#Erik’s clocking them was so fucking funny

[foxthefiend]

I think we need to acknowledge the gay on gay crimes of hansry vs isterik more because I find the beef and hate they have for eachother to be so genuinely entertaining

[anime-kia]

Mother’s Day?

Lmao sorry, another Dadmonger story.

I couldn't come up with a unique Mother's Day special with the reader celebrating so I used this plot instead. 

Mentions of infertility, otherwise, no warnings.

Enjoy!

Relationship: Single Father Erik x Dance Teacher Reader

Erik always loved when his daughter came to visit on the weekends. Despite having to deal with her irritating mother whom he should've left years ago, Aaliyah always brought joy to his usually busy and hectic life.

He was quite surprised when his arrogant, loud-mouthed baby mother was knocking on his door at seven in the morning, calling his name like Sabrina from Madea's Big Happy Family 2. 

It didn't irritate him that she was at his door so early, seeing as he was already up since five, working out. But it was Mother's Day today and there was no reason for her to be disrupting his peace.

As soon as the door creaked open, the eight-year-old was already in his arms. 

"Hi, daddy!" She gave him a tight hug, the patterned beads on the ends of her hair bounced off his cheek as they made contact.

"Hey, princess." He lifted Aaliyah and gave her a kiss on her cheek above the dimple that matched his. "Go on inside, I'll be there in a second." He said after setting her down.

When Aaliyah was inside, he stepped out and closed the door leaving a small crack. 

"Brianna." He simply said with a distasteful look on his face.

"What? You looking like it ain't your turn to spend time with her."

His eyes narrowed, "It's Mother's Day though." 

"And?" She shrugged her shoulders and copied his stare, "It's your weekend with her. I got shit to do." 

Erik almost laughed, not at her but at himself. This is the bitch that I got pregnant? 

"What's so funny?" She asked, resting her hand on her hip. Her nails caught his attention, ridiculously long, pointy and bright. Now that he took a better look at her, he could see and assume the exact reason why she had the nerve to pull something like this. 

"Nothing, except you tryna go out and be the thot that you is instead of spending time with your daughter. You ain't send her to one of ya little family members cuz they would've clocked your ass for pulling this stunt." Erik ridiculed her, and every factual statement he said had her eyebrows furrowing and fists clenching harder. 

"Fuck you, Erik!" She yelled, pointing her index finger to his face. "You the last person to be judging me."

"Nah, fuck you for being an ain't shit ass mother." With that, he went back inside and locked the door in her face. There was a thump against the door, followed by the sound of her flip flops going down the porch. He sighed and went to go look for Aaliyah. 

Erik tried to keep arguing and fights to a minimal whenever Aaliyah was around. It was quite difficult considering her mother was an obnoxious loud mouth who had no class or shame. 

Aaliyah knew they didn't get along, in fact even she didn't get along with her mom that well. Brianna was one of those people who shouldn't have kids, but still has them anyway. They didn't really share a mother-daughter bond at all, Aaliyah would get that from other women in her life. Brianna would rather spend time partying, drinking, hooking up, and other stuff that she should've put to rest after she became a mother.

The only reason he wasn't able to take full custody over his daughter was because the judge was quite biased against the infamous ex-Killmonger and there was no way a man like that could raise a child in love. Of course it did take a while for him to recover, thanks to his family in Wakanda, but he was one hundred percent a stable man. Also, he was way more capable to care for his daughter than Brianna ever could. 

For one, Erik lived in luxury. He lived in a better house, drove a nicer car, ate tastier foods, and resided in a safer neighbourhood. In fact, he paid for all of Aaliyah's necessities even at Brianna's request. Her clothes, shoes, school supplies and extra curricular activities like dance and swimming. 

Brianna on the other hand moved around a lot, couch-surfing, she didn't drive, McDonald's was often her first choice of meal, and she spent a lot more money on her appearance and other things that should come last versus taking care of her basic needs. 

But in the court house, she used her mother's living as a cover up for her own. Decent house, fair neighbourhood, working, stable. 

He recalls how furious he was when the judge denied him the rights to his child. He knew that Brianna only did this to spite him and also for her own personal financial benefit. Child support was expensive. 

"Aaliy-" He walked into the living room to find her curled up in a throw blanket on the sectional sofa, fast asleep. Her overnight bag was resting on the floor. He let her sleep, seeing as it was still very early. 

Usually, she would be dropped off on a Friday night and they would wake up around ten or eleven the following day. On Sundays, they would wake up even later around twelve.

Erik spent the rest of the morning in his gym, finishing off his workout that was interrupted. He liked to play music that was loud enough to vibrate the walls, but his baby girl was asleep so he opted to keep it relatively low. 

An hour went by and Erik finished his workout. He took a hot steaming shower that fogged up the entire bathroom, then moisturized and got dressed into a white t-shirt, light grey Jordan sweater and black basketball shorts. It was a habit to wear his gold chain that was tucked behind the hoodie. 

More time had passed and breakfast was served, eggs and pancakes. Aaliyah was up and ready, climbing onto the bar stool. He slid her plate towards her, along with the maple syrup bottle. 

"That's that real maple syrup. Not the sugary shit ya mama feeds you." He watched as she examined the glass bottle. "But be careful not to drop it, aight?"

"Okay, daddy." She twisted the cap off and used her two small hands to drizzle the syrup onto her pancakes. She ended up drowning them and part of the scrambled eggs, but she liked it that way. 

Weird. Erik thought. He took a seat beside her and poured the syrup onto his pancakes. "So what we got planned for today?" 

Aaliyah's bright face toned down, and her chewing slowed. "Well..." He waited for her response as she swallowed. "Mama was supposed to come to ballet with me. My teacher said bring your mommies for the Mother's Day dance class!" Her fist rested under her chin, "But she isn't here."

He stared at his daughter, reminiscing on the feeling. Erik knew exactly what it was like to not have someone there with him. All the basketball tournaments, school events, and graduation ceremonies. It was no one except him and if he was lucky, maybe one of his foster parents would attend, but that was as rare as a blue moon.

"I uh... I'll take you." He hesitantly said.

"But you always take me, daddy." She didn't understand what he meant, seeing as her classes took place on the weekends so Erik always dropped her off anyway.

"Nah, Li. I mean I'll join the class with you. Only for today." He put his pride behind him today, only for his daughter though. As long as his friends and family didn't see this, everything would be alright. 

She started cracking up at Erik's offer, throwing her head back in amusement. "But you're a boy, not a girl!" 

"I'm a man, actually. And so what, you got the coolest dad. We gon' have more fun than the rest of 'em." He smiled at his daughter's enjoyment. The two finished their meals and got ready to head out.

On the ride there, Aaliyah couldn't stop sharing her excitement. She often spoke about her dance teacher and how much she loved her. 

"She's so pretty, and so nice! And she dances so good! I wanna be like her when I grow up!" 

Aaliyah would always talk about her teacher with Erik. The one time she tried to talk to Brianna about her, that resulted in Brianna cursing the teacher off and claiming that she was trying to steal her daughter away.

To say Brianna was an irrational, nonsensical, drama queen would be an understatement. 

Erik's nerves spiked as they entered the building. Of course he could dance, but not to the point where he could be a professional. He was more of a man who had rhythm and could do little bits and pieces of hip hop. Though he was graceful, quiet and fast on his feet, ballet was most definitely not one of his specialties. 

"This way, daddy!" Her pink tutu bounced as she pulled him towards a brown door, similar to a school classroom door. Outside, there were mothers and daughters all lined up. The little girls were all so giddy and excited, jumping up and down and yapping to their mothers.

He hadn't realized it, but Aaliyah was tugging very hard at his arm. Erik was forming a resistance as they got closer. 

"Ungh!" Her little grunts finally were audible in his ears, "Come! On!" Her ballet slippers slid on the tile floor as she tried to tug him.

"Oh damn, my bad." He eased up and allowed her to bring them closer to the door. The mothers immediately took notice of him, some eyeing him longer than they should've. Some looks of confusion, some of lust. They were already talking, but he could sense when the conversations switched to be about him.  

Aaliyah was already talking to a group of young girls, sharing their excitement about today. He could hear her boasting about him, even when they questioned where her mother was.

There was classical music playing on the inside for a while, and Erik was praying that it would continue non-stop. He checked his watch; 1:59.

And as soon as the clock struck 2:00, the music stopped. 

Another minute passed and the door finally opened, a set of older girls about twelve to fifteen exited. The younger girls squealed in excitement, lining up beside their mothers and Aaliyah to her father. She squeezed his hand and bounced up and down.

"Aye, you bout to pull my shoulder out." He complained. 

"Oops, sorry daddy!" Aaliyah apologized and relaxed a bit. Instead, she swayed their arms back and forth. 

The line started to move into the room and he assumed that he missed when they were called in. Admitted, Erik was quite interested to see who his daughter bragged about all the time. Being the last to step in, he closed the door and finally turned around. 

Erik was beyond surprised to see a young black woman teaching the class. Not that he was underestimating her abilities, but when he thought of a ballet teacher, he pictured an old, white, grumpy-looking lady. Also, black ballerinas were not represented as much, so this was quite the surprise. He assumed that the teacher loved Aaliyah so much because she was a grandmother, and grandparents love children, but he got the exact opposite instead. He was thrilled in fact, and Aaliyah was correct, she was beautiful. You were beautiful. 

"Good afternoon everyone, my name is Miss (Y/n) and I'm happy that you're all here for this Mother's Day class." Your smile was so vibrant and bold, lighting up the entire room. Your eyes made contact with Erik's, a chill raced through your body. He was very handsome. 

He was broad and had a lot of mass, which easily showed through his clothes. You were digging the dreads that laid to the left of his head.

However, you were not surprised at all that her mother wasn't here, but you were shocked when he showed up instead. You were expecting not to see Aaliyah at all, but nonetheless you didn't question it. It warmed your heart to see how much he cared because the lack on her maternal side was very apparent. Aaliyah viewed you as a motherly figure, you knew that. And it didn't bother you at all, she was a sweetheart.  

"Alright, so we'll start off with warming up the muscles then we can start with pliés."

You did simple stretches and warming up with the class so no one would get injured. Jogging on the spot, high knees, jumping jacks, lunges, toe touches, the basics. You did take notice of how fit Erik was, and he was quite flexible too. Though he was wearing a sweater, you could clearly see how muscular his arms were. You couldn't help but stare. Only to be stopped as he caught you. 

You looked away, and stood up from your lunge, "Alright, moms and dad, can we get you on this side of the room." You pointed to the left where the taller bar was, and the girls used the shorter one.

The barre routines you pulled together were relatively simple. Though this was a third-level RAD (Royal Academy of Dance) ballet class, you had to alter it so the inexperienced parents could have their fun too, without stumbling or getting frustrated because ballet can be irritating. 

"So we're gonna start with our feet in first position and hold for two counts, one... two... Arms through port de bras to second position, three, four." You demonstrated as the participants followed. "Demi-plié and stretch, demi-plié and stretch, rise up, hold, hold and lower. Grand plié, bringing your arm through port de bras and stretch, turn to the other side." The kids were happy at the simplicity, but half of the parents already looked winded. You smiled, "Easy enough?"

There were some sarcastic agrees, which was understandable. 

"Don't worry, I'll walk you through it." You smiled at the parents, hitting play on the stereo. You physically demonstrated the steps on the first side, but on the second side, you walked around the room correcting technique. 

Erik felt stupid, but no one was judging him as far as he could tell.

You lifted Aaliyah's chin gently as she had a habit of staring down at her feet. "Eyes up. Turn out your feet, and make sure you're resting on all ten toes." You fixed the rest of the girls' arms, posture, and feet positions then switched to the adult bar. 

Big yikes, was all you could think of as you watched half of the mothers attempt ballet. The other half were ex-dancers so they were able to do the exercise properly and Erik wasn't bad at all. No, he wasn't perfect, and you betted that if he trained when he was younger, there was no doubt he would be the next Mikhail Baryshnikov. You could tell that he has trained in some areas that required him to be agile and flexible. 

"Very good, Mr. Stevens." You praised him. He felt himself smirk. It was nice to receive approval outside of the bedroom or work.

The only thing you fixed on him was his elbow because it was drooping, and also because why not get a close-up of his massive arms. You adjusted posture and arms on the rest of the ladies.

"Nice finish." You applauded as the song came to an end. "I see we have some natural talent in the room, how many parents are or were dancers?" About five raised their hand. You asked them what discipline did they study and when, if they performed and other dance-related things. 

Just like the ballet language itself, it was all so foreign to him. He didn't even try to comprehend what you were discussing. The most he knew were pliés, so when you got to saying the other barre exercises, he was at a loss.

Battement tendus, battement glissés, rond de jambe, and that wasn't even a quarter of the ballet glossary.

Finally finished with barre work, the class was in the centre facing the mirror. 

"Hold up, it's more?" Erik asked, with a heavy breath. All that leg kicking and pliéing had him tired. He grew a newfound respect for ballerinas and all dancers for that matter. 

Everyone giggled.

"Of course, Mr. Stevens. I only did a third of the barre exercises though. We still have centre, corner and character to do." You smiled at him. You lied though, there was no way you'd have enough time to do the whole syllabus, and also it was a Mother's Day class, not a regular one. 

The look on his face was hilarious, everyone's giggles escalated into laughter. 

"You're already tired, daddy?!" Aaliyah asked in shock as if she didn't have sweat beads on her forehead. 

"Hell y- I mean, yeah I'm tired." A while ago he was doing just fine, it only goes to show that he was actually putting in effort. His hard work opened you back up to the idea of hosting a Father's Day dance class. 

The first two years you hosted the Father's Day dance, only three or four would show up. It was a shame considering how cute of a bonding experience it would've been for both parties. Erik was your solid proof. Only if they could put their pride down for just an hour.

"So for this next exercise, we're gonna be doing turns!"

"Yaaayy!" The girls all cheered, as turning was their favourite. It was nice to see because when you started out dancing, turning was not your specialty. You were better at jumps.

"Can I get a partner to demonstrate this exercise?" 

To your surprise Erik's hand raised.

"Oh, Mr. Stevens? Looks like I'm taking your partner, Aaliyah." You joked.

"That's okay! He said he wanted to!" She had a mischievous smile on her face. 

Erik's face heated up as the others made noises, he felt so childish. It reminded him of the time the class found out about his first crush back in middle school.

Either way, demonstrating with two adults worked better than with a small child. 

"So, what you're going to do is place your hands on my hips." He did just that, his cologne was faint but smelled very fresh and masculine. "And just rotate me as I keep my feet in first and imitate walks like a penguin." You demonstrated as you spoke. "Can anyone tell me what these are?"

They all raised their hands excitedly, ready to share their knowledge. 

"Ellie?"

"Chaine turns!" The little blonde exclaimed. 

"Perfect! Now make sure you keep your arms tight so you don't hit your partner."

The grip he had on your hips was surprisingly a lot more gentle than you expected from such a large man. For someone with no experience, he was a great partner. The audience applauded and you gave them a quick curtsey. 

"Now you can have your partner back, Aaliyah." You smiled at the girl who was staring in awe at her father and a woman she wished to be one day. "After the partners in front have turned four times, you may start, okay?" You hit play and a more upbeat song played through the speakers, catching the ballet uneducated off guard. "Alright, so we're gonna start in three, two, one."

