One: Y/n had been sitting in front of that damn television for six hours now, trying to get herself caught up on Doctor Who, a cup of coffee tucked in her hands. T'Challa smiled when he walked into the living room and saw her. Her legs covered by a blanket and her hair a tangled mess. It was fucking adorable. "Mind if I sit?" he asked. Y/n jumped slightly, becoming aware of the Black Panther's presence. "Oh no, not at all," she said, moving her legs to make room for him on the couch. "What are we watching?" he asked, settling next to her. "You don't know?" she sounded bemused as her eyebrows knitted together, a perplexed expression settling on her face. "No, should I?" he asked, removing his eyes from the girl to glance at the screen. "Well yeah. Doctor Who is kind of a big deal," she chuckled, leaning forward to place her coffee mug on the table in front of them. "Well what about it makes it such a big deal?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows at the TV. A smile crept silently onto Y/n's face. "Well there's this Time Lord called the Doctor," she began, only to be interrupted. "Doctor who?" T'Challa asked. Y/n's grin widened. "Exactly," she replied. He couldn't help but stare as her eyes lit up while she joyfully explained the plot of the show. He couldn't help but fall for her geeky personality as she ranted about the science fiction. It took everything in him not to kiss her right then and there.
Two: "Do I have to wear this?" Y/n asked, appearing in the doorway. T'Challa shifted his attention to her. She was absolutely stunning. "It's part of your mission," Natasha reminded, "Besides, you look hot. Doesn't she Your Majesty?" T'Challa gulped and looked at the ground, his face burning with embarrassment. Y/n had an assignment to seduce the target and lure him into a bedroom where a team would be waiting. She had to wear a little black dress that only hung to about mid-thigh and her lips were stained blood red. "I feel like a slut. Damn Romanoff, is this how you feel everyday?" she asked teasingly. "Ha ha. That was fucking hilarious Y/n," Natasha replied sarcastically. "I'm going to go check on the team. When I get back, we'll be ready to go," Nat announced before leaving the room. Y/n sighed and sat next to T'Challa. "You look very nice," he commented. "Thanks T," she smiled at him, "I just hope it all works out fine, you know?" she said, resting her head on T'Challa's shoulder. The king tensed involuntarily at the sudden contact. "Yeah I know what you mean," he answered, glancing down at the nervous girl. He knew that if she would just let him kiss her, to calm her down, he would be there in a heartbeat.
Three: If looks could kill, the man would have died at least ten times by now. T'Challa stood to the side at one of Tony's famous parties while across the room, Y/n sat at the bar with an overly flirtatious friend of Stark's. He watched in ill hidden anger as a playful smirk lied disgustingly across the man's face and he said something to Y/n that he couldn't quite make out. But he did know that it made a blush fade onto her cheeks and her melodic giggle escaped her lips. "What's bothering you?" a deep voice asked from beside T'Challa. He tore his attention away from the horrific scene and set it on the source of the question, Steve Rogers. "That man sitting with Y/n," the king began, "is he an honorable man?" A grin grew on Steve's face, he knew what was really going on. "Well I don't know, why do you ask?" Steve replied. T'Challa frowned at the question before simply shrugging. "Are you sure that this has nothing to do with Y/n?" Steve asked, earning only an eye roll in response. "That's ridiculous. I didn't think you were so childish Rogers," he said. Steve chuckled and raised his hands in defense. "Whatever you say," he murmured, walking off to talk to Sam. T'Challa refocused on Y/n and, much to his displeasure, found the man still making her laugh. He wanted more than anything to march over and show the man that Y/n was his, that he should be the only one making her laugh like that. But that was hardly appropriate.
