Chapter Text
You cherished the icy glass of water being held firmly in your grasp, a harsh contrast to your feverish palms which clenched the glacial cup even tighter, hoping that to some degree its chill would travel through your body. The sensation of coldness wandering down your throat to your stomach refreshed you, you could almost forget about the clamminess of your hands and droplets of sweat cascading down the sides of your face. You press the glass against your forehead after taking another gulp, sighing in relief. This heat was indomitable, both outside and in. The prick took dozens of things when he moved out, your lamp is one of them, but this proved to be the most necessary and unforgivable item. The goddamn air conditioner. You rolled the glass down your forehead to your cheek, then down your throat, letting the cold of it bring you some kind of peace.
You closed your eyes and leaned back against the refrigerator. Even in your flimsy black bralette and tiny silk pajama shorts, you struggled to cool yourself down from the unforgiving heat wave. You stayed in that position for as long as you could before the glass started becoming room temperature, contemplating pressing issues in your mind like who you'd have to kill to get an air conditioner for a cheap price. Groaning, you set your cup down on the counter and turn around to the kitchen table. You plan on walking out and trying to fall asleep again, but you pause in your movements and stare straight ahead into the darkness.
Something wasn't right.
Your heart unintentionally quicked in pace, pounding, thudding, crashing against your chest. You look around, slowly, but frantic. The shadows were off around the table, so you squint in a haunting suspicion, pushing yourself to recognize something that wasn't there. You wanted to believe that the heat was making you insane and continue back to bed, but you couldn't. You know what you saw.
Swiftly, you turn back to the counter, scavaging the drawers for your knife collection only to find nothing there. You open two drawers at once, hunting for something, anything to protect you.
You're pushed forward into the counter before you could open another drawer and you cry against the impact. The body behind yours is hulking and firm, adding just enough pressure so that you couldn't get out of the imprisonment. You wriggle and kick and scream, but the loud 'click' of a gun safety switching off forces you to clench your lips together.
"I'm impressed." The voice mutters. His voice is low and husky, just an octave deep enough to chill you in a way that the poor glass of water never could. "Most people don't notice me until it's too late." His tone turns gruff and unhinged, and it brings an unexpected slew of tears to your eyes, misting your already compromised vision. You feel his haughty laughter through the vibrations in his chest, it shakes you, gives you goosebumps. Your panting is uncontrollable at this point, taking over your movements, and almost sending you into a panic attack. He notices your difficulty and pushes his hand in front of you. It's covered by black leather gloves, but he's obviously holding up a number. "Count my fingers." He orders.
You have to take several deep breaths before even thinking of his bizarre demand. He wiggles his fingers.
"Tell me how many."
You blink your tears away, then zero in on his gloved hand. "Five," you stutter out. He folds his thumb back. "Four," you continue on, feeling your breathing starting to even out. He kept this going until you weren't heaving any longer and he was down to his index finger. "One," you whisper, then squeeze your eyes shut, expecting to be shot and killed.
"Good." He rumbles. His praise gives you a sliver of hope. You can feel his breath beside your face, ticking your neck. "I'm not here to kill you," he assures. "But I will. If you don't tell me what the fuck I need to know."
You nod in understanding, still shocked that this was happening to you. His hand slithers from the counter to your stomach. He presses his palm flat against your bare abdomen which is slick with a light layer of sweat. You inhale deeply at his commanding touch, shivering as his grip on you becomes sharper, twisting around your waist. He's turning you around to face him and you have no choice but to comply. You shift one-eighty degrees right and meet with his chest instead of his face. It's large, even in the confinement of his tactical gear, what looked to be a metal vest wrapped around him. Your eyes adjusted poorly to the change of position, though you could make out the long sleeved black shirt under his armor from the very minimal support of street lights from your windows. Slowly, you look up to his face, scanning past the thick mass of stubble around his mouth and landing surely on his eyes. Eyes that you couldn't forget.
"Killmonger." You whisper.
He bares his golden fangs at you. They shine even through the darkness.
"You remember me." He says, matter-of-fact.