You watched as they taped their feet, shimmying their shoulders a bit as they waited for their turns. Not many people knew, but ballet wasn't strict to only classical piano music, it came in all forms.

You singled for each group to start, "Eyes up! Keep spotting! Keep your heels together, ladies! Turnout!"

Though you did have to remind her to spot the wall and not her feet, Aaliyah was the most consistent out of the rest of her class. She had so much potential and you hoped that she would continue dancing in the future. 

"Very good, everyone! Take a little water break and we'll get started on our second last routine of the day." 

The class awed in disappointment that it was already over. This was actually a first, usually, they were excited to leave. But syllabus work was never as fun as leisure classes like these. You were slightly more strict when it came to teaching syllabus. 

"Can you open this for me, daddy?" Aaliyah handed her white and pink water bottle over to her dad. 

He twisted it enough to remove the pressure, "Ah, it's too hard. Here, you try again." 

"But if you can't open it, then how will I?" She pouted. 

"Show me your muscles."

She lifted her small arms and flexed.

"Ahh, there they are. Now put 'em to use, girl." He placed the bottle back into her hands. With her might, she easily twisted the lid off.

"I did it!" She celebrated.

"Aye, there you go princess." Erik smiled, pulling his daughter into a hug and planting kisses on her cheek.

The mothers watched in awe at the father and daughter. They would've loved for their husbands to be as affectionate and loving with their children, but they were either too busy or too "manly" to be like that. Erik however, did not care. He would love and be proud of his seed no matter what. 

You too gushed at the interaction. It made you become hopeful- about the possibility of having kids. 

"Alright everyone, time for some grand jetés!" 

The clanking of water bottles being put down, and ballet slippers padding across the floor filled the room.

"Can someone tell me what a grand jeté is?" The girls raised their hands in excitement just like that last time. "Amelia?"

"It's when you run and you jump and do a big split!" 

"Perfect answer!" You applauded the light skin girl with brown freckles. "Mr. Stevens, can I get you to help me demonstrate once again?"

"Yeah, of course." He stepped out of the line towards you. 

"So the goal of this one is to get really high but also to get a nice big split. Parents, you're going to assist in the height factor and girls, your goal is to get your legs as wide as possible, alright?" You stood in front of him and placed his large hands on your hips. "I'm going to chassé, then take two steps and brush my leg out to do the split."

The first run was slow, making sure that he could keep up. For someone with no experience in ballet, he really surprised you. His coordination was excellent. 

The second time around, you picked up the pace and on the jump, he got you very high off the ground, as if he's practiced this before. He gently set you down and  for a brief moment, his chocolate eyes met with yours. You smiled at each other and turned to face the class.

"Give Mr. Stevens a round of applause! That was amazing!" He bowed in acknowledgment.  After the claps became silent you said, "See how high we got? That's how high you want to get on your own one day." Obviously that was just encouragement, a person can only jump so high. 

You played the music and just like the last time you signalled for each partners to start. The mothers who were previous dancers got their daughters at very good heights, you could tell they were giving them pointers as well. 

"Eyes up! No développé, make sure you're brushing your leg! Turnout! Stretch that back leg! Point your toes!" 

It was funny to see the mothers who had no dance experience trying to keep up with their daughters. Some of the girls got jealous as they watched Erik lift Aaliyah over his head. They were in a world of their own, laughing joyously as they made it to the opposite corner of the room.

"I want to go that high, mommy!" 

"We're too low!"

"Higher!"

The mothers looked at their children with incredulous looks. That simply meant, no. 

One of the girls, Maya tapped Aaliyah's shoulder. "Can your daddy lift me?" She asked, there was no shyness in her voice. That girl was very bold.

Aaliyah looked up at Erik while pulling on his hoodie. "Daddy?" 

"Wassup, princess?" 

"Maya wants to know if you can lift her too." 

He was stunned at first, "I uh- Yeah, sure." He smiled at them both. "As long as Miss (Y/n) is okay with it."

"Miss (Y/n)! Miss (Y/n)!" The two girls called out. You were checking your notes for the next class routine.

"Yes, girls?" You asked, a little startled. 

"My daddy offered to help us jump higher if that's okay with you!" 

Quite the surprise, "Yeah, that's fine." 

After Maya was lifted, the other girls screamed "Me too!" 

He looked dumbfounded, it made you giggle. 

"How about this, one jump from Mr. Stevens and then you have to try and jump higher than that, but remembering all the corrections we've been working on throughout the year. Deal?"

"Deal!" They all cheered. The mothers looked very interested as well.

You started the music up and the girls lined up beside Erik. They each took their turns, and you could see some improvement already. They were jumping higher, which resulted in better splits. The mothers recorded, proud of their daughters and still in awe of Erik. 

If they saw him on the streets, they would've assumed that he was up to no good. This soft, child-loving and friendly side was shocking to not only them, but to himself as well. 

They all finished, and Erik was sweating. You wanted to ask him to take his sweater off, but that might be flirting a little too hard.

"Good job, ladies! And that was awesome Mr. Stevens!" You gave them a round of applause, the mothers joining in as well. "For our final lesson, we'll be doing révérence. You can choreograph this piece with your moms- and dad, but it's going to be really short. Two counts of eight, three max. I'll give you five minutes to come up with your routine." 

Each pair went off to their own section of the room to practice. 

Erik had no idea where to start, he was usually really good with formulating a plan, but ballet? Yeah, right. Good thing his little sidekick was the expert. She already had something in mind. 

"Okay so, first we're going to walk, one, two- Turnout your feet, daddy."

"I'm trying, Li." He grunted as he fixed his feet. This ballet shit was a lot harder than I imagined. 

"Then you bring your arms up to first and then to second, like this." She demonstrated for him and he followed suit. She looked at his arm position, droopy elbows, and corrected them. "Like that. Don't drop your arms, okay?" 

"Yes, princess." He complied. Already, he could tell she was going to be a great leader. 

"Then I'm gonna lift my arms up and you pick me up and we do a turn, then you put me down and we curtsy with our arms in demi-seconde." 

"Demi-what?" 

"Seconde, like this!" She showed him the arm position.

"Aight, lets run this again cuz I already forgot."

Aaliyah placed her hands on her hips, "Really, daddy?"

"Yeah, come on." 

The two practiced their routine as did the others until you finally called time.

"So, who wants to go first?" 

Of course Aaliyah's hand shot up, but you wanted to give someone else a go. Besides, you had to save the best for last.

The moms who weren't dancers went first, they were... Well, you've seen worse let's just say that. Then the ex-dancers went, very graceful and lovely routines. It made you wonder who was the choreographer because they were doing some things that you hadn't taught the class. Lastly, it was Erik and Aaliyah's turn.

The first part of their routine was very simple, but very cute. After he spun her and set her down to do their curtsy, he took her hand and placed  a small kiss on the back and she did the same. It was so adorable, the mothers awed along with you. 

"Excellent work, everyone!" Erik hadn't realized how much fun he was actually having until you announced that class was finally over. "I hope you all have an amazing rest of your Mother's Day and I'll see you next weekend."

Time does fly by when you're having fun. 

"Goodbye, Miss (Y/n)!" They all said and exited the room, all except Erik and Aaliyah. 

After class, Aaliyah would spend time talking with you about anything. She would tell you about her family life, school and anything that was holding her interest at the moment. It was habitual, and it made Erik more curious about you. 

Erik watched as the eight-year-old ran into your arms. 

"Hey Aaliyah, did you have fun today?" You asked holding onto her, similar to a mother.

"Yeah, so much fun! I told you my daddy was very strong!" 

You laughed, "I didn't doubt it for a second." You stood up and looked at him. 

"So y'all be talking about me while I'm not here?" He chuckled, arms folded over his chest. 

"Only good stuff." You assured him with a grin. "I wasn't expecting you to be so graceful though."

Erik shrugged, "I am a big nigga." 

You raised an eyebrow. 

"She's heard everything already, but she knows not to say it. Right, Li?"

"Yes, sir!" She gave him her biggest toothy grin.

"Aye." He pulled five dollars out of his pocket and handed it to her, "How about you go get something from the vending machine, princess."

"Okay!" She accepted the cash and skipped out of the room. 

Now all that remained was you and Erik. It wasn't necessarily tense in the atmosphere, but you felt shy for some odd reason. His stare was enough to make you want to hide your face and blush. Sure handsome men have been around you, but something about Erik was more intense. 

"So, you met her mom, right?" He suddenly asked.

"Yeah." You wanted to laugh thinking of that ridiculous woman, "She was ready to take me to court after caring about her daughter. She said I was trying to take her away or whatever, but I can't help it if Aaliyah likes me. Besides I love kids."

"Yeah, sorry about that. The girl is crazy." 

You nodded quickly, agreeing with him. 

"Do you got any kids? I mean you look pretty young, but..."

Your heart sunk, "Well... I haven't um... Been able to conceive so no. That's kind of why I spend a lot of time with kids, to make up for the loss."

"Shit, I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"

"No, no, no. It's fine, really. I've only tried it a few times with one person, and after the multiple failures I was too scared to try again so we gave up on each other." 

"Damn, I really didn't mean to bring that up."

"No, it's alright. Really." You sighed, "For now, I'm more focused on helping these kids get better and enjoy ballet cuz it can be a lot of fun." 

You could still see he was slightly upset by your news, so you decided to change the topic. 

"So Mr. Stevens-"

"Erik." 

"Yes, Erik." You smiled, "I'm curious to know about your natural talent. Did you dance when you were younger?"

"Nah. I always knew how to dance, but not this ballet shit. I was in the Navy and I did a bunch of training that made me work on stealth. I guess it counted for more than military stuff." 

"Ohhh, okay that makes sense."  

It was silent for a moment, until both of you tried to speak at the same time.

"You first." He insisted.

"Well I was hoping that I'll see you next month for the Father's Day dance class. I stopped doing them cuz the dads wouldn't show up, but I mean a big, strong guy like you decided to come to the Mother's Day class, so I thought, why not? I would love to have you again, it was really fun."

"I did this for Aaliyah, let's make that clear." He stated, attempting to come off as if he didn't enjoy the class.

"Yeah, yeah." You rolled your eyes, "Ballet isn't only for women. I'm sure you would've been the next Carlos Acosta if you started out when you were younger." 

"Who?" Erik raised his eyebrow. 

"He's a ballet dancer. But anyways, you should come. We can do more lifts and tricks, it'll be fun."

"We?" He gave you a suggestive look. That only made you blush and turn your head.

"Anyways! So will you be joining us again?" 

He scratched his beard, "On one condition."

"Which is?" 

He knew you were quite interested after he caught you staring more than once during the class. "Let me take you out on a date and we'll see what happens from there."

You were taken aback, "A d-date?"

"Yeah, I wanna get to know you more and see why my daughter likes you so much." 

Your heart was beating so loudly, you were convinced that Erik could hear it. "I uh- y-yeah, sure. Why not?"

"Great." He smiled, showing off his gold fangs that you just took notice of. 

Aaliyah came back with two packs of skittles, a pack of starbursts and Doritos. She watched you both exchange numbers. "I'm back!" 

"Ready to go, Li?" He turned to his daughter after you finished giving him your number.

"Yep! Bye Miss (Y/n)!"

"Goodbye, sweetheart. See you next weekend. Bye Erik, see you soon." 

He winked at you as he walked out, "Bye, Miss (Y/n)."  The door finally locked, and the butterflies that were flying rampant in your stomach had finally settled down.

"What was she writing in your phone?" Aaliyah asked Erik while eating a handful of Skittles.

"None of your business, girl." He replied, taking the bag of starbursts out of her hand.

"Aww, you never tell me anything!" She huffed.

"That ain't true." He disagreed, popping two pink starbursts into his mouth.

"Yeah!"

"No."

"Yeah, it is!"

"No, it ain't."

The two bickered back and forth until they were in his Range Rover. 

"You like her, don't you?" Aaliyah teased. 

"Uhhh." He wasn't sure if he could answer that truthfully or just start another debate with his daughter again.

"It's okay daddy, I like her too." She said, buckling up as he started the engine.

He grinned at her through his rearview mirror, "Yeah, she's cool."

"Can we get ice cream?" 

"You got ice cream money?"

"Daaadddy?!" She whined.

"I'm just playing, let's go." He laughed, pulling out of the parking lot and heading towards the ice cream parlour. 

Happy Mother's Day! - I know this wasn't that much about Mother's Day, but I didn't want to write your typical Mother's Day one-shot. I wanted to make it unique. 

I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter. If you haven't guessed it, I am in fact a dancer. 

I do ballet, acro and jazz (I've done other dances, but this is what I've been doing this year). I didn't want to get too technical with the ballet glossary terms because it would come off as gibberish, unless you are a ballet dancer as well.

If you dance, let me know. What style? If you do ballet, are you with RAD? I am. 

Thank you for reading!

(Start/Finish: May 10, 2019 - May 11, 2019)

2023 Note: Forgot to upload this on Mother’s Day, so here it is on Father’s Day instead :P 

[joshriku]

hi!! I saw a rec list of yours where you were like, "i actually have more but some of them are just the real popular ones so im like. Yeah youve read it." -- but I HAVENT!! I'm brand new to cherik and looking for those ultimate recs, those smash hits. could you rec some ultimate cherik fic, if you have the time? i'm not big on fluff but anything too cutesy but otherwise I'm totally open!!! thank you in advance!

hiii :D i would absolutely recommend you to also browse the tag filtering it by kudos because i tend to filter out some things and i also tend to be picky with stuff so there's probably Smashing Hits(tm) i overlooked bc i was like 'nahh im not in the mood today' and my god there are so many good authors and fics that probs go undiscovered by ME. so do make sure you don't miss out on Those Hits

that being said i went through my bookmarks and i'm grabbing those ones with thousands of kudos (bc to me A Lot of Kudos are anything over 100 but i know some cherik fics have liek 5k or more so. i rec going thru the tag fr) so if i repeat myself from the other recs im very sorry but teehee here you go!!!!

these are all like. well. they don't have major trigger warnings or bad endings so enjoy

two lonely souls in a fish bowl by blarfkey: this is really more centered around pietro and erik but the cherik in it is mmmmmwah and also it's jsut so fucking good if you need to scratch that itch of 'damn i wish pietro had told erik he was his dad' like the rest of us. it's so so so good and IT'S A WHOLE SERIES SO CHECK THAT OUT THEY'RE ALL SO GOOOOD.

been there, done that by asyouwish: time loop fic! fucking love that. erik gets stuck in a timeloop before the cuba thing happens. i love seeing littl emen suffer trapped in time

i don't want to wake up on my own anymore by pocky_slash: my bookmark tag here says 'something about erik sleeping' so i reread it and i was like oghggoghg erik sleeping....so YEAH.

orphans of forgetting by pocky_slash: AHGP okay this one's fucking good listen to me. i like men going through emotional trials that fucks them up but gives them an emotionally fulfilling result. this fics good

the pretender by clocks: au where erik fake proposes to charles to get free food. they're still mutants. apparently i bookmarked this one saying 'im going to cry' and now i remember i was jsut really emotional that day and there was no reason to cry as it is a very good and funny fic. help

the whole world wants what we're on by waketosleep: and there was only one bed!

mi casa, su casa by zairaA: i love this one. it's so fun to read. charles moves into his new apartment only to find out erik already lived there. i love this fic.

shalom malakh by zairaa: ive read this oen so many times and only now ive connected the dots that it's the same author. david haller is in this fic. 10/10 showstoppin gi love MY BOYYYYYY !!!!!! but other than that it's so fucking good. what's better than coming back from the dead to haunt ur loved ones AM I RIGHT..

still life with cookies by ren: this one's cute. like a romcom. the pining on this one is so good and enjoyable i liked it so much

a nice boy (the family matters edition) by pocky_slash: IVE RECCED THIS BEFORE. BUT LIKE 2 WEEKS AGO I REREAD IT AND I CRIED SO LIKE HERE IT GOES AGAIN

x marks the spot by the hoyden: i fuckign lvoe this fic. every time i reread it i blink and it's over even though its like 20k words but it's jsut THAT good!!!!

the courtship by danveresque: what's better than canon characters cherik. REINCARNATIPON FICS . fuck my life thsi fic stresse dme out so bad but it was so good. i love it.

never too late to be who you might have been by acetamide: charles and erik wake up in the future (the 2000s timeline movies) and only remember up until what they know before the cuban missile crisis. chaos but also sweet shit :)

tessellation by nekosmuse: i feel like ive mentioned this one before. no MATTER. it's GOOD. IT FUCKS ME UP SO BAD. it does messes with comic canon and also the xmen animated series so it's PERFECT FOR ME and i really do feel it's a classic. liek. 3k kudos should attest for a classic yeah. magneto is a charles xavier enjoyer. they meet. fall in love. Shit Happens. but like it's my favorite.

i think those are all the fics i have that are over 1k kudos long weeps.. again i SUPER encourage you to filter it by kudos when you go the charles/erik tag bc there are SO many fics with SO much content so please enjoy! i accidentally opened the tag and filtered it on august 2021 and i keep going through it. 2 years later yeah. i'm in like page 157 of it. we all make mistakes. but thank you for the ask and i hope you enjoy! :)

[supersizemeplz]

Screams in the Night

Part Three

Werewolf!Erik x Black PlusSized Reader

Another #supersizedfic short. A continuation of the mini collection of fics. Long awaited, and I hope you enjoy. I know it’s not halloween yet, but we’re just going with the flow.

