#2017 Dave East was a STUNNER

[essaysbyciara]

thinking about Dave in Old Habits Die Hard tonight. i miss bae. i might have to write an AU for my own damn fic. he and y/n deserve one more good ol' time.

[investmart007]

PITTSBURGH | Penguins, Predators look to lock up second round spots

New Post has been published on https://goo.gl/jvpvoS

PITTSBURGH | Penguins, Predators look to lock up second round spots

PITTSBURGH | April 19, 2018 (AP)(STL.News)— Mario Lemieux had one question for Sidney Crosby after the Pittsburgh star slipped past his boss as the Penguins’ career playoff scoring leader during a Game 4 romp over Philadelphia.

“He asked what took so long,” Crosby said with a laugh.

Lemieux’s joke carried with it a pair of messages.

The first is a not so subtle reminder to his protege that it took Crosby 152 games to reach 173 playoff points while Lemieux only needed 107 to get to 172. The second is a nod to Crosby’s playoff excellence.

He slipped by his boss because the Penguins — thanks in no small part to their captain — keep finding a way to win in the postseason.

A victory over Philadelphia in Game 5 on Friday night would push the Penguins into the second round for the fifth time in six years and move them a step closer to becoming the first team in 35 years to win three straight Stanley Cups. Pittsburgh has gotten there by developing a killer instinct under head coach Mike Sullivan that it lacked at times before his arrival in December, 2015.

The Penguins are 8-5 when given a chance to clinch a playoff series since Sullivan took over. They were 4-9 in potential clinching games from 2010-15, including letting 3-1 series leads get away in the first round against Tampa Bay in 2011 (when Crosby and Evgeni Malkin were both out) and to the New York Rangers in the second round in 2014, a collapse that cost head coach Dan Bylsma and general manager Ray Shero their jobs.

Sullivan downplays his role in it, preferring to put the emphasis on his star-laden roster.

“This group of players has a real strong competitive spirit and I think it’s hard to win in this game if you don’t,” Sullivan said. “I think it starts with our core players. They lead the way for us in so many different ways but certainly our compete level is one of them.”

The proof came over the course of six periods in Philadelphia in Games 3 and 4, when the Penguins outscored the Flyers 10-1 with Crosby, Malkin, Phil Kessel and goalie Matt Murray doing their part to reclaim momentum after Philadelphia pulled off a 5-1 stunner in Game 2 to briefly — emphasis on briefly — tie the series.

Now? Not so much. The cross-state rivals have engaged in what amounts to an outlier of sorts in the typically taut playoffs. All four games have been decided by at least four goals. The other seven playoff series have had seven games decided by four-or-more goals combined.

“It’s been weird,” Pittsburgh center Derick Brassard said.

And lopsided. Flyer fans exited Game 4 chanting for the firing of coach Dave Hakstol, and his grasp on the gig become precarious if his team can’t force the Penguins to head back east for Game 6.

There’s a chance the Flyers could have Sean Couturier in the lineup. He missed Game 4 after colliding with teammate Radko Gudas in practice on Tuesday. Either way, Philadelphia knows it needs to find a way to recapture the resiliency it showed during the regular season when it overcame a litany of setbacks to return to the playoffs after a one-year absence.

“They’ve played extremely well, and we need to play better,” Philadelphia general manager Ron Hextall said. “Our focus has to get back to one game. We’re down 3-1 obviously, but our focus has to get back to winning one game, and that’s tomorrow. There’s no question we have to play better individually, and certainly as a group.”

Or, play a little more like the Penguins, who have shrugged off a sometimes uneven regular season to look very much like the team that celebrated with raucous championship parades through downtown Pittsburgh each of the last two Junes.

There’s much work to be done before another one can be planned, but Pittsburgh is three periods away from getting at least as far as the last three teams trying for a threepeat — the 1998-99 Detroit Red Wings, the 1992-93 Penguins and the 1988-89 Edmonton Oilers.

“We know it’s going to be a tough one,” Crosby said. “We want to try and carry that momentum and the way we played into our own building.”