"You're hard to forget." You say too quickly. You meant it as a jab at his general creepiness, but the look on his face suggested that he interpreted it as a compliment. A hint of a smirk appears on his face.
"Then you know why I'm here." He says. You shake your head, hoping that maybe just this once playing dumb would work out in your favor. He leans down to the side of your face, stopping to where his lips could meet your ear. His breath against you makes you shiver even further and slightly cower into yourself. "Don't fucking play with me." He whispers, minty breath fanning over your neck as he said so. It irritated you that his breath smelled so wonderful, bad guys weren't supposed to smell so good.
He was too close to you and in your mind, you took that as an opportunity. It took, maybe, a ten-second sprint to get to the front door from the kitchen. You had the home-field advantage, you doubt he knows how to accurately navigate your home in almost complete darkness.
Your head smashes into his before he could say another word. He's caught off-guard, stumbling back a few paces wide enough to allow you to start moving. You try sprinting to the door, but you're being held back before you could even pass the refrigerator, strong arms wrapping around your mid-section and hauling you back to the counter. You fight listlessly against him, kicking and screaming, but he holds you like a rag-doll - and treats you as such. He tosses you back to your spot and your lower back hits the edge of the counter painfully.
"That was cute," He laughs. "And stupid."
"Fuck you." You spit out despite a headache thumping bitterly through your injured forehead. Movies make headbutts look far too easy.
"Where is he, [Y/N]?"
You should've known that this day would come, but you were only expecting it while you were still in a relationship. Now that your love life is down the drain, this interrogation thing shouldn't be your problem. You couldn't speak for your ex-boyfriend, but you cut all ties and affiliations with all of your past lovers once everything is said and done.
Killmonger's eyes cut through you like glass, just as haunting and deranged as you remembered. You've only seen him twice. Once, in passing, as he was exiting your home. You had eyed him warily then, wondering how your boyfriend even knew someone as rough looking as him. You'd fleshed him out from head to toe and glared as he walked a little too close to you. His gaze had never left yours, not even to blink, staring you down just as intensely as you did him. You both never lost contact even as he passed you up, causing you to turn around and follow his shady eyes all the way to his car. He smirked at you before taking off at a dangerous speed.
You'd asked your boyfriend who he was once you got inside. You remembered the name because it was so outlandish and horrifying. He didn't tell you any more details, no matter how much you begged for it. You just hoped you'd never have to see him again. And then, two weeks later, you did.
You'd spotted him at a dive bar you'd entered out of pure need for a hard drink. You had already ordered your drink before you saw him, sitting in a booth around some bad looking men, so you couldn't immediately get up and leave. You tried to hide through your braids, pushing them in front of your face in a makeshift disguise, but he'd still noticed you.
It felt like the longest drink you've ever had to consume in your life with his watchful eyes glued to you as you downed it. You stood from your chair and headed for the door, unknowing that he was following you the entire time. It was only when you were already one block away from the sketchy establishment did you turn to look behind you. You'd yelped in surprise as he pushed you against the brick of some building beside you.
"How's ya boy?" He asked casually as if he didn't have you cornered on an empty street. You weren't in the mood. You pulled the butterfly knife you'd been hiding from your purse and flicked it open. His eyes widened, but he looked amused.
"Keep your fucking hands off me."
"Cute lil knife." He said. It was. You'd gotten it personally customized, making the stainless steel blade a deep gold and the handle onyx black. "I like your style."
"What do you want?" You asked.
"Just thought you could deliver a lil message for me."
"A message that your phone couldn't send, apparently." You replied.
"Tell ya boy that he's got three months." He ordered, then looked you up and down. You had on black shorts and a band tee, hardly anything to feel exposed over, but his eyes burning on your skin made you want to cover yourself in layers. "You should hurry and get home. It can get dangerous at this time of night." He smiled at you, wide enough to see the gold accents in his teeth. You had kept your eyes on him as you walked away from his still position. You high-tailed it home to your boyfriend and told him everything. He told you not to worry. He said that you wouldn't have to see Killmonger ever again because he'd 'take care of it'.
Yet, here you are.
"We broke up," You disclose, hoping that it would clear this situation up. "I don't keep tabs on him."
