech, Wakandan tech, and Wayne tech combined on crack or the mutha fuckas are idiots

While the tech in Kenji’s new base and it’s possible limits is not really explored, I thought of it in two ways:

- The KDF was founded by Ken’s mom alongside Onda. Mina, who controls everything in the house and the basement was originally programmed to resemble Emiko Sato. I read that nearly all information was programmed into Mina's system and this is why even Ken first became Ultraman, she was able to guide him on how to battle the kaiju.

If Mina was programmed to be Emiko then she definitely came up with better tech than the KDF who don’t even have their original founders on seat anymore.

- An easier explanation (which i would give if I don’t want to talk too much) is just the fact that Ken is Ultraman, Ultraman is an alien, that’s alien tech. The end.