PREDATORS ON THE PROW

The team the Penguins edged in six taut games during the 2017 Cup finals have their own shot to move on Friday. The Nashville Predators clinched all three of their playoff series a year ago at home a year ago in reaching their first Stanley Cup Final and have a chance to close out Colorado in Game 5 (9:30 p.m. ET, NBCSN).

The Predators are 11-2 in Smashville since the start of the 2017 playoffs, a run that started by finishing off a sweep of Chicago in the first round a year ago. They can assure themselves of a weekend of rest if they avoid a return trip to Colorado.

“It’s huge that we have a chance to finish the series at home,” Predators goalie Pekka Rinne said.

“Obviously, that’s something that is in the back of your head. We want to take it so bad and have this opportunity. But it’s a good team so we have to play again like this and I think that will be.”

The Predators tried to make sure they’re well-rested by flying back to Tennessee on Thursday, and they will have a chance to advance against Colorado’s backup to the backup goalie. Avs coach Jared Bednar announced that Andrew Hammond will start Game 5 with Jonathan Bernier is out with a lower-body injury. Hammond stepped in and stopped all eight shots he faced in relief of Bernier in Nashville’s 3-2 win on Wednesday night.

“He didn’t have a whole bunch of work, but he was good,” Bednar said. “He made the saves he needed to make. It was good to see. Hopefully it gives him a little confidence.”

By WILL GRAVES by  Associated Press – published on STL.News by St. Louis Media, LLC (U.S)

[essaysbyciara]

Old Habits Die Hard | Part Nine: Stuck In My Ways

SYNOPSIS | PART ONE: DAYS BEFORE | PART TWO: JUST BE GOOD TO ME | PART THREE: RECOGNIZE THE BUTTERFLIES | PART FOUR: DOWN THE STAIRS AND TO YOUR LEFT| PART FIVE: JUST KNOW | PART SIX: JUST & RIGHTEOUS | PART SEVEN: BACKSEAT | PART EIGHT: WEAK IN THE KNEES

Warnings: Language, lightweight mentions of sexual situations, mention of marijuana use

The penultimate chapter of Old Habits Die Hard! Whew, this has been a long one but we’re down to the final two parts of a story that kicked my ass lol. Taglist is STILL OPEN for the finale if you want to get in while it’s hot! Love you all, you beautiful people. 

STUCK IN MY WAYS

“Aye, yo shor- how long you in the city?”

Maleek’s -- or Leek -- introduction last summer was a scary one. Standing outside of papi’s, draped under Dave’s arm,  Dave and his crew stopped their conversations as a midnight blue Caprice classic creeped up to the edge of the corner. Everyone, including Dave, grew on guard, their demeanors ceasing to exist at the drop of a hat because a never-before-seen whip with barely-legal tinted windows came to a complete stop. As the passenger’s side window dropped, Dave whispered to you to go inside of the store to grab him something to eat, his favorite: turkey hoagie, everything on it. You could hear the growl in his undertone as if it was an order. You obliged out of a fright only to hear laughter mere seconds later once Leek’s solid body came bouncing out of the sunroof to one of his latest tracks.

Leek was the neighborhood rapper. He spent thirty minutes or so showing his videos on YouTube the one night you were in the studio with him and his crew. He was dope, you couldn’t lie. Built like a linebacker, Leek’s full ahki beard and super tatted-up upper body was a bad one. You caught yourself fantasizing about how bad Leek could really be but quickly remember that Dave got to you first. Thank God.

“Only for today, Leek. I’m heading back down tonight.”

“Damn. Dope of you to come up for your mans.”

You’d small talk Leek except he’s cutting into your homework of trying to figure out your getaway from this party to wherever Dave wanted to take you. Dave still lingered upstairs as you bobbed and weaved through the party to find Yahya. You were hoping that in the time it would take for you to get through Dave’s extended-extended family, you could come up with an excuse to get away for a few hours.

You could fake a  run to the beauty supply store for some braiding hair but the stores back home were good and hood enough to find the yaki you needed. You promised to take Yahya to papi’s for that hoagie, so no store run could be in order. Your entire family is at Pardi’s house so no “run up to my cousins house right quick” would work. You keep thinking of what to say as Dave rips another message through your DMs. It’s an address and an agreement to meet in thirty minutes.