He sneers at you. "Don't matter. Start thinking." He orders. "You're my last stop of the night. And I'm not feeling too generous, baby girl." As he says so, he pulls his handgun back out from his belt and holds it to your neck. The barrel digs into your skin, the cool metal shocking you into complete stillness. In a morbid way, you're relieved by the coldness on your skin because at least you could go out with some relief.
"One of the reasons we broke up was because he never told me where he was really sneaking off to every other day. So, even if I did start naming places, I'd be dead wrong."
"Poor choice of words." He cocks his gun and aims it back at you.
"Okay, wait, wait, wait!" In your frantic rush to stop him, your hands stumble onto his chest, gripping. He glances down at your hands on him then up to your eyes again. "I'll help you find him. I will. Please." You plead with him. His eyes go back down to his chest, where you foolishly realize your hands remain. You pull away from him, embarrassed and distressed. You couldn't distinguish a blush on your face from the general heat making you flush out, but either way, you were filled with a searing fever on your face. Something akin to a smirk sneaks its way to his face, it's something that makes your stomach twist and turns.
His gun lowers. "How you gonna do that?" He asks, speaking slower like he was addressing a child. "You don't know anything. Why should I keep you around?"
"I was his girlfriend! I could try to...get in touch with him again, act like I want to get back together or something. He's an idiot, he'll fall for it, I promise." You try and persuade him. He nods.
"Then get to it." He commands. You hesitate, confused as to if you were supposed to leave him or direct him. He must see the dilemma in your eyes because he steps away from you, just enough so that you were finally free to move as you pleased. You take one step forward and he does the same. He follows you around your kitchen, behind you like a shadow as you make your way into the hallway, his boots stomping imposingly against your tiled floors while your bare feet pattered lightly. His gaze on you, though you couldn't see it, made all the hairs on your neck stand. You stop in front of the master bedroom. Your bedroom. You turn to him and chew on your lip.
"My phone is on my bed." You state. The gut-wrenching feeling that you were going to enter your dark bedroom with a mysterious murderer overtook your thoughts.
"Get it."
"I'm not going in my bedroom with a stranger. Either you let me go in and get it or you can get it yourself." You say rather boldly. He's already laughing at you, such a rich sound that suggested that you genuinely amused him. You stick to your ground, though. Once he calms down, he's looking you from head to toe, as if only now noticing your half-naked state. Your arms twitch up nervously and cross around yourself, suddenly self-conscious now that it was clear that his eyes were attached to your body.
"I can have you any time I want. Anywhere. I don't give a damn about your bed. I'd fuck you on that kitchen table. I'd fuck you on that counter," He moves closer, pushing you back into the wall beside your door. You inhale sharply. "I'll fuck you right here in this hallway, baby girl." His hand wraps around your neck as he leans down to you. "Stop fucking playing with me." He growls. His words cut through you and hit your gut, granting you a strong and unexpected shock of pleasure mixed in with your fear. You gulp. It's a sick thought, a sick revelation, a sick reaction that you have right then and there with his hand around your throat. He's terrifying, sure, but your eyes linger around his lips for a second too long. You scold yourself and pass off the dampness in your underwear as a moment of insanity.
He pushes himself away. You gather your breath again, nodding at him before high-tailing it into your bedroom.
Everything was just as you left it. The bed was a mess, the sheets and covers falling helplessly off on the sides from your kicking it off while you were sleeping. You disregarded the mess and moved right in for your phone which was lying in the middle of your mattress. Wasting no time, you unlock your screen and go into your contacts. He gave you an emergency number when you first started dating and you didn't think it would ever get much use. You press the call button and turn around to Killmonger.
The phone rings three times before anything happens, and it's the tensest time you've ever waited for someone to pick up their phone. The shrill ringing noise feels louder than it should, blaring at such a volume in the otherwise quiet home, adding to the tension already bubbling between you and Killmonger. He keeps his eyes on you as the phone chimes and with every second that your ex-boyfriend doesn't pick up, you grow tenser than before.