Sound

Leaves. Loud. Crunchy. Engulfing. Its sounds surrounded you as if there was on an endless path of leaves ahead of you. Their shifting and moving were the only thing to let you know you were still outside.

Smell.

Outside. Speaking of outside, it smelt like it. If that made sense. Mud. Grass. Flowers. Dirt. All of the smells hitting you at once. Their distinct aromas mixing with the air around you. You felt so dirty.

Touch

Dirty. Ugh. You definitely felt that. Though your hands were bound by the wrists above your head, your body could still feel. You could feel your fear coursing through you. You could feel that your were being dragged. You could feel the mud and dirt against the back of your thighs and legs as you slid along. You could feel the burn of the rope that held your wrists in bondage as he tugged you away. You could feel the burning of your scrapes and scars, both fresh and not too old. There was no way you weren't bleeding, if even just a bit.

Taste

Blood. Speaking of it. You could taste the metallic of it in your mouth. There were plenty of nasty falls you'd taken. With those came a few bites to your tongue and definitely a busted lip. Licking the wound of your lip subconsciously, you now knew for a fact that you'd busted your shit. You couldn't see it but it was there.

Sight

See. Close, open. You couldn't really see shit from the slits of your eyes. Close, open. Whether it was you hitting you head a few times or the last hit you'd taken when you tried to escape the truck, it had done a number on you. Your head was aching a little though it was the least of your worries. Close, open. So focused on trying to get a glimpse of something helpful -maybe even a sign of where you were- you were using your energy to fight the sleep that had been trying to invade. Close, open. Nothing. You couldn't make out a damned thing. You were so fucked. Close..Close..Closed. Your eyelids wouldn't budge.

So fucked.

.......

"Ahhh, and my omega awakens.." His voice greeted you. Raspy and distorted from your grogginess. "How are we feeling?" Squinting your eyes, you could only make out one thing in the mass of light.

His shadowy figure. Strong and dominant.

"Fuckk." Your groan was soft as you winced. Damn near unnoticed by the half distracted male that shared the room with you. The head ache had eased but the soreness from your cuts and bruises were still there. Dull, but there. "Where.. where am I?"

He turned to you, smiling. "You're safe, princess. Don't worry." You'd only made that out because the light caught those golden canines aside from faint facial features. At least your vision was getting better. "I patched you up, though it'll take a while for some of the scars to heal."

You blinked a few more times, slowly clearing your vision up to really take things in. He finally came into view, back turned as he messed with something on the dresser. Looking around, you took in the setting.

Soft, dark bed sheets soothed your skin. The silk cool as you softly moved your covered legs. You could bend them though it hurt a bit. As long as you could move and use them, that's all that mattered. Pillows cushioned you as you rested in a propped position. Looking to your left, there was a nightstand. Nearly blank aside from a clock and a water bottle.

"I'm sure that you feel the beating your body took from running. The medicine is most likely wearing off.." He turned to you, finally revealing his face. A faded scar rested above his eye, bandaged but healed faster than you'd ever seen. You stared at it as he approached. ".. here take these. It'll help."

You became alert at that, moving away from the paper cup of pills he offered. A small gasp left your lips when you'd tried to lift your hands to knock the medicine away. Bracelets of some sort that had your wrists glued to the bed without chains or ropes. "What the fuck?" Meeting his eyes, you could see the amusement in them.

"As feisty as you are, I needed to have some type of security.." He sat on the bed next to you, chuckling. "For my protection, of course. Now.. Be a good girl and open up." The cup came closer to your lips and you folded them in. Like a child who refused to eat their veggies.

He leaned forward, blindly sitting the pills on the nightstand. "You're as feisty as you wanna be.. huh?" His words were slow and directed as he spoke. Him cracking a smile, you kept his eye contact to show your dominance. You hate that he'd smelled so heavenly, and if your mouth wasn't so dry you'd spit at him. The faint aroma of his cologne was working against you.

You mumbled a curse at him, hoping to hurt his ego a bit. Though he took the insult without a change in interest for you. It'd attracted him more. Admiring your full lips, he licked his own. "So pretty, yet your mouth is filthy." He chuckled, lifting his hand to brush a finger against your cheek.

You moved your head again, leaning from his touch more. "I'm not doing shit until you get me out of these cuffs." He watched you as you spoke. His gaze fell on your lips again while he sat quietly. Standing from the bed, he picked up the medicine once again.

"Let's make a deal. I'm a reasonable guy.." His words were accompanied by the crackling of the water bottle from the nightstand. "I'll get rid of the cuffs, if you take your pills and promise to be good for me. I know you're in pain and don't want you suffering like that. Deal?"

You'd been ignoring the throbbing of your head for a while, focusing all your attention on him. The pain from your legs were a bit nagging as well. Soreness held your back captive and you looked to the pills before you. Dammit, you did need them. "If it makes you feel any batter, they're aleeve. Store bought, I promise." He added and you glared at him.

Sighing in defeat, you slowly nodded your head. Agreeing to take the possible capsules of death. He smiled at your answer, bringing them to your parted lips. "That's a good girl." His words followed with the bottle of water. You couldn't help but gulp that down, leaving nearly nothing in the bottle. "See. You're fine, no funny business."

He was right. You'd felt no different as you sat there, but you wait a while to see if it really would help your pain. "And our deal?" Looking to him, he nodded. With two taps to his phone, you were free. The cuffs falling from your wrists and ankles with ease. Immediately, you rubbed your wrists with a hiss. You didn't care to thank him, rewarding him instead with silence.

He moved back across the room, tossing the paper cup into a small trash bin. Once he'd disposed of the water bottle, he rested back against the wall before you. His eyes were on you, watching you as you silently looked to the bed sheets. It was almost as if you had accepted your fate, which surprised due to the short time its been since you came too.

You thought back to the car ride to the haunted trail. You, your boyfriend, and your friends belting out the lyrics to your playlist. The laughter that came when your boyfriend tried to hit a high note, as if he could ever match pitch with Beyoncè. Your bestfriend cheering him on, and her boyfriend finding that to be the funniest thing on earth. Those were your last happy moments with them. They were gone, and you were left to only remember them.

After what seemed like forever, you finally spoke up. He'd waited until you were ready. "Why me?" You mumbled, catching his attention. He stood of from his relaxed position, stepping forward to the bed. You didn’t acknowledge that, waiting for his answer. “What’s so fucking special about me?”

He rounded the bed slowly, faintly grinning as his hand trailed along your leg. Tingles followed his touch the farther up he went. He stopped just above your knee, chuckling to himself. “I can’t actually put my finger on it. It’s like.. I was honestly planning to be on my best behavior. Then you came along, your scent hit me first. I’d perked up like a cub at your sweet, sweet scent..” Taking a deep breath, he smiled as he exhaled.

You furrowed your eyebrows, disturbed by the darkness news that engulfed his pupils. “I’d played it off, nonchalantly looking for the owner. Then your group walked up, and once I laid eyes on you. My heart sped up.” He licked his lips, giving you that handsome smile of his. Why were all the fine men you encountered weird in some way? “Then you spoke and your voice was like honey. Soft and sweet with those alluring eyes to match. And like a sailor to a siren, I was in a trance.”

He looked to your lips, catching your chin as he leaned closer. You held your breath, captured by his beautiful eyes. A small gasp leaving your lips. “Don’t you see, princess. You had to be mine.”

_________

Tag-list:

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(If you would like to be removed, please let me know)

[mst3kproject]

Light Blast

What’s this?  A death ray movie in which we actually see stuff get death rayed?  Aw, man, that might disqualify it for MST3K right there!  Fortunately for us, however, Light Blast was directed by Enzo Castellari, who brought us Escape 2000, and it stars Erik Estrada. Estrada was never on MST3K but he was on pretty much all the 70’s cop shows they kept referencing, including Mannix and Police Woman, and Mike and the bots would never have let him forget it.

So what do we want out of a death ray movie?  I dunno, some faces melting like the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark would be cool, and Light Blast apparently read my mind on that count because we get the first melting face action before the ten minute mark! A couple of young people go to have sex in a boxcar (this scene includes a real classy upskirt shot, just three minutes in) while the bad guy tests his death ray, and in the fine tradition of kids just trying to bone at the beginning of movies, they get zapped.  Meanwhile, somewhere else, Erik Estrada in a speedo takes down a couple of bank robbers by hiding a gun inside a roast turkey.

This is gonna be a weird movie, isn’t it?

Sadly, Light Blast never again rises to that height of absurdity.  Evil Professor Yuri Svoboda has a death ray, and has decided to hold the city of San Francisco hostage for the princely sum of:

Was that even a lot of money in 1985?  According to dollartimes the conversion rate is about 2.5, so that would be $12.5 million today... still seems a little low for a major city.  Anyway.

To show he means business, Svoboda death rays the announcer’s box at a demolition derby.  Thence ensues a series of extremely uninspired car chases and a scene in which Estrada is repeatedly kicked in the avocados by a woman dressed as a nurse (I liked that bit).  Eventually he puts the pieces of the puzzle together, and never even bothers to tell us what the finished picture looks like before running off to what looks like it’ll be the final Power Plant Confrontation.  No such luck.  Svoboda escapes again, and Estrada has to chase him down to the final final confrontation.

There are two things here Castellari seems to really like. One is digital clocks, which are frequently the focus of the death ray for some reason.  The other is men staggering around on fire, filmed in the type of loving slow motion that turns this agonizing death into a moment of over-dramatic hilarity.  Remember in the Making Of Documentary for Return of the King, when Peter Jackson acknowledges that Denethor falling off the top of Minas Tirith while on fire is ridiculous?  Enzo Castellari is definitely not that self-aware.

He is also fond of car chases.  There are three or four of them in Light Blast and they’re competent, I guess.  They’re definitely better than the budget version you sometimes see in really cheap movies, in which the camera turns to watch one vehicle pass by, then repeats the shot with another.  There was probably a storyboard and so forth.  But they’re still pretty monotonous and mostly just look like people driving around with no sense of a destination or a narrative.  Instead, the movie tries to add interest by giving them ‘gimmicks’.

In one of the chases, Estrada doesn’t want the villain to know he’s being followed, so rather than using his own vehicle, he just hops into random people’s cars and makes them do the following.  In one he shows his badge and tells the driver he’s a cop. In another he tells the woman driving that he’s playing a practical joke on a friend from college.  Astonishingly, he never gets slapped or shot.

In another, he steals a race car in order to chase down Svoboda, who is fleeing to a boat from which he plans to death ray the entire city or something.  This chase includes two separate shots in which Estrada jumps the race car over some obstacle in his way, again filmed in slow motion.  In neither was there any sort of ramp to get the car off the ground. It’s like that scene in Speed where the fucking bus somehow jumps over a gap in the highway except they did it twice and slowly to give the audience time to think about how stupid it is. Then Estrada jumps the car again onto Svoboda’s boat, which has already left the dock, and somehow manages to stop on a dime rather than falling into the water.

I recognize that movies are not bound by the laws of physics, but those that get away with breaking them do so by walking a fine line. Things have to look possible. People running away from explosions looks like it should work, and very few of us have ever been in a position to find out what it’s actually like first-hand (partly because those of us who have probably didn’t live to tell about it).  The car jumps?  Nah.

Wikipedia includes a couple of reviews of this film that have been translated, not very well, from Italian.  They’re kind of hard to understand but they do seem to fixate on the preponderance of car chases.  They also reference another staple of 80’s action movies, which is excessive police brutality.  Estrada shoots a whole bunch of people, breaks into a power plant and a funeral home, steals cars, causes a dozen accidents and untold property damage, and bullies his girlfriend into risking her job in order to get him the information he needs.  Our hero, ladies and gentlemen.

Other clichés drift by.  The villain gives a pretty classic monologue all about how he Showed Those Fools At The Academy and how his death ray will make him supreme ruler of the world and he’ll bring about a new age of peace.  There’s a bit where Estrada and his partner, the Tall Guy (these characters do have names, I just don’t care) sit down at the kitchen table and put together what they’ve learned… but instead of some exposition to tell us, the audience, what that is, we get a Ryan And Shane Look For Forrest Fenn’s Treasure montage but without the irony.  We can just barely hear fragments of voices through this, as the characters talk about it… enough to tease us with what they know and we don’t.

I dunno, it’s possible the audience is supposed to have already figured this stuff out and I just wasn’t paying attention.  I was pretty bored during most of this movie.

During the montage, the bad guys sneak up outside Estrada’s house (which is on a boat?  I think?) and open fire, basically shooting everybody but Estrada himself, who escapes completely unharmed.  His personality-deficient girlfriend isn’t so lucky… but she was only in this movie so it would have a part for Estrada’s real-life girlfriend Peggy Rowe. This bit is right up there with The Phantom Creeps as a perfect example of why Women In Fridges is screenwriting for hacks.  Estrada is already determined to get these guys.  He already cares about the people they’ve killed in the past and the ones they plan to kill in the future!  He is already frustrated by his failures to catch them!  ‘Making it personal’ is completely unnecessary!  Did the writers really think her death would add anything, or were they just trying to fill up their Action Movie Cliché Bingo card?

In the villain’s evil monologue, Svoboda reveals that apparently Estrada killed his wife?  I guess she was the mortician?  This doesn’t help, because I don’t think Svoboda actually knows that Estrada’s girlfriend is dead and even if he does, she wasn’t his target. His henchmen were after Estrada and Tall Guy.

