MCU x Reader Stories

(6) T'Challa x Reader ~ Princess

A/N: Here's a fun one for you guys! ≧◡≦
Word Count: 1303

The hours seem to tick by slower than usual as T'Challa sits through a Tribal Council meeting that had formed earlier that morning to discuss a possible threat that reached several tribe leaders' ears. For several hours, the leaders argued on the different methods to expose and eliminate the incoming threat at their borders. Originally, the meeting was supposed to be held until late afternoon, but now, the Wakandan king glances out the large window behind him to witness the sun dip into its hiding spot beyond the mountains.

"We should not start a war all because of a threat," the Merchant Tribe Elder exclaims, her arms waving animatedly to express her frustration. "The only evidence we have is information that was passed to us by word of mouth."

"That still does not take away from the fact that Wakanda has an imminent danger headed its way as we speak," M'Kathu retorts.

"And when exactly is this danger supposed to take place," T'Challa interrupts, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to keep them open.

"Next week."

A sharp sigh leaves the monarch as he shuts his eyes briefly. It is his responsibility as king to ensure the safety of his people and provide assurance that they will be taken care of with each passing day, but right now, T'Challa needs a little holiday from ruling the country.

"I propose that we take a break and return to this in the morning," he announces slowly, unsure of how the elders will respond. Much to his surprise, they agree. "I call this meeting to a recess. We will return to the issue at sunrise."

One by one, the Tribal Council exists the throne room, leaving a pregnant silence. With the elders absent in the room, the king allows his composure to drop, slouching in his seat at the throne as he takes advantage of the absence of sound to think over all the decisions the council mulled over, but his thoughts are soon interrupted by the harsh screeching of the throne room's door being pushed open.

"Yikes! You should have someone oil the hinges on that," (Y/n) comments with a smile, only to frown when she notices the tired, stressed expression resting on T'Challa's face. "What's wrong, my king?"

"Well, my queen," the monarch states, another sigh huffing from his exhausted form, "I can't seem to get the Tribal Council to agree on a suitable approach for an urgent matter. I suggested we leave the matter be until tomorrow, but I still ca-"

"If you told them to leave it be until tomorrow, then you should do the same, T'Challa. Kings require time to relax just as much as any other person."

Pulling (Y/n) into his lap, T'Challa nuzzles into the crook of her neck and inhales deeply, taking in the comforting aroma of her body wash; the familiar fragrance soothes the brewing storm in the his mind.

"I cannot abandon my duties as King, (Y/n)."

"T'Challa, I am not asking you to do such a thing. All I'm saying is that you should not worry about Wakanda when all is well in the present. Yes, as their leader, you should be conscious of future entities that could bring harm to the country, but that does not mean such a burden should follow you everywhere. It's okay to take a breather."

The worry sparkling in (Y/n)'s eyes is all the more reason for T'Challa to follow his wife's words of wisdom. He picks her up in a swift motion and strides out of the throne room, stopping for nothing until his feet reach the doors to their shared chambers.

Upon shutting the door with a kick, T'Challa gently sets (Y/n) onto the bed as he rummages around in his wardrobe for a less formal outfit to change into. Various colors and textiles pop out at his eyes, but his hand does most of the work, skimming over the surface of each garment until they reach a desired, soft, cotton fabric. The black hoodie is pulled off its hanger and thrown onto the bed, a pair of joggers following soon after.

"I can practically feel you staring," the monarch teases as he disrobes, "There is nothing that you have not already seen."

"Though that is true, my king, I cannot help but stare at all the scars you bear. They are a sign of your strength and bravery; only worthy warriors live to tell the tales of their battles."

"They are not that relevant, (Y/n)."

"And seeing the one closest to your heart is the one that I cherish the most; that battle solidified your position as King. However, the scars left behind from your fight against N'Jadaka still scares me. I thought I had lost you that day..."

Without having realized that (Y/n) had left her seat on the mattress, T'Challa flinches reflexively when he feels the cool touch of his beloved's hand upon his chest. Mentioning the battle between himself and Killmonger draws the monarch into a trance — the fear of having thought that Wakanda's fate would be left forever in the hands of his revenger-driven cousin haunting his mind.

(Y/n) takes T'Challa's hand into her free one, squeezing it reassuringly while waiting patiently for her husband to return from his thoughts. Gazing into his dark eyes, she witnesses a wild array of emotions swirl around. Ever since Wakanda's liberation from Prince N'Jadaka's rule — the Battle of Mount Bashenga left too many casualties — (Y/n) has awoken many times to T'Challa thrashing around in his sleep. Though the occurrences caused much worry over the king, (Y/n) remained calm and aided him however she could, effectively gluing herself to T'Challa's side throughout the time it took for the nightmares to diminish.

"You know," T'Challa reminices,"I could have defeated him easily, with or without the power of the capabilities of the herb. I was merely blinded by my emotions."

"Nope," comes a deadpan reply. "You'd still be defeated."

"Oh, come on. You have seen me spar first-hand. I am not that unskilled."

"Yet you still cannot beat Okoye in hand-to-hand with the powers of the Black Panther. The Black Panther standing before me has to drink a flower in order to keep up with the general of the royal guards. You're basically Rapunzel."

"Excuse me," the monarch gasps, feigning offense. Staring at (Y/n) with a raised eyebrow, T'Challa places both hands atop his wife's shoulders and blinks several times. "What did you just call me?"

"Rapunzel. You know, the princess from the Disney film who gains her powers from drinking a magical flowe-"

"I know who Rapunzel is," T'Challa sighs. "I just don't understand why you must compare me to a literal damsel in distress who sat inside a tower until a man saved her."

"Did I not explain clearly enough?" At this point, though the tone of the conversation seems serious if any other person were to walk in right this second, (Y/n) is simply teasing for the sake of having fun; the reaction she receives amuses her. "I'll say it aga-"

"That will not be necessary. It is late, so I suggest we get a good night's rest, my queen."

"Fine..."

Darting off into bed with the speed of a cheetah, (Y/n) is quick to slip beneath the duvet and nestle into her designated spot where the mattress has conformed to the shape of her body over the many years of use. Her hand thrusts the soft quilt open for T'Challa to enter, the other hand working to speed up the process by dragging said man by the wrist.

"Hurry up, Princess."

"Stop it."