"I don't...this doesn't usually...he always picks up when I call, and that's not an exaggeration, he's been trying to get back together with me for weeks. I swear, I thought...I don't --" you babble helplessly, but Killmonger shushes you. You fall silent, fiddling with your phone as he trails into his thoughts.
"Someone must've tipped him off." He groans like he already knows who 'someone' is.
"So. Is that it?" You ask, nervously. "I helped you as much as I could. I did what you asked. Now, you'll leave and follow another lead?"
You anxiously bite your lip while awaiting his answer. He looks angrier than you've ever seen him, nostrils flaring and shoulders tensed. You're too scared to make any sudden movements, for fear that he'll break through his stupor and pounce.
"How could you date that nigga? Knowing what he does..." The low timbre of his voice has your stomach in knots. "You seem like a smart girl. Look at the position you're in now. Because of him."
You swallow. "I didn't know about the things that could put him in danger."
"Bullshit. You take boxing lessons and you train with a customized balisong butterfly knife. You're prepared for the worst. You didn't wanna believe it, but you knew on some level that he was doing wrong and you stayed with him."
"Are you seriously criticizing me for something I had no involvement in?"
"No. I'm more curious as to why you stayed with him for so long." He stalks towards you as he says so. You cross your arms over your chest and blink up at him.
He's directly in front of you now, once again invading your personal space for some weird power play.
"Nigga, I don't see how that's any of your business." You snap at him. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, revealing a cute little dimple in his right cheek that you hadn't noticed before. Your heart beats faster.
"See, that's that shit right there. A regular hitman would've murked you for that attitude alone. But I like you. That's why you still breathing." He says lowly. Your ears zero in on his praise of you and it makes your stomach kind of flutter in a destructive way. This man was ready to put a bullet in you ten minutes ago and you have the audacity to enjoy what he says? You chalk it up to not having male attention in a long while.
"Is that what you are? A hitman? Someone's lackey?" You ask, genuinely curious. If he wasn't going to kill you yet, the least you can do is get some information on him.
"Watch that mouth, baby girl. I don't work for nobody but myself." He corrects you swiftly looking extremely proud of himself. You feel his fingertips running along your collarbone, pushing the hair out of his way as he gently caressed you. "I don't take orders, I give orders."
You gulp. You could already feel your body starting to betray your mind which was screaming that you should try to make another run for it. "I thought you were gonna leave." You whisper.
He gives you a look. "You know what I gotta do if I leave," his fingers trail up the side of your neck, then across your jawline. "I can't trust that you won't run to the feds." Your eyes instantly fall to the loaded gun attached to his waist, then back up.
You shake your head. "I do some dumb shit sometimes, but that's just...c'mon, I wouldn't do that." You assure as he continues his feathered touch path around your face.
"It's not like I'll be around to keep tabs on you. I mean, damn," he pauses to chuckle, dropping his hand back to your shoulder. "Look at how fast you sold out ya boy. Sorry, baby, but I can't trust you. You did help me out, though."
Your hand reaches to his on your shoulder, another unintentional touch, but this time you don't let go. Your eyes find him and you hold onto his umber brown gaze as crazy thoughts drift in and out of your brain. But what do you have to lose at this point? Your life? That's gone. It was gone the moment you recognized him, the moment his moniker name slipped through your mouth.
He had you.
He might as well have you.
"I could be around." You whisper. He stares you down for a few seconds, allowing the silence to put you in a chokehold as you await his response. Killmonger's other hand reaches up to cup the back of your neck and he leans further into you. You exhale softly, trying to steady the rapid pace of your heart.
"Yeah? You wanna be around me?" He asks sounding so raspy that it makes you the slightest bit wet. His head is leaning down to yours, inches away from your face.
"Yes. I could...I could still help you."
You feel so much smaller than before, standing before him, begging to be spared.
"You just 'gon drop everything...and help me kill your man?" Your eyes widen at the word kill. Killmonger doesn't allow you to stay shocked for long. "That's what you're signing up for." He clarifies. And you knew that, but it didn't feel real until he said the words.
If becoming this maniac's protegee and killing your ex is the only way to stay alive...
"Yes."
He smiles wide, a special kind of gleam in his eyes as he regards you.
"I knew I liked you."