“Oh, Dave? Yeah. I’m happy he’s home.”

“Who else you think I was talking about? Y’all still down, right?”

Leek’s inquiry throws you off guard. You knew he had a lightweight crush on you -- Dave once joked that he could see Leek’s mouth hit the floor when you walked into the studio that night -- but now the boldness to ask your status in this moment is taking you back to a DM from Leek that you deleted but never told Dave about.

“Dave and I? We’re cool. We ain’t down like we were but we’re cool. My fiance’ helped Dave with his case. That’s why I’m here.”

Leek notices the blinding engagement ring you ignored up until this moment and suddenly, so do you. It’s the first time in hours that you remembered your  man at home and like Chante’ Moore said, “he’s been good…” to you. Your conscience hurries you to dead your quest to find quiet time with Dave. You wouldn’t be on your best behavior; there would be no guarantees that Dave would stand on the right side of history. Upstairs, for that brief moment, your lips touched Dave’s neck and almost caught a bite. Dave used to love that move, digging deeper into you as you almost broke skin so he could commence to breaking your back. You fell into his body by mistake but his hands knew what they were doing. Tracing your stripes down to the seam of your panties was intentional. You pooled at the idea of him taking them off.

You aren’t naive. You wanted Dave and he wanted you. The moment was beyond brief yet beyond impactful. Leek’s unforeseen act as an impromptu guardian angel stops you from making the worst mistake of your life.

“Ahh, congrats ma!” Leek reluctantly goes in for a brotherly-esque hug. You give him a church hug in return, that side hug catching Yahya’s attention as he exits the backyard area to  look for you. He grabs your wrist as you release Leek from your innocent clutches.

“Excuse me, brotha ... [Y/N], you ready to go?” You quickly nod your head up and down in the direction of your forever. Leek didn’t like the way your man cut into his moment but he hastily concedes after you tap your hand on his chest and send your well wishes.

“We still heading over to that hoagie spot, right?” Yahya tapping his stomach as he grabs the car keys from his left pocket.  “I’m dying. And Ms. Gwen’s food looked smackin’. Took me a lot to not go in, baby girl…”

“You could’ve ate. We’ll be up here again.”

“Nah, nah. The way you were talking about this damn sandwich. I want a hit.”  

Dave’s message feels like an afterthought as you jump into the passenger seat. Your meetup was only twenty minutes away but you broke the spell of Dave and tried to forget.  A light tap on the passenger side window wakes you up.

“Y’all leaving already?! Damn.” Uncle Trace daps Yahya through the car window, a mix of weed and Polo Red wafting past your nose.

“Yeah, Unc…” Yahya’s salutation makes your heart smile. “...we gotta get back to homebase.”

“Aight, king. Get my niece home safe. Love you, [Y/N].”

As you direct Yahya to the cornerstone named papi’s, you couldn’t help but  stare at the way he commanded the streets. The potholes that got the best of him the last time he came here are no match for him today. He’s even driving with one hand, something he never did before -- or that you never peeped. His level of comfort on the side of town that you also call home is reminding you right before your eyes that you’re the luckiest girl in the world. All from calling your Uncle Trace by a pet name.

You find a spot close to papi’s and walk in with enough time. Yahya commands for you to order for him and you obey: turkey hoagie, everything on it. You order a chicken cheesesteak, wrapping your arms around Yahya’s waist as you both small talk about the week ahead. You weren’t letting go for anything in this world. Yahya briefly lets go to grab two Tahitian Treats out of the cooler. His big hands grab the drinks, hoagies and you up to the counter.

“Let me get two vanilla dutches, please.”

“Yah- what you doing?  You don’t smoke.”

“I usually don’t. Don’t mean I haven’t. I’m tryna finish this weekend out right. We still celebrating.”

“That’s fine but who the hell you get the weed from?”

“Unc.”

Unbeknownst to you, that dap between included an eighth of silver haze.

“Oh, this is it. You ain’t coming around my family anymore. Nope.”