Then there’s the ending, which is in no way a ‘climax’ and barely even counts as an ‘end’.  Remember I said Estrada jumps his racecar onto Svoboda’s boat?  This knocks the death ray over and it melts Svoboda himself.  Estrada watches this, then basically just shrugs and walks the fuck away.  So… that was it?  No confrontation?  No fight? Just a failure to properly secure the superweapon?

Isn’t the rest of the boat gonna melt now, too?  In previous uses the death ray seemed to melt things over a fairly wide area.  Isn’t anyone worried about that?  No, we’re just rolling the credits?  Okay, fine. At least the movie’s over.

Is there anything nice I can say about Light Blast? Well… I guess it passes the Bechdel Test.  There’s a bit, completely irrelevant to the plot, where two women who work at the police station discuss perfume.  It’s as if one of the writers had read about the Bechdel Test and shoved that in there just to pass it, without bothering to think about what the point of the ‘test’ is.

For all I’ve bitched about it, Light Blast isn’t a full on disaster.  It’s merely a mediocre 80’s action movie.  What makes it so damn disappointing is the wackiness of that early scene with Estrada in his underwear and the gun in the turkey.  That bit has the same effect as naming your movie Hercules Against the Moon Men – it gives the audience the impression that you have a sense of humour, and then the rest of the film can be nothing but the slow downward spiral of realizing that you were, in fact, serious.  Even then, it still could have been fun if the writers and director had kept up that kind of cheese throughout but no… Light Blast couldn’t even be bad enough to be good.

If any of you MSTies reading this are aspiring film-makers, let this be the lesson for you: the introduction of your main character sets the tone.  Do that wrong, or in a way that doesn’t match the rest of your movie, and you’re sunk. And if you only have one interesting or funny idea, for love of Apearlo put that at the end of the movie, not the beginning!

[eye-raq]

Lethal Lust.

A snippet.

Rage flowed through him like molten lava.

His fury sprang to life.

His edge of irritation had definitely returned.

Today, at approximately 3:15 am, on Saturday, he was wearing a suit. A Harrogate Black Indochino suit made with 95% Merino Wool, and only 5% luxurious Cashmere; which was a shame because it added warmth, softness, and lightness. His feet were covered in D-ring detail Monogram Patent Leather formal dress shoes by Burberry. Fixing his silver cufflinks with obvious aggressiveness, he began to walk the length of the hallway.

It wasn’t a typical hallway located in a fancy banquet or ballroom. No. It was narrow and smelly. Windowless, and ancient. Gloomy with a sadistic secret. Hideously colored. Cold and annoyingly stuffy. And to top it all off, accompanied with flickering fluorescent light bulbs and walls with chipped off-white paint. When he walked,  you could hear the sound of his dress shoes bouncing off of the hollow walls. His hands were clasped behind his back casually, whistling to himself a random catchy tune he came up with. Godspeed to the person he was looking for, the one that earned him a bloody lip that leaked onto his once perfectly crisp and white dress shirt.

This was child’s play. Hide and seek was for five-year-olds named Sally, Susie, Billy, and Mikey. So much for trying to be a different kind of horror. No matter how much he veered away from that narrative, people still found him to be like Micheal Myers. How he couldn’t tell you. Micheal was clearly otherworldly and not human. As for him, he was all human. One gunshot to the head and he would drop to his knees with eyes as wide as saucers, falling forehead first in a pool of blood. One quick step and a precise strike with a Karambit knife would slice open his gut leading to a slow, yet painful death.

Speaking of knives, he was currently holding a kukri: a middle Asia knife that is weighed in the front. It gives the user more downward force and power. Commonly used to chop down tree limbs, or in his case...human limbs.

With sharp ears like a wolf, he could hear breathing. Struggling, pained breathing. It was coming from his right. Oh, how nice...a dark room with a tiny rusted window that reminded you of a dank basement that belonged to a serial killer. Funny...he was a serial killer. Not like a Ted Bundy, or a Jeffrey Dahmer. Nah, those were the kinds he went after. Those were the ones who ended up here in his secret layer holding on to their last breaths before the final image they see is the morgue lights.

He could taste blood. His anger felt so good but it would feel even better if he just had that son of a bitch. His nostrils flared. With twitching eyes, he made his way into that pitch black room like he had night vision goggles on. With his hunting and tracking skills, he makes his way slyly into the room, twirling that Kukri knife in hand skillfully like a switchblade. Taking in a deep breath, then exhaling, he finally speaks.

“Funny...I actually thought to tie your legs with a chain but the urge to kill you was eating away at me. Excuse my fault...you won’t have long to worry about that shit anyway.”

Moving his eyes from left to right, he walks along the cold concrete wall, dragging that knife across it with every step.

“You won’t believe what I have in my hand. It’s your Kukri. You’re familiar with those, right? You use them a lot when you murder all those girls, correct? I can understand why it gets the job done.”

He takes the knife and places it firmly in his grip, walking with a rigid form. He could smell the alcohol and infection on him and it was only a matter of time before he unleashed again on his prey. His disgusting prey. The prey who preyed on little girls...one, in particular, Samara Jenkins.

—————-

15 hours ago:

“This is NBC 6, South Florida News. Today, Miami Police found the body of the missing six-year-old girl: Samara Ella Jenkins. Daughter to pastors of Heavenly Home Baptist Church, Ertha Jenkins, and Sydney Jenkins. Their daughter had been missing for over two weeks now. Miami police have been searching day in, and day out for this missing pure soul, and today...they finally made a discovery.”

Erik watched while the news reporter drowns on. The camera scanned the Everglades. It looked particularly dry and withering; a fucking Gator central. With narrow hawk eyes, a single vein appearing in the middle of his forehead, he took in the news he really wanted to hear, no matter how hard it was to listen. He needed to listen. It was his God-given duty to listen.

“Young Samara was found here in the wetlands wrapped in a trash bag, surrounded by Alligators. It took great difficulty at first, but the Police have confirmed that it is indeed Samara. The family has asked for privacy at this time, and the immediate finding of her murderer.”

Pausing his TV, Erik got up from his seated position, walking through his living room and towards the kitchen. His steel toe Doc Martens dragged across the freshly placed tile of his Miami apartment, walking past the black marble kitchen island and directly towards his office. It was time. If his memory serves him, it had been almost a month since his last kill. The urge was building up so much within him he was ready to combust. The sound of his Father's old grandfather clock that was given to him as a gift before he died ticked in the background eerily. Finally, standing in front of his fireproof wall safe, Erik cracked his combination. Pulling open the door slowly, he came face to face with his treat.

He’d like to call it… a souvenir. He took pride in it like a child did a sand castle on the beach. They served as trophy cases to him. There, lies a box with blood slides. In it housed 46 slides of his victims. Taking the box, Erik places it on top of his glass desk. Opening the box, he ran a single finger gently across the top of the slides as the glass slightly clattered. At times, he would refer to the slides as “my secret” or other times, “my pride kills...my friends.”

It’s funny that he called them friends. A few he caught the attention of by raising a glass with an easy-going smile. For others, he would pick up a random conversation from maybe bumping shoulders about the Miami weather and how shitty their jobs were. Or even, dropping a hint of sexual interest that always seemed to work since his looks were beyond dismal. Ordinary. Regular. No. Erik was handsome. The kind of handsome you would find in a Calvin Klein add or sitting in VIP at some high-end club surrounded by models. Not a woman could walk by and not stop and stare.

“I guess I gotta make it 47,” he lets out controlled breaths, eyes watering with anger. The person's blood who would reside on the empty forensic slide goes by the name of Dean Orrin. 38 years old and an ex-military man. A man who should be registered as a Pedophile but instead walks the streets of South Beach proud and cocky. This man, what a son of a bitch. This redneck.  Such a waste of fresh air and space. The raging alcoholic and child abuser worked as a Respiratory Therapist at a children’s hospital. Can you believe it? A fucking children’s hospital. His shifts were Monday through Thursday, 9 am to 5 pm. He drove a 1992 Ford Mustang in red, seats covered in fresh leather.

Too bad the vintage car didn’t match this man’s physical appearance.

He was short, balding, square-shaped with a beer belly and a faux-friendly face that belonged to a white man you wouldn’t dare assume was a murderer of young black and Latina girls ranging from the ages of 4 to 10.

Erik would sit outside of Dean’s Miami Shores home on Ne 92nd Street. He lived alone, kept the doors unlocked to give off a friendly vibe,  picked up the newspaper every day around 8:00 am, and ate the same old Salisbury steak TV dinner around 7:45 pm in front of his flat screen; his prized possession. One evening while Dean was away, Erik took the time to investigate Dean’s home. Of course, he would find child pornography on his computer, and even worse an entirely dark room with cardboard boxes filled with photographs of his victims bound and naked.

Erik picked up a picture of little Samara, afraid and weak with ropes around her little body. His eyes watered with rage, biting down on his tongue and ignoring the pain. He felt worse pain anyway. This was sickening. How could you hurt such an innocent child? Such pure light? It made no sense to him. Clearly, Dean had something deep and traumatic going on with him to resort to this type of lifestyle. Erik had demons too, and he sometimes wondered if they were all one and the same; a family of murderers United. He’d keep Samaras photo, it would only serve to kill Dean even more. Slide number 47 would be clean no longer.

Erik has built a file on this man for over a month now. After finding out about the murder of his Neighbors young Latina daughter, Cassie, age 8, he began to piece together the parts that Miami Day Police failed to do.

Dean’s way of going about doing things was getting to know the children that came through Giving Hands Children’s Hospital in South Beach. He would give them treats, learn things about them, and extract whatever information he needed from their files. No personal contact involving the parents, no meetups or anything, just getting the information and kidnapping the children.

He didn’t do it so often. Dean’s stretch would be at least a month or two in between. Samara was his fourth murder. Erik broke it down one rainy night in his office how Dean successfully snatched Samara and killed her. Heavenly Home Baptist Church held fundraisers for their neighborhood. The last night Samara was seen, only two weeks ago on a Thursday, was the night of Youth Day. It was an open house for anyone to come in and be a part of because Heavenly Hope housed generous, God-fearing people. Little Samara took her badminton racket to the back lawn, never telling her mother she was going out for some fresh air. She’d been gone for over an hour and Miss Ertha made a plate filled with Samaras favorites.

Well, you could probably guess what happened next, right? Everyone at that church searched high and low for her. Her parents and siblings had sleepless nights, signs and billboards were made, all in a span of two weeks. It hurts deep like an open wound. Erik never had kids, probably never will...but still...he could feel their pain. No matter, Erik was a man of his word. He wasn’t great in combat with a keen skill in blood spatter analysis, tracking, and weapons training for nothing. He’d put all of that to good use.

———

Saturday, April 1st: the day of fools. 1:30 am.

Sitting in an expensive suit that he intended to wear on a date, Erik finally finds the perfect opportunity to catch Dean. Erik could only hope that his date wouldn’t be angry with him, after all, she practically begged.

This motherfucker couldn’t be serious, could he?

He was already drunk off of Jack Daniels and now he was gearing towards entering an 18 and over club on Ocean Drive. The rage in Erik boiled his blood. Was Dean trying to age up his victims now? Is cockiness getting to him since he hadn’t been caught yet?

All of these things added to Erik’s fury, but the fury was what he needed to stay amped up. Anger for Erik made him more proud. He was correct to lay down an extra layer of plastic this time.

“Sick motherfucker,” Erik shakes his head, a single finger tapping at the steering wheel of his burner car that he used for kills; some beat up old Chevy with a stolen license plate.

This vigilante never sleeps when it comes to a kill.

Just stay in the shadows, Erik…

Night time is your time.

You have to be cunning to outwit your foes. The flashing club lights ignited his face purple, red, and blue. Bodies moved about in packs, sweat dripping and fingers intertwined. Erik could almost feel the heart beats racing among him. Young and naive they all were, especially the young girl Dean was eyeing.

She looked to be about 19, a drink in her hand and braids so long they swept the backs of her legs. She twirled, shouted to the music, and twerked in her own little world. Dean was compelled. Erik could see the killing fetish in his eyes so deep his pupils dilated an almost pitch black. Erik wanted badly to choke him up right here and finish the job but then that wouldn’t help him, would it? Keeping to the shadows, Erik watched until it was time for him to make his move.

———-

“Feel like making a deal with the devil?”

The young girl with honeyed skin and full lips turns to Dean, a little jumpy from being caught off guard. She regarded him, eyes squinted.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, do you feel like making a deal with the devil?”

Dean pulls out a baggy filled with LSD, swinging it in front of her face. The girl was tempted for a second, that was until she looked back at Dean and saw the sweat covering his face, a faded tattoo of a pentagram on the inside of his wrist, and the maniacal way he licked his lips.

“Uhm, no thanks. I’m okay.”

The young girl gave him a generous smile before sauntering away towards the back of the club. Clearly, Dean didn’t like being told no. He stood still for what felt like minutes, staring at her retreating form until she disappeared around a corner and out of sight. Like clockwork, Dean follows, a hand deep in his pocket and shoulders hunched. It was time, Erik had to make a move now before the young girl became Dean’s new victim.

Ignoring lingering stares of passion that he didn’t like nor accepted, Erik maneuvered through the crowd as they parted like the Red Sea for him, finally around that corner and hot on Dean’s trail. Apparently, the young girl wasn’t going to the ladies. There was an exit straight ahead, the LED of the sign almost blinding and cryptic. With much more speed now, Erik dashes to the back door, black leather gloved hand pushing open the swinging doors.

His dress shoes met a puddle, and his hands clenched into fists. There was no sign of either of them.

Fuck.

Deciding to make a left, Erik followed his path down the narrow garbage filled alley, head moving from left to right to find him. To his luck, he could hear struggling, choking breaths. Keeping close to the wall, Erik looked around that corner at the edge of the alley, coming face to face with the devil himself.

Dean had the young girl smashed against the brick wall, his hand lazily rubbing under her skirt. Every time she tried to scream, Dean would smash her face further into the brick.

“Shut up...shut up...shut up...SHUT UP!!!” Dean yelled, spit flying and a snarl on his face. He looked red from anger.

“Keep still you black bitch!!!! Keep still or I will slit your fucking throat with my knife!”

Erik has seen enough now.

Pulling out his 9mm pistol with a silencer, Erik’s 20/20 sniper vision aided him as he aimed a bullet at Dean’s side, watching as the stout man fell to his knees in agonizing pain, releasing the young girl from his deadly grip. She kicked away and down the alley in the opposite direction, screaming in tears and limping. A life saved, and one before him ready to be taken away.

Erik watched with joy and triumph as Dean stared into the darkness with confusion and pain, rolling around in the mud, shit, piss, and garbage juice.

“WHOS THERE!!!!!!!!!!” He yelled between cries, blood staining his teeth.

“AM I GOING TO DIE?!!!PLEASE, NO. AM I GOING TO DIE HERE?!!!”

Erik made his way towards him, adjusting his gloves and storing away his gun. It was so dark, Dean couldn’t make him out, but he could hear his footsteps.

“OMG. Who’s there!!!!!!!!!!”

Erik picks Dean up one-handed by his collar, silencing him with a tranquilizer to the neck. Dean was now dead weight. Luckily, his car was parked on the other side of the alley, and the coast was clear.

———

“Wha? Where am I?”

