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essaysbyciara · 2 years

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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

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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

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sis, you up? @ghostfacekill-monger

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

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.”

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

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

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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