“I’m Jerri’s favorite. You can’t do that…”

Dave doesn’t know what to do. It’s been some time since your message and you haven’t sent an “OK” or any signal of your arrival. He paces down the steps and out the door, running into Trace talking on the steps to Dave’s uncle, Clifford.  He tries ignoring them both but Trace isn’t having it.

“Yo, you leaving your own party, man?”

“My bad, Trace. I gotta make a run up Olney real quick for something. I’ll be back though…” Dave’s last words trail in the air as he walks down the street toward papi’s. Somehow Trace’s old self catches up to him.

“Bruh, slow down. You just got home…” Somehow Trace’s reminder does indeed slow Dave down. He’s been moving too fast since you agreed to meet up with him. He can’t keep up with his mind.

Dave didn’t know what to do when you sent that message. He felt a semblance of guilt for touching your spot, for letting your body fall into his, for staring at you as if he wasn’t going to see you again. For all the thoughts he had as you both sat in the same room where he’d coax the devil out of your body night after night. He was willing to risk it all only if you wanted it. Your message answered his prayer.

“Yeah, Trace. I know. I just gotta get out the house for a second too…”

“Oh, no doubt. They think that once you out, you wanna see the world. You just want the world to know you good, that’s it.” Trace’s wisdom plummets Dave.

It’s been his truth since he got home from jail. He didn’t want to be surrounded by the people who didn’t check on him or his mother; the people who ignored Pardi’s angered Facebook posts about Dave’s situation. People who donated to the bail fund out of guilt, not out of care. The only people who cared to know his fate  were his mother, Pardi, Trace, Yahya and you, even if you never reached out. He knew you to be the catalyst to his freedom even if you at one time secretly fought it.

You walked up those steps to his old room to see if he was okay. You knew that large crowds made him skittish. Something within you broke the rules to see if he needed a safe space to be. That summer, you were that. Dave unleashed his heart out to you in ways that even his mother would never see. Despite what seemed different about you, you weren’t afraid of his story. He felt close to you, letting you into a world that you didn’t know but could feel.

Dave wanted one more chance to feel you. Yahya be damned.

Watching Yahya yell  salutations to him and Trace from his car window as he drives by gut checks Dave. And makes him wonder if you’re with him. That would deviate from the plan that you created and Dave was on his way to fulfill.

“This is the best shit I’ve ever had, [Y/N]. You weren’t lyin’. Bruh…” Yahya delightfully wipes the last of the mayonnaise from the side of his mouth.

“Told you!”

“They should cater the wedding. I’m not playing.”

The unseasonably warm evening meets you and Yahya as you stare across at Camden’s waterfront. The pier is popping with families enjoying the last bits of early winter before the clocks strike back and school gets into a full swing. It’s a bit of calm before you two hit I-95 back to what sadly isn’t Chocolate City anymore. Yahya caresses your right knee as you stare over the Delaware. You were beyond ready to get home. Your future husband breaks your gaze. “I meant to ask you. Who was bruh all hugged up on you in the house?”

“Heh. Why?”

“You were church huggin’ him to death but he wasn’t getting a clue at all.”

“Oh that was Maleek, a friend of Dave. No big deal.” You play off Yahya’s somewhat jealous disposition even as it humors you. You rather him ask about Leek than Dave.  “Let me find out you jealous? Look at you.”

“Nah. I just know mad dudes are on you. I trust you though.” Up until an hour ago, he didn’t have a reason to do that.

“Dave was too, to be real.” You decide to break down all of the walls. The case was over. You think you’re over Dave. Yahya is minutes into a food coma.

“Well yeah, Jerri told me. Some teenager stuff. I saw those pictures. I’d be chasing you down the hallway too.”

“Boy, please. But no -- remember I told you about that lobbyist dude I dated who damn near ghosted me before we went to the Bahamas? I ended up coming up here for those weeks and Dave and I messed. Nothing serious.”

“You sure? Dude was eyefucking you real crazy at Jerri’s house last Summer.”

“Hold up? You saw that?!” What you thought you hid from Yahya, he saw in plain sight.