Dean blinked twice, rubbing his right hand over his dry tears. Sniffling snot, wrists in pain from being wrapped in chains, Dean stares into the pitch black, figuring he had to be in the trunk of a car with the smell of gas and rubber. Was this his fate? Was God finally judging him?

Death clearly doesn’t discriminate.

He took the lives of young girls, so now the price to pay was his life.

And to think he had a chance tonight with another kill. Maybe, it was too soon to go out for another thrill.

He could feel his death.

The amount of pain he was in, he felt like he was dead already. Ah, now he remembers. Someone shot him in the ribs back in that alley. Aiming for his respiratory technique, Dean breathed slowly and steadily, trying his hardest to avoid the feeling of his own blood dripping from his gunshot wound. If only he could apply pressure without bleeding out so much.

Whoever this person was wanted to take their time with him.

The sound of the car door slamming followed by the car shaking from the impact made Dean go stiff. It was time to meet His executioner. And when his time is up, would they tell his story? Make him another missing person? Dean much rather be seen in the spotlight like the Zodiac Killer had been. Too bad he wasn’t swift enough. Was it a parent of one of his victims? an off duty cop who just had to bring work home?

Whistling began.

“What?” Dean’s voice was scratchy and pathetic sounding.

With the trunk now open, Dean could feel the humid air of Miami pour in. Catching his breath and bracing himself, Dean came face to face with an unfamiliar foe. He had dreads braided back, a crisp suit that must have cost a fortune, hands covered with leather gloves and eyes so cold they could petrify you. He looked like a mercenary, or maybe a hit man. He was young, could be around early thirties. He smiled sadistically. Fuck. Was this bastard as crazy as him?

“It takes a monster to destroy a monster.”

That statement alone was bone chilling. He had the same kill stare but with a different goal.

“You’re playing my fucking game now. No little girls to touch and kill here. You should fear me.”

Swiftly, The unknown man grabbed Dean by the neck, pulling him up and out of the trunk. Dean rolled onto his elbow, pain shooting through his arm and dirt filling his lungs. It was so overbearing that he felt oxygen deprived. With his feet failing him, Dean tries to crawl away, but of course, that wouldn’t work, he was too fat and too weak.

“You can crawl all you want. Your fate remains the same, motherfucker.” Like the Hulk himself gripped his legs, Dean was dragged back across the ground, feet flapping and nails clawing at rocks and dirt. He could feel his skin splitting. With one struggling kick, his foot met the man’s face, bloodying his lip. No words were said then. His eyes were ice cold and demon like. Dean didn’t know what hit him, but those eyes made him get on his feet, and he ran into the abandoned building straight ahead. He didn’t hear the man’s footsteps, guessing that maybe he was too hurt to follow him and find him.

Little did Dean know his weapon of choice: a Kukri knife fell out of his back pocket. Erik has that very knife in his possession now, more than excited to use Dean’s weapon against him. This was going to be one hell of a bloody night.

——-

It was just too easy for him. He needed a challenge. That’s it...a challenge. Maybe a Russian who escaped prison and decided to go on a genocide killing spree. Or a calculated serial killer who played him at his own game. Dean was easy prey. They all had the same motive: hide in the most typical places, pray to themselves and breathe so loud the people down the road could hear, or worse, bleed out and leave a bloody trail. Dean’s wound was beginning to smell. Erik’s sense of smell when it came to infected, rotting, flesh was nearly non-existent. It didn’t bother him one bit.

All the lives he took when he killed in Afghanistan, Iraq, the States apart of JSOC and when he was an ex-assassin made it that way. The scars on his skin were there to prove it. Now, he did the kills without taking orders from no one.

“Dean...you fat ass motherfucker. Dirty, disgusting, sick, smelly ass, redneck, motherfucker.”

Erik drew in his bottom lip between his teeth, the sound of the leather gloves on his hand crunching from how tightly his fists were clenched.

“Why little Black and Latina girls, Dean? What’s so special about them? Is it the fact that they aren’t as privileged as your kind? The colonizers?”

Dean was so fucking stupid. How could someone go so long with precisely killing four little girls but hide where Erik could see him? In a dirty corner filled with old dusty crates and broken glass shards, Erik could see the silhouette of Dean Orrin. His body was practically leaning over from how weak he was. All that blood loss failed him. No energy, no will power, just dead weight.

Letting out a stressed sigh, Erik pocketed the Kukri, walking over to Dean. Picking him up by the back of his hoodie, hopefully choking him, he began to drag him across the dusty cobweb filled floor, startling him and causing him to scream.

“You a bitch, you know that? You kill little girls like you a man but wanna scream like a woman because you are about to die. I knew chicks more gangsta than you.”

Erik laughs hard, finally back in that hallway and headed towards his destination.

“Tell me,” Erik yanks him, hearing him choke up.

“Why little girls? Got raped when you were a kid? Touched your ex little daughter in her sleep and got a hard-on? What?!!!” Erik releases Dean, turning to yoke him up forcefully. Dean’s blurry and dizzy vision made Erik look like five Erik’s. He could still see the hard eyes though, they could never go forgotten.

“ANSWER. MY. FUCKING. QUESTION.”

Erik’s breathing was the only sound, Dean’s mind forcing him to speak but words couldn’t form. That pissed Erik off...oh...that made him mad. Erik’s eyes flickered a moment, before taking one hand to retrieve the Kukri, twirling it between his fingers, and ramming it into dean’s side, opening his gunshot wound further.

Dean’s screams were suspended in his throat, eyes watery and teeth grinding. His breath hit Erik’s nose causing him to drop him on the floor, back to dragging his lard ass leaving a bloody trail.

——

The old morgue was famous back in 95’ but it was closed due to concerns with keeping the dead cold until it was time for burial. It was gated off with grass growing so high gators could live here. No one dares to trespass, leaving it as a haunted destination to never visit. Erik had it soundproofed, and he fixed it up himself. He never used the morgue refrigerators, what was the point anyway? He didn’t care to slow up the decomposition phase. His job was to hunt, kill, and discard of the parts. Currently, in this fully double plastic-covered room, Erik had Dean on an operating table in the charnel house, head and feet restrained. He blinked up at the lights, failing to keep his eyes opened. Dean was already pale, now he looked almost chalky with skin leatherlike. Erik removed his suit jacket, hanging it neatly on a nearby coat rack. The sleeves to his white oxford shirt were rolled up to his elbows, surgical gloves on his hands and an entire surgical gown with goggles included to shield the blood splatter.

A medium force (velocity) impact spatter:

Produced with more energy or force than gravity.

The force of the impact causes the blood to break into smaller size splatters relative to the amount of force applied.

This type of splatter is usually seen in blunt force, stabbings, and secondary splatters.

Produced when the majority of larger drops of blood are broken into smaller spatters with diameters of 2-4 mm.

The force associated with this type of spatter is greater than 25 ft per second.

His first victim, Alejandra Lopez was just 4 years old. It was a rainy week in Miami; they called for thunderstorms around 90%. She was riding her little training wheel bike colored blue and pink down a small suburb in Little Havana. Her slicker hood was up, rain droplets shielding her vision but so what? she was on a mission. Her dad nicknamed her little trainer, speedy. Giggling, she made a sharp turn, only to fall off and in the gutter. She winced in pain slightly, but Alejandra was tough. Her mother was passed out drunk on the couch while her father was pulling doubles at the auto shop. Alejandra carefully lifted from the gutter, whipping off the mud from her slicker. As her doe grey eyes lifted, she came face to face with her murder. He struck her over the head with a lead pipe, watching as her tiny body fell to the concrete, cracking her skull further…

Erik couldn’t sleep after seeing that on the news.

So terrible.

The thought of that crossed his mind just now, causing him to pick up a broken lead pipe he found near a construction site on his way home from the beach. Twirling that lead pipe in hand, he turns to Dean, clearing his throat.

“You remember Alejandra? In Little Havana?”

Dean swallows spit, his eyes struggling to look to his right where Erik was standing.

“I-I-Yeah..yeah the little Mexican girl. I-I remember…” Dean began to cry.

“You remember how you used a pipe to crack her skull?” Erik’s grip on the pipe grew tight and painful.

“...yes…”

“How did that make you feel?”

“...good...but please...don’t…”

“There will be blood, Dean. And guess what? I got a lead pipe.”

Erik began to walk forward, pipe resting on his shoulder.

“WHO ARE YOU TO DECIDE MY FATE?!!! HUH??!!!!!!” Dean screamed at the top of his lungs, causing himself to cough up blood. He was going to die anyway, no use in screaming.

“I’m the Judge. Jury. And Executioner. Don’t fucking bark if you can’t bite.” He sounded baneful and destructive.

Everything went silent, that was until the pipe broke the wind from how forceful Erik’s blow was. Erik aimed that pipe to Dean’s head, the sound of his temporal bone splitting music to his ears. Dean shook, fingers twitching, and eyes wide with pain. His nose began to leak, eyes watering in agony. At this point, he could beg for instant death. Erik did damage for sure, his brain must be ricocheting in his skull right now.

An ugly laugh escaped Erik’s mouth, the sound of the pipe hitting plastic only audible to him since Dean’s hearing was no more.

“I-I-I w-won’t Let you-you…” Dean chokes on blood. His heart rate began to slow further.

“The question isn’t who’s going to let me. It’s who’s going to stop me?” Erik took this as an opportunity to pull out his Kukri. Yes, his now.

“I can imagine how many times you wipe this clean. Fucking sick...and I thought my traumatic past was bad? I can’t imagine yours…”

Holding the knife firm, Erik brought it to Dean’s right hand, cutting it off cleanly. At this point, Dean couldn’t even scream. He was already dying, all he could do was wither in pain. Cutting the hands of a pedophile. You touch young girls and murder them, you get your hands amputated. His dick getting cut off sounded great but Erik didn’t even want to SEE IT. Without saying another word, his other hand was amputated. The blood splatter Erik knew well stained the plastic.

With a clenched jaw and savage eyes, Erik takes Dean by his greasy head, bringing that Kukri to his throat.

“This is for Samara, and all the other little girls you killed. They have no fucking life, now you won’t.”

Erik twirled that knife, swiping across Dean’s neck quickly, watching the blood splatter briefly before slowing to a drip. The life could be seen leaving Dean Orrin’s eyes under those morgue lights.

——-

First off, it’s important to understand what dead bodies are like. They’re very heavy, they absolutely stink, they attract flies and vermin practically from the word go, they release a lot of unpleasant substances, they bloat and they can even explode. Draining the fluids as quickly as possible and mixing them with a lot of bleach before flushing them would prevent this.

Should the body be found, you need to make it as difficult as possible to identify. This means destroying the teeth, finger, and toe prints, and the DNA. The first two are easy, the last one is more tricky. Erik wasn’t a forensic scientist, so he just settled for the teeth and toes. Living in Miami, water was an easy source to dump bodies. Erik used to settle for burying them, but that took hours and a lot of footprints left behind. To make his life easier, he simply dumped the bodies far out in the ocean while taking a routine route on his boat. Applying weights to the feet and covering them with heavy duty body bags always helped him out. This was the only way he could dispose of the evidence before the police got wind of it, which they never did.

Erik wasn’t a wanted man, at least, not as Erik Stevens. When he was Killmonger, international police wanted his neck. Killmonger came out to play when he took the lives of vermin to satisfy his needs, but he went away when he did his daily routines. Believe it or not, Erik had friends, a foster sister, and maybe a possible girlfriend. It was odd, Erik considered himself to be asexual. He didn’t find romantic attraction or love for a woman. It never interested him in having a romantic relationship with a woman. He had sex, though it was more so because he could not because he wanted to. Being asexual had nothing to do with his dick, it was about the sexual and romantic attraction that didn’t spark his interest. It’s not like he didn’t try. There were days where he wanted that, other days he just didn’t and they were most days. Erik was attractive, rough around the edges, a lady killer without even trying. He needed to move on, make it look normal, kill those who deserved it in secret. These were the words of his late foster father who was a fireman.

Erik…

He could hear his father's voice in his head.

Be strong, Erik. Remember, use your disorder for the greater good. Kill those who deserve to be punished...

With a heavy sigh and all his upper arm strength, Erik heaved Dean Orrin’s body over the railing of his boat and into the ocean water. So long Dean Orrin. The pedophile. The abuser. The murderer. Erik took out the tiny glass vial of his horrid blood, twirling it in hand before pocketing it once more, turning to grab up his Hennessy.

“Ah, they playing Wu-Tang tonight,” he smiles as if it were any other evening, sitting back on his suede all-white sofa with his dress shoe covered feet resting on the fancy glass table.

Time to sleep on the water again.

@goddessofthundathighs @hearteyes-for-killmonger @panthergoddessbast @blowmymbackout @chaneajoyyy @bartierbakarimobisson @madamslayyy

————-

If you want to be tagged, let me know.

[writerbee-ffs]

Tutor Session

So I got this request sent from @hyejooismybaby AND I most definitely wrote 2 versions 😂😭✨

Here’s version 2 ! This is more like asshole vibe turned lowkey sweet Erik !

Hope yah enjoy 😊!

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“Wake up. Z. Sis, I swear if you don’t wake yo ass up.” Your best friend, Aziza, mumbled as she gave little taps to you shoulder. “Biiiiiitch.” She drug out before you popped your eyes open realizing you had missed about half of the African Studies lecture.

“Damnit.” You groaned gathering your laptop and books. “Why’d you let me sleep so long.”

“Now sis...” She side eyed you as you both walked out of the double doors. “Somebody had to take our damn notes.

Grabbing your tablet quickly from your bag, you looked over the emailed notes Aziza had sent to you and then you remembered why you feel asleep in the first place. It wasn’t that you were tired but the it was the subject at hand that had put you in your temporary coma. “Fucking language.” You mumbled as your eyes were still training on you iPad walking through the yard. “There are like 1000 plus African languages and Professor Pike thought IsiXhosa would be the best to teach us.” You were beyond irritated because this was the main reason you were on the verge of failing your African Studies course.

“Zazie, just get a tutor.” Aziza suggested as you both made it to the campus cafe. “Fine ass Pike has a whole roaster of tutors near his office.” She shrugged as you both swiped your IDs. You definitely had to remind yourself to ask your friend how the fuck she knew that considering you two had never been to Pike’s office together.

“I don’t think I need a tutor, A. Maybe I just have to study more-“

“And stop falling asleep.” She laughed. “It’s hard enough actually listening to Pike instead of daydreaming about his chocolate ass.”

“Hoe, he could be your daddy.” You scoffed waiting in like for you green machine smoothie.

“Exactly.” She winked. “He could be annnnnd so could they.”

You followed her gaze to the ‘Anything but Holy’ Threesome or that’s what you heard girls around the campus call them. First up was T’challa. You had heard he was the most serious out the three. Though he had his roaster of ass you’d had only heard good things about how he treated women and pretty much everyone. Then there M’Baku. The big and tall ass niggah that only wore a smug look on his face. You had heard he was somewhat nice but he’d make you feel stupid all at the same time especially anyone that annoyed him. Lastly there was Erik. Erik was the ‘fuck boy but I still wanna fuck him ass’ type niggah. Bitches fell at his feet and other niggahs knew what the fuck it was when he was around. He was a complete dog.

“Ew.” You rolled your eyes as you both made it to a table. It wasn’t that you had an issue with them, it was just the fact that they walked around like Gods and it was purely annoying.

“Ew?” Aziza looked up from her phone. “Sis, say what you want but they are fine.”

