Killmonger's One-Shot Collection

Arguments

“Slow up on this curve,” Erik rushes, arm reaching out to snatch the wheel. Driving with him in the passenger seat is anxiety-inducing. The way he’d stomp his foot as if stepping on the brakes when he thought you were going too fast made you want to flip the car over or go faster.

“Erik? You drive faster than me!… Calm down.”

“I can drive at that speed and still drive well. You, don’t drive well enough t–Slow the hell down! I know I wanted to die in the past, but I ain’t ready to crossover right now, aight!?”

“ERIK! SHUT UP, I KNOW HOW TO DRIVE.”

“You gone kill us both,” he grumbles. You turn the music up so he can shut up and for a while he does until your phone buzzes with a text and you check it, using one hand to read it and respond. “Isis.. ISIS,” Erik yells gripping the wheel from the passenger seat. The car had drifted a bit out of the lane toward the thin shoulder of the road, but it wasn’t like it was something you did often. It just so happened to happen while he was in the car driving up your blood pressure. “I KEEP TELLING YO DUMB ASS NOT TO TEXT AND DRIVE! You gone fuck around and die on the road and it’s gone be your fault!“

"What you’re NOT gonna do is sit there and call me a dumbass because you have issues with my driving.” You pull over at the next opportunity purposely swerving into an outdoor strip of about five storefronts and you get out, slamming the door. He watches as you storm to his side of the car snatching his door open. “You drive, muthafucka.”

“There you go acting stupid. Don’t drive like a dumbass checking texts and speeding when you ain’t that great of a driver to begin with and I won’t call you a dumbass.”

“If I’m a dumbass, you a jackass for riding with me.”

“I am, shit. Hella reckless for that.”

“Just drive then since you got a problem with how I do it! And don’t fuckin talk to me,” you snap watching him climb from the passenger seat and walk around to plop down at the wheel.

◇

“I don’t give a fuck you ain’t talking to me, that silent treatment shit don’t hurt me. You talk too much anyway.”

Ignoring him you look out of the window, hoping to hurry up and get home so that he can get the hell out of your face.

“Do you need to stop anywhere before we get home,” he asks slowly. You ignore him again. “Fuck it then.”

The car finally pulls into the driveway and you’re the first in the house. You run upstairs to use the bathroom and trip over Erik’s boots on the floor. “ERIK,” you scream, “I TOLD YOU TO MOVE YOUR GODDAMN BOOTS OUT THE WAY! PUT THEM IN THE CLOSET!” He ignores you, being petty. When you walk down the stairs into the kitchen, you notice he’s staring at you and you kiss your teeth. “Get out my face, Erik.”

“It was yo turn to do the fuckin dishes. Why you ain’t do em? That’s lazy as hell.”

“Lazy as you leaving your clothes every damn wear? You always doing that shit,” you clap in frustration.

“I left my shoes one time and my pants like twice yet you on that always shit! I don’t alway–”

“And I washed the damn dishes before I went to work this morning, nigga, do you see a dish? Countertops clean as fuck!”