“Everybody could, damn.  Heh. It’s all good though. So was I.”

You joust your fingers into Yahya’s side causing him to fall into laughter. Four words suddenly send you into an orgasmic-level of relaxation. Yahya didn’t seem to care. Once you ride off the orgasmic high, you feel insanely stupid. One conversation lessened the guilt of a relationship that lasted two weeks but imprinted onto you for what felt like forever. A moment of repentance overdue coaxes witty banter out of Yahya, not the dissolution of a relationship. It shouldn’t have been this easy.

That’s how u feel?

Your walk back to the car is broken up by a message from Dave. Your lack of a response to his earlier texts told him that you were in the car that Yahya yelled his love from. Your broken promise to break up a happy home slowly breaks Dave’s heart even though he knew better than to break the rules.

You don’t know what to say in response, turning your phone on silent not to alert Yahya’s attention. There’s nothing for you to say. Dave does all the talking for you.

Yo. I’m not some snake ass nigga. I wasnt doin anything with you that you didnt want

You came lookin for me.

I can’t be friends with you?

You wake up to see Dave’s last message sent hours ago. Before you walk into your front door and out of Dave’s life forever, you send your final goodbye.

I don’t think it’s best. I’m sorry.

Taglist: @harleycativy @twistedcharismaaa @dorkskinneded @need-my-fics @ghostfacekill-monger @writerbee-ffs @chaneajoyyy @amyhennessyhouse @blackburnbook​

[essaysbyciara]

[essaysbyciara]

[essaysbyciara]

I posted 2,577 times in 2021

616 posts created (24%)

1961 posts reblogged (76%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.2 posts.

I added 80 tags in 2021

#i write sometimes - 14 posts

#being single and celibate can be trashhhhhhh - 10 posts

#ask me anything - 9 posts

#2017 dave east was a stunner - 8 posts

#nights like this is why i hate being celibate - 7 posts

#music - 7 posts

#soundcloud - 7 posts

#ask me stuff - 7 posts

#erik killmonger fanfiction - 6 posts

#dave east - 5 posts

Longest Tag: 122 characters

#when all of your life you've worked up to one thing and then it doesn't happen and you don't know what to do with yourself

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Black Adam's Aldis Hodge 'Hawkman Chest Workout' | Train Like a Celebrity

Y’ALL. SET ASIDE SIX MINUTES. 

IT’S SIX MINUTES OF ALDIS HODGE WORKING OUT. 

96 notes • Posted 2021-05-14 21:53:10 GMT

#4

sis, you up? @ghostfacekill-monger

109 notes • Posted 2021-03-22 07:43:54 GMT

#3

Birthday Candles [Fireworks Pt. II] | Erik “Killmonger” Stevens x Reader

FIREWORKS 

Warnings: Language, lightweight smut thoughts

Peace! Back with the continuation to “Fireworks”. Much love to everyone who asked for a part two. Link to the origin story is above! *bankhead bounces into the atmosphere*

Light prayers rip off your tongue as the bass from Kill’s car rips through the parking lot of your apartment complex. The muffled sounds of Jeezy’s “Ya Digg” snitch on his age. You’re glad to know that Kill is as grown as he made himself out to be. 

yo i’m outside

You don’t mind Kill’s lack of chivalry. No need for him to know exactly where you lived just yet. It was just a few hours ago that he was your favorite IG thirst trap and now he has your heart trapped in all the right ways after a brief introduction in a nearby park.  The traits his aunties taught him come out once you come out of your door. He exits his car to greet you with that same hug that damn near swallowed you into the Earth’s core. He still smells of cognac, cigarellos and department store cologne.  

You and Kill stare at each other without the proper words to move this conversation forward. It brings you back to your afternoon at Care Park where it almost felt like Kill didn’t really care about you. Earlier in the day, he lobbed a DM at you inquiring if you had time to swing by a cookout he and his crew were hosting for the 4th of July. Beyond some double taps and a comment or two,  you and he hadn’t established any real communication, this would your first time to get to know him beyond  his sweaty yet sexy gym selfies. The only talks that happened took place in your daydreams, the ones that those sexy IG stories ignited.  