“Whatever.” You laughed taking another sip looking at your watch. “Shit!” You popped up grabbing all of your things forgetting about your 3 o’clock class.

“Slow down, bitch!” You heard Aziza call before your body collided with something hard.

“Damn girl.” His deep voice spoke looking down on you. “Watch where you going.”

Fucking Erik. “How about you move away from the damn exit. Big body ass just blocking shit.” You groaned picking up all your books and papers.

“Ah she’s feisty.” M’Baku chuckled as he watched you struggle.

“If you were watching what you were doing you wouldn’t have ran into my big body ass, princess.”

“Leave her alone, cousin.” T’challa rolled his eyes grabbing some of your things for you. His nice ass.

“Whatever.” You just focused on your belongings thanking God that they had left but not before M’Baku mumbled something and you heard Erik’s comment.

“Nice ass though.” He shrugged.

*****

That was it! You had failed your IsiXhosa language test and you were fed up. You couldn’t fail this damn class. Partly because the perfectionist Virgo in you wouldn’t allow it and most definitely because you were at this college on a full ride.

“So about that tutor...” Aziza mumbled as she looked over a your test. “Pike’s office after class?”

Nodding your head you couldn’t wait for class to be over. You couldn’t help but to let your mind wander as Professor spoke.

The second it was you zoomed towards Pike’s office looking at the list of names. I guess everyone was barely making it through the class, considering there were only 2 names left. There was no way you were going to be tutored African language by some white girl, call it the black in you but that was a no go.

“N’Jadaka Udaku?” You frowned struggling to say the name on the list.

“Well I mean at least you know he’s authentic.” Aziza snickered behind you as you wrote your name and number on a sheet of paper, slipping it into the mailbox with his names over it.

“Now we wait.” You groaned following your friend to the dorms so you brush up on your language and not look like a complete idiot.

Hearing your phone sound off, you realized you had once again fell asleep. “Damnit.” You mumbled scrambling to find your phone and check the message.

‘This is N’Jadaka, ur tutor. Meet me at the library @6. 2nd floor.’

4:45 pm. The clock read as you sat up on your bed rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Well lets get this over with.” You mumbled to yourself.

It hadn’t taken you long to get out of your dorm and to the library. You’d thrown on a plain black T-shirt and leggings and your was in your normal half up half down hairstyle. “2nd floor.” You mumbled heading towards the elevator looking at your watch. 5:30 pm. You were early.

Making your way to the study rooms, you settled on the room that was ducked off because you were going to need to concentrate hard. Taking out you books and supplies, you sat there waiting on him.

“What’s up, princess?” Erik. You rolled your eyes taking him in as he watched you with a smirk. His black long sleeve made it hard to deny that this man was in shape and definitely had the body of a gawd! His sweats hung low off his lower half but hugged him in all the right places. You were so caught off you had forgot to speak until you heard him clear his throat.

“I’m meeting someone, Erik. Now can you go?!” He’d looked at you for a moment before sitting down anyways. “So what part of I’m meeting someone don’t you under-“

“Igama lam ngu-N'Jadaka, princess.” He interrupted pulling out his books and his student ID for confirmation.

“What?” You questioned. “You have to be fucking with me.” You palmed your face before settling your eyes back on him. He was already watching you with a devilish grin as your mind processed the information. He was probably use to people doing this. You’d realized that he was the one you were waiting on. “I have to get another tutor.” Hopping up and packing your bag, you felt his hand grip your wrist.

“Sit down, princess.” He looked. “And I won’t ask again.”

You most definitely sat your black ass back down. Grabbed your book and got to fucking work. Study sessions with Erik....

******

Your study sessions were coming to an end with Erik due to you passing all of your language based test. Although he was an asshole, he was one of thee best tutors. Erik had made you pass all of your tests and you even had a B in the class.

You were meeting up with him at his apartment to finish up some last minute work from Pike and needed some help. You didn’t really need the help but you wanted to see him.

“N’Jadaka?” You called out stepping into his apartment ,which wasn’t locked, looking around for him.

“Told you don’t call me that shit, princess.” He mugged you coming from the back. “Ngaphandle kokuba igumbi lokulala.”

You rolled your eyes knowing exactly what he said. Since he’d been teaching you IsiXhosa he would talk to you sometimes in the language. Well mostly flirt.

“But it’s your name.” You beamed completely ignoring the last part. “Your given name that I happen to like.” You and Erik has become closer over these past few weeks which you liked but also made you nervous due to his rep. Yeah he was still an ass but he was also brilliant, funny, kind (at times) and fine as hell. You’d learned that he used his real name N’Jadaka for his tutoring sessions so bitches wouldn’t want to be paired with him because it was him, which made sense. Erik had also considered IsiXhosa to be his second language.

“Yo?”

“Huh?”

“Ready to finish up this work?” Nodding your head, you sat on the sofa getting comfortable as he watched you.

“Stop being creepy, N’Jadaka.” You smirked.

“Kodwa ulungile.” He grinned looking at you as you unexpectedly blushed.

“Just help me with this.” You tossed the work at him. “I didn’t get some of them.” You lied.

“You’re a bad ass liar, princess.”

“Are you going to help or not N’Jadaka?” You scoffed as you slightly slid your feet onto his lap.

“Real comfortable, huh?” You couldn’t do anything but shrug as you began to work finish up your work.

“Shit.” You mumbled looking at the time. You’d feel asleep. ‘What the hell?’ You questioned feeling something hard wrapped around you body as you woke. You relaxed once you realized it was Erik’s arms slung around your waist. “Erik, I have to go.” You hummed attempting to get out his embrace.

He stirred for a moment before finally getting up and going into the back. “Wait a second, princess.”

Placing your sneaker on your feet and then your jacket, you stood by the door as you waited for him. You heard his heavy footsteps walking towards you with a slip of paper.

“You forgot to translate this, princess.”

Pushing your glasses up on your face, you down at the paper before looking up him. “This isn’t mine.” You handed the paper over. “So you’ve been tutoring others.” You clutched your heart fake hurt.

He handed the paper over to you again. “Get serious, princess. Read the shit.”

All of it was in IsiXhosa which didn’t shock you but this wasn’t any type of schoolwork. Reading the paper a smile began to form on your face. Ndingakukhupha, uZazie? You read the last line.

“Ewe, N'Jadaka.” You beamed looking up at him as he watched you. “About time, niggah!” You laughed.

“Had to see if you was feeling me, princess.”

✨✨✨✨✨ IsiXhosa Translations ✨✨✨✨✨

ngaphandle kokuba igumbi lokulala : unless it’s in the bedroom

kodwa ulungile : But you’re beautiful

Igama lam ngu-N'Jadaka, princess: my name is N’Jadaka, princess

Ndingakukhupha, uZazie?: Can I take you out, Zazie

Ewe, N'Jadaka: Yes, N’Jadaka

[erikismybitch]

Drillmonger:Conclusion part 1

This conclusion will be 2 parts .

_

It was finally happening. After nearly a year of flying as an international crew member , she was finally flying to Africa. And because the universe hated her , as she thought , Candy was running late . In her heels and uniform she ran through the terminals in search for hers . She was at the Heathrow Airport in London, a major connecting hub and a middle ground for overseas flights .

By faith , Candy made it to her gate , spotting the passengers lined up to board the plane . They couldn’t start the process without her .

“I’m so sorry you guys , my Uber driver got lost!” Candy lied to the other crew members . Truth was , she had overslept.

“Girl they are pissed that we are six minutes behind schedule “ she teased . Candy knew her as Maria, a bubbly Mexican girl who she’d flown with before . They weren’t necessarily friends, but they could relate to each other . Candy laughed and dragged her carry-on down the tarp and onto the plane.

This flight was a long one . It would take them eleven hours to fly into the beautiful East African country of Wakanda. Candy began to quickly do her pre flight duties . She stocked food in the rolling carts , made sure the blankets made it to each seat and all entertainment tablets were functional.

“We are now boarding” the head Flight attendant warned to the crew .

Candy stood in economy awaiting the passengers. As soon as the people began to load , she assisted them with their carry-ons and stowaways . There was such a shift in Candy’s work ethic . Usually her smiles and upbeat speech was a part of the act . This time it was genuine . She would be spending three full days in East Africa. On the third she had to head back to work . Her itinerary was already planned , three days full of exploration. The historic museums , hiking through the beautiful mountains and eating everything she could fit in her mouth .

The plane taxied along the runway and awaited take off . Candy stood in the middle of economy and did the safety belt and air passage demonstration . The pilot informed them of take off and the crew took their seats .

Once they reached the correct altitude the pilot turned off the seat belt sign and everyone was free to move about the cabin.

What Candy didn’t know was that her trip plans would soon take a shift . Erik was taking the long journey to visit his family after four years .

Erik was on that very same flight .

Candy had been so distracted by her lateness that she didn’t see him waiting in line to board the plane. But he saw her and it made him happy... it made Erik very happy.

Seeing her was like a light , that lead him from the darkness that had been his life without her . She looked good , he missed her. At first instinct he wanted to walk up to her and hug her. Even if that was too much , he just wanted to feel her body on his. It had been so long, even a handshake would do .

“Alert: B-2”

Flashed across the call screen. It flashed each time a passenger called for assistance.

“B-2, that’s in first class right?” Candy asked the group . They all let out a laugh at her naiveness, even Maria who spoke up first .

“Yeah, you’ve never served first class?”

“Always economy “ she told them .

Maria told her that she was assigned to first class for this flight. And that first class passengers were almost always ass holes. Maria asked if Candy wanted to switch and she complied .

The alert signaled again . Why not, Candy thought . She figured she might meet someone with connections and they could suggest some great places to go on this short trip .

Candy walked carefully to the first class section of the plane . Seeing nothing but a man with headphones and a beanie seated in B-2. The famous smile that was always plastered on her face slowly faded as his face came into view. She couldn’t believe that Erik was before her.

A year had almost passed without any communication on his part . Candy felt that she had finally gotten to a place where she wasn’t affected by his absence. She had blocked his name from her brain. She had even had sex with other men.

Then what was this feeling of silent panic . Erik hadn’t even opened his mouth to speak a single word . He looked up at her and slid his headphones off of his ears. Erik’s dimples imprinted in his cheeks with his small smirk . “Can I get a blanket or somethin’? “ he spoke as if this transaction was platonic . As if he and Candy had no history at all . “Please?” He let off his full blown smile now, after he noticed that Candy wasn’t the least bit amused.

“Sure thing “ Candy gave him an answer just as platonic as his question . She avoided looking into his actual face and walked to the back of the plane. Maria noticed the look on her face upon her return . She just assumed that the first class passenger was rude . “I told ya”

“It’s not that” Candy told her .

“What is it ?”

“Just a familiar face”

Maria asked if it was an ex boyfriend, Candy told her it was . She didn’t want to get into the actual details of their situation . Maria offered to take the blanket to him also . Candy thanked her because she didn’t have to do her that favor .

The flight was five hours in . Candace was off her A-game. Erik’s presence really threw a wrench in it. She dropped a drink on a passenger, she got a food order wrong , she even chipped her nail. Seeing how stressed out she was, the lead attendant advised her to take a quick break . She sat in the back and took a couple sips of cold water. Her hands were shaking . Fuck him for making me feel this way! She screamed out , but only in her head .

“Alert: B-2”

Unfortunately her break was cut short . Candy was the only person in the back who could answer the alert . She looked around for Maria, she was tending to a passenger .

“Do you think you can check on B-2, everyone is busy” the lead attendant called softly to her . She obeyed his order and dragged herself to the front of the plane . The lead had just asked her to take this break. “Fuck” she mouthed and approached his seat . She wasn’t smiling , nor did she say anything .

“How you been?” He asked , Erik had been purposely pressing the call button all flight . He finally reached Candy.

“I’ve been busy Erik, like right now” Candy’s voice cut at him with so much venom , it caught the attention of his seated neighbor .

“You mad at me or something?”

Candy let out a huge breath of frustration . She wanted to scream at him, and release all of the pain he had caused her. This situation wasn’t worth her job, she had worked too hard to get here .

“Do you need anything sir?”

“So I’m sir now?” Erik laughed , and how cute he looked when he laughed angered her . She kneeled down and leaned in close to him. Then spoke only for his ears to hear .

“Don’t press this fucking button anymore ”

“I ain’t mean t-“ he began to speak but Candy stopped him.

“Sir, do you need anything else ?“ Her friendly hand patted against his shoulder.

“Nah, Im good”

————

This wasn’t the first time Erik had seen her. He was in her city not long ago . For the first time since the last time they had spoken.

“Hope you didn’t scratch my shit” Erik has gotten to a point where he was rude with everyone. Especially when thoughts of Candy clouded his brain. He was speaking to the hotel valet .

The gentleman gave him keys to his rental car. Compliments of a night club, a midnight matte Ferrari 458. Erik was scheduled for an appearance that evening . It was moving past midnight and now was the perfect time to go. He and a few other socialites were getting paid for it .

The only thing . Being this close to Candy without seeing her bothered him. Next month would make it month seven since he indirectly broke things off. After he left her house and never spoke to her again.

It came to the point where he was passing her exit , he found it funny that he remembered it . Even only after visiting her once . He remembered everything about her . The way she laughed at everything, even if it wasn’t traditionally funny . How she smacked when she drank out of a cup . Even her hate and sustain for football.

“Because I don’t understand all the rules , it’s so stupid!”

She told him one night as they laid naked in a Las Vegas Hotel . They had sex all night , and in the morning Candy almost missed her flight from exhaustion.

He pulled his phone out and swerved through the lanes , Erik was tempted to call her ... but it would be no use . Especially after she sent those many unanswered texts to his phone .

You unfollowed me , what going on?

Erik , so after everything ... this is it ?

I don’t know what I expected from you .

Fuck you .

Erik had read those texts over and over throughout time, even the ones from the beginning. When they were happy . He couldn’t delete them yet.

Someone’s Horn honked as he sped to the exit and tapped into his mental memory to find her house . Erik knew she was home. He had checked her Instagram story earlier .

Erik parked his car directly across from her house. The lights were off and he didn’t see her car in the drive way either . He glanced at the clock .

It’s 12:46 am. Where the fuck was she at this late?

He wasn���t quite sure what to do , or why he was there. Walking to her door wasn’t an option, Candy made it clear through texts that she hated his very existence. Erik had avoided coming to her city for just this reason

It was 1:03 when her living room light came on. Erik was just about to leave . He spotted London through the thin white curtains. She came into view , in her robe and bonnet . Unknowingly Erik’s face turned at the sight of her. “Wheres my girl?” he said to himself . He tapped impatiently on the steering wheel.

London fiddled around the living room for a couple of moments then cut the lights off again. He gave himself another moment before he pulled off , just incase .

Still nothing .

Erik started his engine with the smack of his teeth and left .

“And what was you gon’ do if you seen her?” He downtalked himself as he sped back to the freeway . He put the club address in his navigation and set off to have a good time tonight . Erik would get drunk off the free bottles of liquor and have a cute girl come with him back to his hotel .

Only he didn’t . He spent his night disconnected from everything in V.I.P. Sulking in the corner. Thinking of how much he missed Candy and how much better he felt with her in his life .