Four: They should have never tried it. Neither of them had ever baked before and they knew now that they weren't very good at it. "We're probably going to regret this later when we have to clean up whatever shit we make," Y/n predicted, standing on the tips of her toes to reach the flour and shortening from the top shelf. T'Challa only laughed as he pulled out an electric mixer and some eggs from the fridge. It only took the pair of them a half hour to manage tons of egg shells in the wet ingredients mixture due to a certain bet to see which one could most successfully crack eggs with one hand, accidentally adding salt instead of sugar, and most of the chocolate chips had been eaten. "Well I think now we add the wet ingredients to the dry ones in the mixer," T'Challa said, plugging in the mixer and began to mix ingredients. Y/n squinted at the recipe. "Well it says right here that you have to add the dry ingredients graduall–," she began to read aloud, but it was too late. T'Challa had already added them all at once, causing a cloud of it to puff in his face. Y/n's hand flew up to her mouth in attempt to stifle a giggle. "You think this is funny?" he asked, a smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, li'l bit," she grinned. He shook his head, his cute smile developing into a (still cute) mischievous smirk. He took the nearby bag of flour and emptied it on top of her head before she could even process what he was doing. The next half hour was filled with throwing eggs and flour and their failed attempt at cookie dough at each other. And by the end they were both laughing and covered in ingredients. "I like being with you T," she decided after catching her breath. T'Challa brushed a piece of hair away from her eyes so that he could see them better. "I like being with you too."
Five: T'Challa woke to the sound of upbeat music blaring loudly, only slightly muffled by the door closing him in his bedroom. He pulled himself from the covers and rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes. He crept into the hallway and peeked around the corner and noticed Y/n's bedroom door sitting wide open and it was quite clearly the source of the loud music. He peered in the doorway to see her up and about, tidying up the room and singing along sweetly to the blaring music. "All you sinners stand up sing hallelujah, show praise with your body, stand up sing hallelujah," her gentle voice mirrored the louder one on the radio, it was barely audible, but enough to make T'Challa melt. She continued to be oblivious to his presence as she moved around the room and completed tasks to clean up a little bit. She was peacefully trapped in her own little world and he was overjoyed to witness it. "You sing beautifully," he finally spoke up. Y/n jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, but her shoulders relaxed when she realized that it was just him. "You weren't supposed to hear that," she blushed, pulling back the sheets on her bed and smoothing them out. The embarrassed red that dusted her cheeks only increased his admiration for her as he leaned against the door frame. "Please continue," he nodded. "You're an idiot," she grumbled with a smile, burying her face in her hands. This girl was going to drive him insane with her blushing.
One Time He Did: The second Y/n entered the compound, her eyes were empty, she didn't have the usual happy bounce in her step, and her expression was unreadable. Everyone was sitting in the living room when she'd arrived, just receiving the news on her latest mission. Her partner was killed and she had to abort. Their heads turned when they heard her open the door. "Y/n..." Steve began gently when she walked in the room, but she just closed the door blankly and walked to the elevator without a word, as if she hadn't even seen the team's pathetic looks of pity. A thick, uncomfortable silence hung miserably between the team. "I think you should go see her," Tony finally spoke up, looking at T'Challa. "Yeah," Clint agreed, "You're the closest to her." He looked around at the rest of the team, nodding their heads in approval of the idea. He nodded and made his way to the elevator.
T'Challa could hear her and it broke his fucking heart. Her door was left ajar and he could hear the heartbroken tears that she'd tried so hard to hide before. He knocked on the door frame gently. "Y/n?" he asked. She wiped her tears swiftly and cleared her throat. "What is it?" she asked, trying to replace the devastation with strength. "Can I come in? Like I said earlier, I like being with you," he said as gently as possible. Then there was silence. An anxious few seconds of it when he was afraid that she wouldn't answer and shut him out too. "Yeah come on in T," he finally heard her answer. T'Challa cautiously pushed open the door to see a tear stained Y/n, buried in the blankets on her bed. "I heard what happened," he said, taking a seat next to her on the bed. She didn't turn to look at him, she just stared emotionless at the ground, seldom taking a moment to blink. "I could have saved him T. I should have saved him. And now he's gone and it's my fucking fault," she croaked, a tear dropping from her eye. "It's not your fault," he said simply, shaking his head. For the first time since he'd entered the room, she turned to look at him. That's when he saw it. The utter hurt and shock and fucking regret that she held in those beautiful eyes. He wanted to make it all go away, take it from her somehow. She didn't deserve that. "If I would have done something, maybe he would have made it back to his family, his kids," she told him, raising her voice slightly. "Blaming yourself won't give them their father back," he stated, maintaining a calm tone despite Y/n's harsh one. She let out a choked sob and let her head fall onto T'Challa's shoulder. He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head to look at him. In a desperate moment of desire to take all of her pain away, he pressed his lips to hers, silencing her cries, weakening her sorrow.