Your first time to speak beyond emojis was when he sauntered up to you and your friend carrying two bottles of deep brown alcohol and thick bodies. One empty bottle and escort to the food table later and you were just basking in the Black joy of the neighborhood that surrounded you. All minus the man who invited you there in the first place. Kill was nowhere to be found. 

Kill finds words to break the ice. “Yo, I’m sorry about earlier. I was trying to get to you but…” He’s “Kill” to his friends, “Erik” to his family. Kill couldn’t sneak some time away from the homies who needed soundboards for their latest hood stories and the ladies who needed his help putting up hooded tents to block out the heat. Kill felt heat from you the moment you pulled up to the park. 

IG didn’t do you any justice. Knocked back by your beautiful skin and skin tight dress, Kill quickly dapped up his friend who coaxed him into messaging you a green light to swing through. He had to give him his necessary props. 

“No, I get it. There was a lot going on out there. We’re good.”  Good wasn’t even the best word to describe how Kill looked under these parking lot lights. His gold caps glinted under the fabricated sunbeams transforming him into a sexy menace who made you feel safe and made sure you ate despite your nerves. He earned points -- and a second chance -- off that alone. 

“Aight, cool cool … you ready to go?”

“Back to the park?”

“Yeah. Unless you wanna roll somewhere else?”

“I mean, that last time I was there, we didn’t really get to talk so…”

Kill raises his left eyebrow and nods his head with all due respect. You were right. Why go back to the scene of his mishap where you had to share him with the streets and the sweet ladies? Your mind races of where to go. Your body and all things fluidly connected to it is ready to invite Kill inside of your place and sacred space. Kill would love to see the inside of your apartment as well. And you. In due time. 

A break in your plotting and scheming comes when your phone starts to vibrate violently in your right hand. Kill looks at you with bewilderment and confusion; why are you letting your phone ring off into voicemail? Maybe there’s another paramore or suitor vying for your attention? Looking at you, Kill isn’t surprised if that is the case. But having him drive out to your house doesn’t make sense if someone else is already calling your house a second home, especially after he blew his first chance with you.  

He shakes it off. There’s no room for doubt inside of his old-school Black Acura. 

Kill bends the road’s curves with the best of them all while taking quick glimpses at you as he sits at a never-ending string of stoplights. It does give you both a brief chance of privacy before you two land back near Care Park. You caved at returning. It wasn’t your fault: your city was pretty-old school, everything but the gas station and the convenience store closed early for the holiday. 

“You probably don’t wanna hear rap shit, my bad.” Kill swipes through his Spotify at a rapid pace to beat the light. 

If you let me, let me come outside … I’ll keep you, I’ll keep you satisfied tonight...

Melting, that is you. How would Kill know that Intro’s “Come Inside” is one of your favorite love songs of all-time? It takes you back to a time when you yearned to be desired, loved and lusted after by the man of your dreams. Now that’s your present and it’s taking the strength of ten goliaths to keep you from jumping into your present’s lap. Damn the streets, roads, causeways and byways. 

Kill catches you serenading his passenger’s side window. “You don’t know nothing about this, chill.” 

“I don’t know Intro?! Quiet Storm radio raised me. Don’t play me with that.”

During those late nights and early mornings, Anita Baker taught you about quiet desire. Rick James schooled you on fire. Boyz II Men played the boys next door who wanted to make love to you and Jodeci acted as the neighborhood bad boys who fought to get Nathan, Michael, Shawn and Wayna out of the way so they could fuck your brains out. Maxwell gave you a lesson in the luxuries of that cocoa-kissed love and Sade prepped you for the sweetest taboo. Your ear to the radio got you ready for this very moment, a moment that up until one pm today felt so damn out of reach. 

Kill reaches for your door. Again, chivalry ain’t dead. He weaves you through a packed front yard towards a back porch empty of the crowds from earlier. Weed smoke travels from the house.  So do the sounds of Polo G. 