______________

Candy was so happy when the plane landed and all the passengers exited the aircraft . She and the others did a cleaning sweep and de-planed . When Candy walked into the gate, she spotted Erik standing . She knew he was waiting for her . His back was turned and she had the option of not being spotted. She watched him for a second , still looking from behind at his wide back and commanding stance . She thought about a time in the past . Where she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head between his shoulder blades. He pushed her away screaming about how “...he didn’t do shit like that!”. Candy laughed to herself because later on he did the same thing to her . Only, she didn’t push him away. She never did .

Something told Erik to turn around , when he did he saw her . Candy was stuck , he was walking towards her now. She looked around , oddly enough it was just the two of them .

“Can you give me a second?” He finger tipped his hand around her arm so she wouldn’t get away .

“I’ve given you too many seconds “ Candy took her arm back and placed it at her side.

“All I need is one more”

He walked over to a near by seat and sat down. Erik slouched inwardly and spread his legs for comfort . Candy couldnt help but to find his dick . With a straight face she snuck a peak at his print through his pants . That thing was worth listening to , or listening to Erik. Right ?

She sat down directly across from him . “We don’t have much time, we have a shuttle taking us to our hotel “ Candy noted the time , the shuttle would be leaving in twenty six minutes.

“You good, I’ll have my people take you to your hotel”

“You can’t control this situation like you always do, I’m catching my shuttle “ Candy contested with unnecessary attitude , Erik felt it . He clinched his jaw, trying not to scare her away with what he really wanted to say . “And who are your people ?” Candy asked .

“My family, that’s why I’m here”

She had forgotten that he was from here, Erik told her that it had been a long time since he had visited . “What’s the occasion, a funeral or something?” Candy’s expression softened.

“No, nothing like that” he expressed as if he was saddened by something . Erik knew just how to play on Candy’s emotions. She couldn’t help but to get up and take the seat next to him .

“Why did you decide to come back ?” She asked again.

“As corny as it sounds, I’ve been doing some soul searching and it lead me back home “

Erik grazed his fingers along Candy’s hand . It was resting along the armrest , until she allowed Erik to hold it . His gentleness surprised her . In the past she had to show him how to be this way . He leaned his head into her vision, making sure she looked into his eyes.

“Soul searching ?” Candy repeated .

“I been thinking a lot about you “ he tightened his hold , it made her wince .

“After all this time” she glanced at a monitor near by and clocked the time. “I gotta go”

Candy attempted to lift from her seat but Erik pulled her back down. It wasn’t alarming, he was still being gentle .

“Think I can see you , while you’re here?” He asked . Candy hesitated and thought of an answer , that let him know that she would be here longer than overnight.

“I’m only here for three days and I have plans”

She stood up, he let her hand go as he stood with her . Erik let her know that he only needed a small moment of her time . She agreed to call him once she got things settled at her hotel .

“Me being on this plane , it has to serve a higher purpose. Things happen for a reason” Erik stressed , as if he was trying to further convince her to see him .

“I told you I would call you “ she read right into him as she gripped her carry on and began to walk away . She only had a few minutes to catch the shuttle.

“Don’t make me come find you !” He called out , grabbing the attention of strangers around him. He had no shame , because he would .

[flameontheotherside]

Hustlin It

I've developed a playlist for working in the kitchen and it reminds me I need to get my ass to the gym. Think I will start going to this one on campus. I don't want to be fat again. 😶 I should be lifting weights. Well, Jason is built. I might ask him for some help. Maybe it will keep me busy and out of trouble. Since I lost weight, I forgot when I was this small. I didn't have much to look at back then either. 😑

I miss dance dance revolution. It was the best way I kept in shape. Now these days, you can't find them in arcades. I was pretty fucking good. It was like karaoke for me in I would practice my moves on my Xbox game and show off with my geeky friends at game works.

Work was busy today.

I do the lunch shift here and sometimes it's insane. So of course I had my headphones on jamming out washing dishes. I love it. People leave me alone and let me work myself to death on a ton of caffinated iced tea. 🤣 It's fucking great. All while, Erik and my higher self are having a conversation in my head. Being able to hear them now is still kinda creepy. Especially when out of nowhere Erik goes insane over a song on my playlist. It's at times annoying. Yes, he CAN be a little annoying (sorry Erik lol 😆).

Today a friend is taking me to do some adulting. I have to file for free insurance through this program I'm in. Being homeless because I broke up with Vince, doesn't necessarily feel much like a punishment. I should have done this instead of date him. At the time, I didn't want to be homeless and was very immature about having my way. Or maybe I should have done this 3 years ago. Yeah... When I officially had enough of Vince's bullshit.

I was kind of forced in to this.

God didn't punish me. If anything, kind of freed me. For 3 years I was miserable and did a good job hiding it. To the point I didn't feel real I guess. Then, two years ago, I met Erik through my pendulum so it was him that kind of carried me through it.

God and granny haven't been around as much since being homeless. I noticed it the other day. It must be because I dont really need them. They kind of served as my spiritual parents. I know it sounds weird. Okay? 🤣👌... But in all honesty I'm greatful for thier help. Now, it's mostly Erik in my ear. I really have to learn how to tune out.

I'm still seeing combinations of 147 everywhere!

It's so funny when I think about some things, it's right there on the clock, room number, phone number, license plates, building numbers, the time, and street numbers! It's driving me crazy. It means I'm on the right track so I have to believe that everything is kosher. 🤷🏼‍♀️... 🤦🏼‍♀️Oh God.

I'm going to stop right here before my mind wonders off into doom. It's like small pieces of my sanity and soul are flying away in to the winds. Lmao 😆 I can't even...

😘💞💕❤️ Have a great day!

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧Don’t forget to take a look at Erik’s blog ran by his amazing mom Dr Elisa Medhus. Lots of stuff about his afterlife and 💩 at channelingerik.com.

(◕‿◕)♡ Social: Twitter Tumblr Instagram YouTube

[laketaj24]

Broken Clocks

AN/: I can never just do a one shot. I’m sorry lol. I heard Broken Clocks by SZA and I saw this come up in my head. Forgive my overactive imagination. So here’s some more Killmonger SMUT for your dash! Tagging my regulars, if you would like to be added or removed to this taglist just say the word. Thanks! I hope you enjoy it! SMUT below the Cut.

 Listen to the song HERE: Broken Clocks- SZA

Read the Previous Part Here: No Limit

Asa couldn’t remember how many drinks she’d had, four at least maybe five. She wanted to be faded not feeling anything just wasted. She poured tequila into her glass and sloppily cut up the lime. She’d invited him over two hours ago when she was sober, when every commercial wasn’t funny and she knew how many drinks he’d had.

The ringing echoes throughout here apartment and after three or four rings the door just opens, hitting the white circle with a bounce and in he strolls. The blue basketball shorts hung from his waist with his black shirt draped over his shoulder. “Damn ma, you steal the bar from work?” Erik closes the door locking it. The array of liquor on the counter ranged from brown to clear to wine. She had it all. She just felt like drinking.

Asa’s smile is lazy, and her eyes are dancing wildly at Erik. Maybe it was the liquor, but he looked even better sweating. She stood swaying as she pushed herself up from the ground. “You late.”

“You didn’t say I had a time limit.” He smirks. He holds up the bottle of Crown Royal and pours him a glass, then he retrieves the coke from the fridge. “You been in here turning?”

“I quit the strip club today.” He hadn’t asked her, but she knew he wanted her to, even though they weren’t together. Their actions said otherwise, but neither refused to admit. They couldn’t even lay in the bed on Saturday because the money called her. He never complained, but he watched at the back of the club as men cat called and touched while she done her thing. The jealous feeling dwelling inside of him was something that he would never admit. Erik didn’t catch feelings.

“Word?”

“Word.” She finally reached him after stumbling a few feet to the counter where he stood. “I wanted you to celebrate with me.”

“But you already lit?” He raised his eyebrow and chuckled. He caught her and sat her down in the chair. “What’s going on with you Asa?”

“I don’t know. But I’m tired.”

Erik sat his drink down scooping her up in his arms. He’d been in her apartment long enough to know where everything was, he hit the corner to her bedroom and placed her on the bed. He’d never seen her like that, inebriated and quiet. He pulled the shirt from over her head and slid on one of the shirts he had left a few weeks ago. He tossed her feet on the bed and hit the lights. “Get some sleep aight?”

“You leaving?”

“You want me to?”

“Nah.” She said as her voice fade. She clutched the pillow beneath her head and buried herself in it, hoping he wouldn’t leave.

 Erik couldn’t take his eyes off the broken clock on the wall. It bothered him. He didn’t know how long she’d been sleep but he felt her waking beside him. Her feet tracing up his legs and she set up pulling her hair in a ponytail. She slid on her glasses looking at him. “You stayed?” She groaned. Asa climbed out of bed walking to the bathroom. She splashed the cool water on her face and then brushed her teeth. Everything had changed for her in the past few weeks and today had been the last thing in her life that she needed to change to be where she wanted to be.

“Yeah, I drank most of your Crown though.” He set up on the side of the bed with his eyes still hooked on the broken clock. Erik stood up and walked over to the clock. “It seems like time stops when I’m around you huh?” His thick fingers wind the minute hand twice around the clock.

Asa says nothing perched in the doorjamb with her arms crossed and a sly smile on her face. “You ain’t gotta cake me to get this pussy Erik.” She feels the heat radiate to her face as she blushes.

“Oh, I ain’t caking you.” He lies, as he turns towards. “I like you.”

“You tryna cuff me huh?”

“You wanna be cuffed?” Erik grins mimicking her with his crossed arms and sly smile. “Come here.” He waves her over to him and she comes dragging her feet playfully landing in his arms. “What you got to do tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, hell I don’t even know what time it is?”

“Then we got time.” He quickly removes the shirt from over her head, mesmerized by her once again. Erik wastes no time picking her up. She drapes her arms around his neck pressing her lips to his and then deepening the kiss by pushing her tongue pass his lips. She inhales as her fingers dance in the mess of braids atop his head. Her eyes met his gaze for a moment flickering before she tilted her head to kiss him once more. They land on the bed and their hands are in a frenzy pulling their clothes from their bodies tossing them to the ground. They needed no foreplay she was already wet with anticipation panting, writhing and physically pleading for him to fuck her. Erik swipes his dick over her clit teasing and watching her lips form that perfect O as she bathed in her pleasure. He pushes into her with his hands clamping on her waist to pull her closer to him. He couldn’t get any deeper. Their hips joined with loud smacks and he found himself becoming greedy. His breath hitched feeling her around him clenching, gripping pumping him. Asa’s tongue lathed the side of his face and she made her way to his lips tugging with her teeth when he hit that perfect spot within her. Her body twisted frantically climbing towards an explosion. He went faster pumping in and out of her relentlessly. He wanted to feel her come around him. He loved the way her walls felt like a velvet sleeve soaking him with her satisfaction. Asa came abruptly throwing her head back against the bed in pleasure. Erik smiled as he continued to fuck her happy to see her falling apart over him for a good reason. He put his weight on her snatching her hands above her head going deeper and deeper until he pulled out of her. His warmth spread all over her thigh and he collapsed beside her.

Asa wanted more, and she wasn’t sure how much more Erik was willing to give. But she knew that if time stopped when he was with her, maybe something good might come from it.

Tagging:  @wilddrabble @readsalot73@kimistry27@sparklemichele@titty-teetee @amour-quinn@captstefanbrandt@valynsia @byzantium-glytch@suz-123 @harleycativy @lewatigress @earthsmightiestasses@sunnyfortomorrow@sincerelysinister@pebblesz892@ceridwenofwales@ivarsshieldmadien@bang-kim-bap@samwinchxtr @purple-apricots @erisjade

[worldcupofficial]

7 / 11 / 13 / 15 / 27 / 29 / 38 / 49 / 87 / 97 :D

7. How old were you when you started seeing yourself as a fan of your club? You are still cool if it was just yesterday.

FCB: since I watch football tbh; sth around 2005/2006; but for real: my parents went to Spain in 2006 and randomly bought me and my brother lots of football merch for kids. bro got madrid merch and i got barca’s but most importantly i got A FUCKING AWESOME CLOCK OF FC BARCELONA; and that’s how it all started sdfghjk (bro is a maddridie so i think we were determined by that merch)

LFC:  i fell for them because of my dad Stanbul 2005; and yeah im a masochist asdfghjkl

Juve: well, they played against my hometown club in 2010 in European League. and drew. and didn’t manage to get out of group stage; and that’s how our weird relationship with Juve happened

Ajax: always liked them because of Cruijff; but started watching them more when Arek Milik played for them; Arek left, got injured twice since then (rip) but the sentiment stayed

H96: that’s a strange story asdfghjkl Few years ago I was in Hannover by my German friends and we went for a match against Freiburg (they drew as far as I remember) and then I talked abt the club with one of my friends, Erik, who is H96 huge supporter and whom I was really into then. and I kinda fell for’em because I liked Erik too much??? we ain’t together or anything rn, im also not into him rn but i keep talking to Erik abt H96 and how r they doing; he keeps me updated since i can’t really manage to watch their matches. I’m busy with my life but with H96 in my heart

Lech Poznań: that’s my hometown club; i love them more than anything else since the day I was born, bye

11. Five players you really admire purely based on football.

Buffon, Iniesta, Xavi, Messi, Gerrard

13. Five most underrated players in your opinion

Ter Stegen, Piotr Zieliński, Busquets, David Villa, Szczęsny

15. Name 3 most despicable figures in football in your opinion (coaches, players, owners, companies, anyone…)

Sandro Rosell, Franco, everything connected with mafia @ serie a….

27. Favorite Forward (or striker)

Robert ‘Satan’ Lewandowski

29. Best Goalkeeper

Gigi Buffon

38. Something an opponent can say to really piss you off.

when my maddidie bro mentions that “La Masia ain’t tHAT gOOD”. fuk u. La Masia is the best football youth academy in the world 

49. Dirtiest player in the game today? What was the last dirty thing he did.

from Bayern/P$G match; it was probably Coman or Rudy. or Vidal. they were all really…. dirty

87. Five players who others find attractive but you just don’t see it

Roman Buerki, Marco Reus, CR7, Goetze, Ramos

97. A player who turns 10x more attractive when he speaks

Janek Bednarek!!!! oh my gosh, y’all regret that you don’t know Polish and you can’t watch Poland NT chanel (”Łączy Nas Piłka”- translation: we are united by the ball); Janek is So FUckin Funny when he speaks goshhh. and has a damn sexy voice, bye

[ravenvsfox]

Hey, not sure if you are still doing requests, but will you pretty please do #2 for Nicky and Erik. Like maybe early on during the exchange program maybe?... I really love your writing sooooo much.

(This was sent a million years ago but I loved writing them and I hope you like it too!! You’re too goddamn kind wth)

02: “I think I’m in love with you and that scares the hell out of me.” nicky/erik

Their routine is pretty simple, now that he’s settled in. Make breakfast with Erik’s mom (the only morning person in the house), try not to burn things when Erik walks in with the sun on the hem of his smile. Go to the airy Stuttgart high school and text Erik under the desks, feel German in his mouth like something God put there directly, something his parents never touched. Wander home past palace square and pretend it’s the fresh, sunny air making him feel untouchable, not Erik’s fingers brushing his knuckles.

They sleep in the same room, three feet apart, until the house takes soft breaths and the clock is the loudest sound on the air. The hardwood is cool when Nicky climbs out of bed and Erik lifts his duvet for him.

The whole thing is indescribable. The way coming to Germany felt like breaking out of prison, and Erik Klose at the arrival gate had felt like instantly stumbling upon a five star hotel with his name on the guest list.

