for @tcherik-imagines and any other killchalla fans.
(also sorry for the awful moodboard…)
“And make sure there are no crumbs on the floor!”
M'Baku yells at T'Challa and W'Kabi sneers.
“But…you have not eaten today. There are no crumbs regardless.”
T'Challa’s brothers do not take lightly to his smart remark and M'Baku throws a cake on the floor, they both laugh at how shocked T'Challa looks.
“Clean it up! We have our ibhola to enjoy and when we get back, I expect this place to be spotless.”
The youngest of them all looks up with eager eyes and bites his lip.
“Surely, I can go too? I-I can make a suit in no time, I’ll-I’ll even…”
He tries to think of something but his brothers already make him do everything for him. His mind draws no answer and he sighs weakly.
“The ibhola is not for peasants like you. We will find ourselves a prince, maybe N'Jad-”
“Don’t!” W'Kabi interrupts. “The prince does not like to be called by his birth name, you must address him by ‘Erik’.”
M'Baku grunts and walks away, W'Kabi quickly follows. T'Challa begins to cry and soon his tears become wild, he buries his head between his folded legs and sits against the wall.
T'Challa sneezes from the dust on his clothes and sniffles, he wipes his face and nose with a now snotty palm. But suddenly something takes his attention away from the disgusting formation on his palm.
“T'Challa…come outside,” a voice calls.
T'Challa walks outside and sees Zuri, his life mentor who talks him through the toughest times.
“T'Challa, stop your tears. You will go to the ibhola tonight. Bring me a pumpkin and a rat.”
The young Wakandan’s eyebrow erects but he does so and watches in awe as it becomes a grand coach and the rat becomes a coachman. The magic around him turns the sky purple and everything turns white as a flash changes his raggedy garments into a fresh white suit. T'Challa wants to cry at how good he looks, there’s no dust on his face, no creases in his clothes, he looks so handsome.
“The magic will wear off by eleven, so ensure you are here by then. Have a great time,” Zuri smiles.
“I will, thank you so much Zuri.”
Zuri disappears as T'Challa steps in his new coach.
T'Challa looks lost in the grand building but begins to smile. Nobody seems to know who he is and it’s much better that way. But he’s too shy to ask anybody to dance with him, so he leans against the white baluster. With a heavy sigh, he smiles at the reality of his dream, how good he feels about himself is much better than how his brothers make him feel about himself.
The smooth voice opens T'Challa’s eyes and he turns swiftly to look at the owner. His attire is stunning, a silky blue coat laced with white and gold, he looks like…a prince.
T'Challa tries to sound uninterested – in his mind, this man looks iconic, breathtaking, even beautiful. But he dresses like royalty and T'Challa’s the furthest thing from that.
“You’re Prince N'J-Erik. What are you doing up here, I’m sure someone’s waiting for you downstairs.”
His hesitation and slight mess up heat his cheeks but Erik smiles and chuckles. He stands next to T'Challa and admires his sight, losing himself to the large brown eyes.
“I am. And there probably is. But I get tired of everybody changing their tune for me.”
T'Challa’s understands. All the time, someone would knock on their door sounding pleasant and change their attitude once they saw it wasn’t M'Baku or W'Kabi but instead him. It hurts.
“That outfit looks amazing, if I may. Can I?”
“You may,” Erik grins, he knows what T'Challa is asking for without being told.
T'Challa nods and caresses the material of the prince’s coat. It feels like he’s running his hand through water, and Erik notices the facial expressions on T'Challa’s face. The open smile that blends happiness with awe, it’s unique.
“I’m sure you’ve seen something like this, considering you’re here. You act as if this is the first time feeling this material, like some pauper,” Erik laughs and T'Challa laughs nervously. “I must say, your act is intriguing. The more I look at you, the more I want to know.”
“I do not have an act, it’s simply how you feel is how I feel. I want to know more.”
“Really? You hesitated to say my name…”
His breaths become shallow and he slowly walks towards T'Challa.
“I did not wish to offend you,” T'Challa responds.
“So, you want to say my name? Say it.”
Erik puts a hand on T'Challa’s cheek and the other hand on T'Challa’s waist.
“You act very fast for a man who does not know my name.”
“Tell me…what is your name?”
He kisses Erik and feels himself being pulled into Erik’s embrace.
“Well, ‘not important’, what’s my name?”
Now he’s kissing T'Challa, caressing his cheeks with his own lips.
They begin to push harder, moving to a wall and both lose their breath from being connected to the other man. But as T'Challa’s eyes open, he sees the clock and panics. He tries to break away from the kiss but Erik is confused and tries to comfort him.
He pulls away and Erik tries to hold his hand but fails, he simply gets one more touch that drags his fingers across T'Challa’s. T'Challa runs as fast as he can but doesn’t realize he has left something behind. The ring that drops when Erik touches him for the last time. Erik crouches down and examines it, with grand curiosity.
pixelskylines
turnnoffyourmind
andulkaphoto
dailybridgerton
jbbartram-illu
2087
discoholicmusic
dededos