“You hungry, baby?” Kill tosses his car keys onto the rusting iron-and-glass table. That question wasn’t coming from him but rather this sweet and grandeur voice from beyond the screen door. Kill looks at you for an answer. Your shaking head gives a definite yes. 

“Yeah, grandma. Is there peach cobbler left?”

“Yes, Erik. Come in and grab you and your pretty new friend a piece.”

See the full post

114 notes • Posted 2021-07-23 04:49:15 GMT

#2

Fireworks | Erik “Killmonger” Stevens x Reader

Warnings: Language, smut thoughts, drug use, drinking

The 4th been gone, I know lmao. Haven’t wrote anything in a minute and you know I have fun with Killmonger, so here it is. Hope you dig. Something sweet. 

Nothing could top the fireworks popping off at the base of your spine. The ones sending smoke signals freeing you to find the pleasure that only he could set off within you. But you weren’t done. Why would you be? You hadn’t reached the combustive ending that you both were waiting for. But you had to race somewhere to find that moment to be free and brave. 

A post on IG gave you all the deets. 

Meet us at Care Park off Layton Road.  Bring bottles. 

You see a stream of Black men, women and children basking in the carefree with some local rapper’s psalm blasting from factory speakers. You’re never off the 4th of July. Same for your homegirl. You message her to see if she wants to grab a burger and bomb-ass potato salad in an attempt to get a closer look at this dude who got you all the way fucked up. 

His name is Erik. He goes by Killmonger. Or Kill. You know him only as this dude whose crew flexes around on the interwebs. He’s only in the gym, it seems. And the block. Flashing his pretty teeth with gold caps in the mirror as he shows off his daily gains. He’s a tough one. All his crew is, to be honest. You’ve lived in this city for so many years that you didn’t think fine like that existed until following a trail of tags led you to his page. He was sexier that the one you first feigned for, an impossible feat you thought. 

But it was true. He thirst trapped his way into your heart. And onto your follower’s list. 

He followed you back. Liked a few posts of you flexing your curves in your favorite black t-shirt dress. Nothing happened beyond those moments in infancy until you waxed banter about the city you both call home -- him since birth, you since 2013 -- and he took notice, maybe offense. 

Lol you gotta live over where I’m at

You did, not too far away. The conversation didn’t last beyond you confirming his belief of where you laid your head at night. You dreamed of dialogue, of laughs, of something substantial. You dreamed of him, shit. But that was it. 

“Who’s grilling today?” Your homegirl’s phone call was right on time. 

“Girl, you know that fine-ass dude from Instagram? They having something over at Care. Looks like a community thing.”

“Let’s go…”

“What? I don’t know them like that.” 

It’s a lot of them. You follow most of them. They crew thick. 

“Ain’t you and dude talk before? Just hit him up and see if it’s cool…”

Your nerves start to snap, crackle and pop. You ain’t that bold. You also may have exaggerated at how much you and Kill conversed in the past. Instead of banking on your perceived closeness, you like the post and keep scrolling to see if someone you actually know has something going on that you could waltz your way into without remorse. 

Until your phone vibrates. 

Bring a friend and come thru

Kill saw your bat signal and responded faster than Robin on a mission. He’s been on assignment to get to you since you followed him back that day. But street dudes carry a shyness when it comes to finding the right one to come home to every night. He thought you’d get the clue and shoot your shot when he liked your posts. He didn’t move hastily in the neighborhood so why would he move that way into your private messages?  His homeboy vouched for you even though he barely knew you. “She seem dope as shit.” His friend is the one that coaxed Kill into asking you to come out. They needed more girls at this party, in all honesty. 

You were Kill’s type. You had the right amount of cushion to do the maximum amount of pushing Kill wanted to put on you. Desire goes both ways. 

Cool! How late y’all going?

Until they kick us out lmao

“What time the liquor store close, Sis?” 

You cradle two bottles of Woodford Reserve as you adjust your hair in the driver’s side window. The neighborhood calls it “We Don’t Care” Park for a reason. Nestled between two enclaves with decades-old beef, the grassiest parts were missing a shit-ton of green. 

You and your friend catch a mix of “you know them?” and “shit … who they?” from street soldiers active and retired. 