Every day he spends watching Erik get teased about his sexuality by his mother with a pat on the cheek and a shared laugh, every time their now mutual friends nudge him and Erik together, every church service he spends staring at the rainbow flag peeking innocently out from the decor, is another day that he can’t stop gulping in the freshness of the air.

He dreams about the conversion camp, and he wakes up in his maybe boyfriend’s arms. He falls in love with how easy it is and cries when he thinks of how easy it wasn’t and can’t always be. English rusts in his mouth.

Erik doesn’t label the thing they have, but sometimes they sit in the family’s garage on their sixth or seventh beer (eighteen Nicky. You’re legal. Stop trying to smuggle six packs past my mother like she doesn’t know what we’re doing) and they bet on how many cars will go by. Erik holds Nicky’s hand to his own heart and counts off all the verses in the bible that preach unconditional love.

“You know that whole ‘love is patient, love is kind’ thing? That’s for you too,” Erik says, tugging the hair out from behind Nicky’s ear so it curls around his face.

“Mmm. I don’t think my love would be patient. My love would get shit done.”

Erik laughs, leaning back and cradling his beer to his chest. “I don’t doubt it.”

Nicky watches the sun get gulped up by the sky and he reaches out with one foot to kick Erik’s ankle. “Do you know you took the last beer without even asking me? After your big ol’ service on equality?”

“Hey!” Erik complains, kicking back. “It was three and three, even split.”

“I’m just saying, you preach all this pious shit and you can’t even do unto others as you wish for them to do to you, or whatever the fuck Matthew said—“

Erik wrestles Nicky in by the neck, both of them laughing. “I try to give you peace of mind and this is the thanks I get?”

“I’m lightening the mood.”

“The mood is never really dark, with you,” Erik says, unthinkingly, and then his mouth twists. “That sounded… I’m not coming onto you.”

“Oh? And why not?” Nicky asks, leaning over the lawn chair into Erik’s space. He flushes.

“I just mean. I dunno. I could come— I mean I want to come onto you.”

“Say come one more time,” Nicky says, grinning, and Erik curls over, face to his knees.

“Jesus.”

“Jesus,” Nicky agrees.

“You know I used to be pretty suave,” Erik says feebly.

“No one who calls themselves suave is suave.” Nicky picks up Erik’s hand and tugs it from under his downturned face. “You’re cute though.”

“Nicky,” Erik says, sitting up properly, squeezing Nicky’s hand. “Are we going to… are you going back to America?”

“What?” Nicky says, alarmed from the topic shift — sliding ground underneath him.

“Are you leaving Stuttgart. After graduation. For good.”

“Erik,” Nicky says softly.

“I just. Every time we do… this,” he gestures between them. “I’m proud of you, and I want you, and I’m not. I don’t think I’m going to be able to let you go.”

Nicky slides out of his chair so he’s kneeling, and he crawls between Erik’s knees, hugging him around the waist. Erik’s hands go automatically to his hair.

“I don’t have to leave if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t,” Erik says immediately, voice crisp and tight.

“Did you think I’ve been fooling around with you because you’re the first boy I saw?”

“No,” Erik says. “I don’t think this is fooling around.”

Nicky looks up at him, chin on his stomach. “Where is all this coming from?”

Erik looks down at him with eyes so full they seem sad. “We come here, and watch the sunset, and Graduation gets a day closer. Your program’s going to end, Nicky.”

“Not if there’s nothing in America for me.”

“Your family,” Erik says gently and Nicky exhales through his nose.

“My family is here, actually.” He presses his face into Erik’s stomach and breathes.

“Host family,” Erik corrects, and Nicky headbutts him.

“Bullshit.” His voice is wetter than he meant it to be, but it’s blessedly muted by Erik’s knit sweater.

They stay that way for a second, a car alarm going off somewhere, the wind rattling the frame of the house, utterly unaffected by anything but each other.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Nicky says, still muffled. “And that scares the hell out of me.” He’s yanked suddenly up, and his forehead knocks Erik’s chin in the tussle.

“I’m going to need you to say that again,” he breathes.

“I love you,” Nicky says, and then again in english, “I love you.”

“That’s a relief,” Erik says, brushing Nicky’s cheeks with his thumbs. “because I loved you when you got off the plane from America. And I was going to love you when you got back on it.”

Nicky’s chest hurts so badly that he tries to duck his face but Erik holds him in place. “Since when are you shy, huh?” he teases and Nicky grins through the first tears.

“You bring out another side of me.”

Erik smiles back softly, his eyes crinkling. “Is that the thing that scares you?”

“Nah,” Nicky says, rubbing his own face and adjusting on his knees. “It’s the way I don’t even regret it. You make me the person I thought I was going to be two years ago before— before everything.”

“It’s not me who did that,” Erik argues, carding both hands through Nicky’s hair.

“You are so difficult.”

“I’ll work on it,” Erik says, grinning like the liar he is. “With you. Next year.”

“Are you propositioning me?”

“Oh absolutely,” Erik says, leaning down to kiss Nicky’s mouth like he’s been waiting for the perfect window.

“Then I guess I have to accept,” Nicky says. “My gay-hatin’ family will just have to wait.”

Erik frowns, kisses him again, a little inappropriately. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m always funny,” Nicky argues, his voice tittering uncomfortably around the edges.

“Not when you’re hurting yourself,” Erik says. He runs a hand down Nicky’s arm, rubbing away the chill from the descending night. “We’ll confront them together, one day.”

Nicky shivers. “See, this is what scares me. You make me think we can actually do that. Anything.”

“Then maybe I should keep scaring you. Could conquer the world.”

“Please don’t. I’m a nervous vomiter.”

Erik barks a laugh, marvelling. “I love you so much.”

“If that gets you going, we need to have a chat—“

“I love you so much,” he repeats.

“Erik.” Nerves shake sweetly in his chest.

“I love you so much,” he says again, waiting, and Nicky leans up and in so they’re cheek to cheek.

Instead of ‘I love you too’, he says, “I’m staying.”

[hollowpages]

Your Biggest Fan 3 (Commission)

The following is a commission. Mature content is within.

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Your Biggest Fan - Part Three Gary poured himself a fresh cup of coffee from the station’s new coffee pot. His mind was ablaze with a variety of different thoughts and feelings, so much that he didn’t notice his cup was overflowing until he felt the burn of hot coffee on his hand. But he hardly reacted, save for bringing the cup to his lips and downing a big swig of the warm, bitter liquid. It burned the inside of his throat, but he showed no external signs of discomfort. Without even really looking, he wiped the excess coffee up and carried his cup to his desk. The Fan. He hadn’t heard that name in a while, though he hadn’t exactly forgotten it, either. You don’t forget serial killers that easily, especially the serial killers that haven’t been caught for the past four years. Gary closed his eyes, searching his memories. Four years ago, when he and Erik had been partners, when Irene was still a detective at the precinct with her own partner, that was when The Fan first struck. Now, when it came to serial killers with nicknames, most of the time, they tended to relate to the activity or the preference of the killer themselves. The Fan was no different, no less twisted, although some might scoff at the name – even question how someone titled ‘The Fan’ could be all that dangerous. Considering they had at least eight victims under their belt, however, The Fan was no laughing matter. The first time Gary had stumbled across The Fan – prior to them receiving their moniker, of course – was four years ago when he and Erik had been called in about an apparent homicide in, oddly enough, a hotel room. They had walked in to discover the mangled, slashed up body of Russell Jameson, a retired actor from the 70s and 80s, with the same set of slash marks – and most disturbing of all, his hands completely cut off. Pinned onto his neat, untouched suit – which had been carefully hung on a coatrack, posed beside the body – had been a note that read: ‘I’m your biggest fan.’ That had been it. No other identification, very little evidence. But the MO was the same as it was now, and had been the same for the other murders, because Russell Jameson was only the first. Over the course of the three year time period – during which, things fell apart for Gary and those around him, thus forcing him to take a brief leave of absence – The Fan had struck numerous times, leaving behind the butchered bodies of famous men and women. Each time, the bodies would be discovered, posed, with notes left on them with the same phrase. And each time, the bodies had the same sort of damage done to them. Slash marks, cuts, all across the bodies, often at random points, as if the killer was making tally marks on them. And yet, it was never the slash marks that killed the victims – it was always something else, and the marring of the bodies was performed post mortem. But there was one other detail: each victim was missing a body part. Russell Jameson was missing his hands. The next victim, Cynthia Rogers, a singer and songwriter, had been missing her ears. The list went on, but each time it was something different, something random. The fourth victim discovered also had missing hands – a famous pianist and actress in her late 30s. There was no rhyme or reason behind it, either, and with each victim, it was always performed post mortem. The Fan had received their moniker after the third victim was found. The media had a field day with it, labelling The Fan as a killer of famous people. For months on end, security details had shot up when it came to any sort of famous outing; celebrities young and old would be surrounded by bodyguards, the police were called in a handful of times to ensure that no one got too close, fans were arrested for looking even the slightest bit suspicious… it had been a genuine clusterfuck of a time. And then, for a little over a year, nothing. No victims. No police reports, at least not about crazed fans or stalkers. The media lost interest, as it so often did, and The Fan, though never forgotten, went silent for a time. But Gary hadn’t stopped looking into them. None of the LAPD had, in fact, because no one around liked the idea of letting another serial killer stay out there, knowing they could still be alive and kicking, ready to strike at any moment. There had been whispers a few months back about someone with a similar MO in different states – Alabama, Minnesota, Wyoming. But these turned out to be either false, fabricated, or someone else who didn’t quite fit the MO. Gary sucked in another swig of coffee, opening his eyes. The Fan was back, then. He wondered who the victims were this time, what body parts were missing. He shuddered to think of what Rei would find, but he knew he had to see for himself. “So.” Erik’s voice broke his thoughts, and Gary finally noticed Erik leaning against his desk, his expression one of worry. “The Fan.” Gary nodded. “You heard?” “Of course,” Erik said. “Caught the tail end of your conversation with the kid, but I heard enough.” He shook his head. “Shit, man. I had hoped we’d never see that sick fuck again.” “You and me both,” Gary said. “But you know that isn’t how it works.” “Never is,” Erik said, parroting Gary’s statement from before. There was no humor in his voice, though. Hard to be humorous with a situation like this. Gary set his now empty coffee cup down and stood, shakily. His clenched and unclenched his hands into fists a few times before turning toward the direction of the stairs, which led to the medical examiner’s room, where Rei was. He pondered if now was the best time to see her, to see what she had uncovered, because knowing her, she had discovered at least ten different details she hadn’t seen at the crime scene. That was her way, usually. “I’ll talk with the Captain,” Erik said. “Got to grab Carter, first. He just got in.” “Do that,” Gary said, nodding without looking at his old friend. “Where’s Lisa?” Erik pointed to the interrogation room. “Getting some one-on-one time with the bellhop, I think. She got a phone call, so she missed the whole thing. Girlfriend or something.” He shrugged. “Probably best if you fill her in on the details, though.” “I will,” Gary said. Erik brushed past him, and Gary peered over his shoulder to see Erik’s partner, Davis Carter, only now entering the precinct. Normally, he would’ve greeted Davis, but right now, he had other things to do, so he turned his attention back to the interrogation room. A few steps later, Lisa was walking out. “Wanted to see what I missed,” Lisa said, nodding to Gary. Gary motioned her on, and the two started toward the medical examiner’s office. “Ever hear of The Fan?” Gary asked. “Vaguely,” Lisa said. He opened the door to the stairs, and ushered her in. Lisa took about two and a half steps before stopping. “Who is he?” Gary closed the door. “I’ll give you all the files on them when we’re done with Rei. But.” He paused, mulling over his words for a moment. “To put it into simple terms? The Fan’s been around for, as far as any of us know, at least five years now. We know of at least eight victims of theirs, which might very well have become ten if Rei confirms my suspicions. We don’t know a damn thing about them, either. Age, gender, ethnicity… Nothing. We only know that The Fan has a thing for murdering famous people, and best I can guess, taking ‘trophies’ each time.” Lisa made a face. “Trophies?” “Body parts,” Gary said. “First victim’s hands were missing when we found the body. Wish I could say that was the end of it, but each time, there’s always been something. Hands, ears, toes. Seventh victim was probably the least disturbing, since The Fan had taken the time to cut her hair off and took it with them, far as I know.” “That’s… weird,” Lisa said. “And fucked up. But mostly weird.” The two of them started down the stairs, though Lisa kept talking. “So you never caught the asshole? Never any leads?” “Of course there were leads,” Gary said. “But they never panned out. And no, before you ask, we didn’t give up the search, either. Half the damn precinct looked into The Fan at one point or another over the past few years, but any lead someone found would always run cold, or worse, it would just lead us in circles.” He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “Whoever The Fan is, they’re either really damn lucky, or really good at covering their tracks. Practically a ghost.” “Sounds like something out of a book,” Lisa said. Gary almost chuckled. “Yeah. I felt that way at first, too.” He opened the door to the medical examiner’s office and walked in, Lisa following behind. Rei was busy as always, hovering over and studying the bodies of the victims, now unclothed and occupying two tables. It was then that Gary saw what body parts were missing. Lisa made a noise behind him, a mix between a gasp and a grunt of pain. Gary could only nod in agreement, since she more or less echoed his own sentiments: both victims, male and female, were missing their breasts. “Fucking Christ,” Lisa muttered under her breath. “Watch it,” Rei said. She indicated the cross dangling from her neck, one of her most cherished possessions, and one of the things she was the most anal about. Still, Rei didn’t seem as irritated as she might’ve normally been about that sort of thing, but then, Rei was like that when it came to being on the clock with dead bodies. “So,” Gary said. He wasn’t sure what else to say at the moment as he eyed the two victims. “You get an ID on them?” “Marissa and Lenny Thompson,” Rei said. Gary’s eyes went wide. “You’re shitting me.” “If I was shitting you, I’d be in the ladies’ room, Gary,” Rei said, in a way only she could – that was neither funny, nor unfunny, somehow. “The Thompsons?” Lisa said. Her voice was both incredulous and had a hint of shock to it. “I remember them.” She walked up to the tables, her gaze shifting between the two bodies. “Shit, I grew up with these two…” Marissa and Leonard ‘Lenny’ Thompson were – or rather, had been – actors since the 80s. Child stars in the late 80s, teen stars in the 90s, and during the 2000s, the two had been in all kinds of hit movies with the likes of Tom Hanks, Leonardo DiCaprio, Angelina Jolie, and more. They were rising stars at the time, and so far as anyone knew, they were always gracious to their fans, and always kind and giving to people. Donating to charities, visiting people in need, operating at homeless shelters, and hardly ever did they make public spectacles of these things. Brother and sister. Best friends. That had been what the tabloids referred to them as. Gary took a moment to breathe in, then out. “Give it to me straight, Rei. You’ve been here since The Fan struck in the past. You examined all the bodies, all the files. Is this the same person?” Rei met his gaze, her lips twitching only slightly. “As far as I can tell, yes. Same MO. Same patterns. Same everything.” Gary nodded. “Keep me posted on anything you find. I have to see the Captain.” He turned and started toward the stairs. It took a moment for Lisa to catch up to him. “That’s it?” Lisa asked. “You’re not going to ask her anything else or look at the bodies?” “Don’t need to,” Gary said. He had seen all he wanted – all he needed. Right now, all he could think about was one thing: catching the monster before they could strike again.

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