“Shit. She actually came, bruh…”

Kill’s leaves from under the canopy of trees to greet you. The smell of Bleu De Chanel and the finest cannabis greet you in return. A black tee, black jeans and black Timbs don’t make sense in this blistering sun but no rules should exist for a body built like a tank ready to do battle. You accept his uniform. It looks good as fuck on him. 

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159 notes • Posted 2021-07-06 05:05:26 GMT

#1

Playing Games [Erik Stevens x Y/N]

Warnings: Language, smut thoughts (my ministry!) 

I don’t know why I’m in a Killmonger space but oh well lol. Just a quick drabble for the streets. I appreciate every last soul who reads, likes and comments. Y’all are the real MVPs.

“You ready for another round?” 

“Eww, Erik. No.” 

“You knew what I meant, nasty….” 

Have you ever met someone through a friend and they become more than that? That’s your story with Erik. 

A hazy barbeque on the Southeast side of DC led you to meet this tall, caramel-drenched king who would turn into your best-friend-turned-next-episode. There he was, posted upstairs as the party got its most lit and there you were, sitting on the couch downstairs, strolling through a Twitter feed failing to update itself. You heard wild yells coming from upstairs. 

“Girl…” tapping your best friend and soon-to-be friendship conduit, Shakira, on the shoulder, “...what the hell is going on upstairs?” 

“My boy Erik is up there playing MK11 with his bros. They hella extra for no reason.” 

Mortal Kombat 11. Your favorite game. Jade is your main but sometimes you lace up with Kitana. There was something about how Jade would murk niggas with that pole of hers that had you hooked. You were Jade and Jade was you. 

You finessed yourself up the steps to find Erik neck deep in an ass whooping. He had no idea what to do with Jax other than that he was the Black character. Obligated, you know. No one noticed you walking into the dimly-lit room, dudes so flummoxed by the beatdown on the 70-inch Sony screen to even pay attention to your thick-ass making your presence known. But when someone asked for who’s next, you spoke up. The room suddenly had your attention. 

You beat everyone’s ass. One by one. Sindel? Dropped. Sub-Zero? Dropped. Erik’s wack-ass play as Jax? Dropped. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you hit every combo. You pushed his boy into a nasty brutality and Erik had to fall victim to your essence. It also didn’t help that your plush body sat firm in your seat as you did it.

But Erik played games. Something about you told him to keep it cute. Though he didn’t really want to. He wanted to put your body into a combination, real talk. 

“You had to say it like that, though?” You toss the PS4 controller onto Erik’s loveseat in order to catch a quick glass of water. You ended up being Erik’s tutor more than his opponent. He plays Jade more than you do now. 

“Nah, your nasty-ass had to take it there…”

“Maybe because I want you to…” 

Erik’s breath hitches inside the corridor of his chest. “I want you to…” did something to him beyond the normal stare-down of your body mid-game would produce. You’d be so focused that you never noticed. 

“You want me to do what…?” 

Honestly, you’ve been dreaming for Erik to push all of your buttons. You respected his friendship move even though you wanted more. You’re grown enough to recognize when a man is feeling you. You figured that Erik wasn’t trying to do anything serious with anyone so friendship would be the cap on top of this moment. 

For now. 

Not right now. 

But maybe right now. Best to play coy even though your dragon snuck out of its castle a wee bit too early. 

“I’m just playing, Erik. Shit. Chill.” You laugh to hide your intentions. Erik ain’t having it. 

“I ain’t shit to play with…” That right there? Wanna talk about “dropped”? You felt muscles, kinks, walls. dips and dives drop in record time. Erik ain’t shit to play with, huh? 

“Honestly, chill. I’m chilling. I promise. I don’t want you like that.” 

Lies, fairytales and fallacies, homegirl. 

“I thought so, punk.” A bit of snark to hide his disappointment that you didn’t add gasoline to the fire. 

“Who you callin’ a punk? I’ve been beatin’ your punk-ass all day.” 

Look at you aggressive to hide the aggression that you really want to lay on Erik. 

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171 notes • Posted 2021-01-06 02:08:09 GMT

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