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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 3 years

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This is gonna be a flashback chapter. How our babies met because I remember a few people had forgotten. Had to have one of these eventually, right?

Part 21: Introduction

Should I download Tinder?

Glee plays from the firestick, the scene where they're all walking and singing How Will I Know.

I should.

Laying cozied into the couch in a faded t'shirt with the tiniest pink shorts, your head rests on the butt cushion and your feet dangle over the arm as you hold your phone up in the air over your face.

"How will I know?.. How will I knoow..," you mumble along with the crew. You've heard the Glee version of this Whitney classic at least 8 times.

No, but what if I do and someone recognizes me? Someone I work with? What if my family is on Tinder? I'd die.

You put the phone down on your belly and pick up your apple juice from the coffee table, doing a sit up to sip.

Mm. You wipe your mouth nearly spilling. But if they're on there too then they shouldn't comment on what I'm doing, right? We'd ignore each other's presence and continue like ships passing in the night. So technically I should be able to download this app with no blowback.

Picking the phone up, you hit download and open the app. It immediately asks for your information and won't let you skip. Not even your location. You fall back down to your back raising the phone up again.

But what if someone's a serial killer?Would they look for me? No, that won't happen and I could tell if they were psychotic..

Tapping the download button, you go through the steps to set up an account including giving them access to your location and posting a headshot from a selfie. Scrolling through your gallery for more decent pics to post, you decide one's enough and upload a full body photo so that whoever meets you will know who they're meeting, no surprises.

Inputting your information, you decide to write into your blurb that you're looking for some awesome friends, specifically a movie buddy. In reality, the activity doesn't matter you just crave human attention and closeness. Any decent, polite, nice, smart, funny, left wing, hopefully attractive, young, black human.. possibly male.. will do. Not that you're picky. In the meantime, you swipe right on everyone black nearby, men and women. Somebody's gotta respond. Someone sane who wants to meet. Shockingly there are a lot of pretty people. Unfortunately the app only gives you one super like.. a blue star which you decide to save.

Giddily you head over to your match tab and see four matches. Drew P seems nice. Ashley J looks stylish. G Papa looks like he lives in a Freaknik video. Pussy Hunter is just nasty. Your nose twitches as you shamefully start conversations with all four. When neither responds right away you return to swiping and a notification says you've been super liked, but you can't access who super liked without paying money. You're not doing that so you just go back to the bios and swipe right until you get a reply.

Wyd, Pussy Hunter writes.

Bored, watching movies. You?

You gotta fat ass

Um. Thanks?

Netflix and chill?🙈

Netflix and Netflix. We can talk and hang out..

So no chill

No sex, but we can hang out and do something else

After 5 minutes, you realize he's not going to write you back. You start to swipe again on pictures, left for the whites and weirdos. Right for the black people.

Your finger hovers in the air as you gasp lightly at the thirst trap provided by a man self-identified as Erik. It deserves another sip of apple juice. You gulp it down from your cup. "Jesus.." You can't even see his face, because it's all BODY, but you can tell by the picture exactly what he's on Tinder for. Same m.o. as Pussy Hunter.

Erik S, 28

Fucc around and find out

Good Lord.. those shorts are yet holding on, you stare as if they'll slip down further by you willing them to. You swipe right. Your eyes widen as the app alerts you with a blue star meaning... He super liked your profile.

"NO," you gasp wide eyed at the phone ready to chuck it at the wall. Switching to the messages, there's a new one.. from him.. and you know what it's about. "I need some tea."

---

Erik lazed around his house bumping Schoolboy Q, clad in a white terry cloth bathrobe with a short glass of iced Ciroc and Lemonade in his hand. Dancing, he exfoliated his face with his spin brush, trimmed his mustache and beard, shaped himself up, and moisturized his locs and facial hair. The lil lip scrub he'd gotten as a gift from Cierra, he'd initially fought her on because it smelled like peaches but he liked how soft it made his lips. They even tasted good. He licked his lips for the umpteenth time tasting sugar. They tasted like Cierra.

Speaking of sugar, he looked at his phone wondering why his hoes ain't called. Then again, they could've. He wasn't near the phone all day. Checking the iPhone on the charging dock he saw that he had a missed call.. from Cierra.

Checking the time she called, he figured that was back when he was cleaning his guns and checking the parts. He'd already cleaned and sharpened his knives. He'd checked his security cameras. He felt good. Having no major responsibility and no place to be.

Outside of the missed call he had three new nudes and a video sitting in his messages to watch and record himself masturbating to. He was looking forward to doing that especially since Rell hadn't called with no bullshit local cases. Erik had stated he ain't want no hits near his temporary home.. for a year, he wanted peace. One damn year. But here he was still racking basic skills for pennies. "Chump change is still change," Rell's voice played in his ear. "You don't wanna get rusty. Gotta keep your skills sharp."

Erik had done his share of moving around, racking up international kills and earning the nickname Killmonger. But for a little while, he wanted to settle down in one concealed location where no one knew where he lived, who the fuck he was, or where he was coming or going. He wanted the illusion of peace and normality for a year at least. As much money as he had, he figured he could afford to stay in one place for that long if he was careful.

Only two people knew where he lived and that was Rell and Swift. They knew not to come over. Not even the previous owners of the house knew he was there.. because he'd made them an anonymous offer, killed them and moved in a few days after they'd sold it to him for cash. Needless to say he took all that money back.

He dialed Cierra, roaming to his bedroom to collapse over the bed as the phone rung. "Sup Ci?"

"Master," she whimpered, the desperation in her voice telling him she needed release. She'd been working too long through the past week and needed Master to come take control for a few hours. He could picture her on her knees, already in puppy space. She knew exactly how he liked her to wait for him.

"Yes, Ci. You need me to come for a scene?"

"Rrrrr," she growled. "Arf arf!"

"My bad. Lil Bitch."

"I gotta go to Target and see my sister," but come through later. I don't care how late just call up."

"Your sister? The one you met on Facebook?"

"Yeah, her! She live like an hour away. I'm a link with her and put her on Tinder! Get her a man to pop that back out," she giggles.

"You know I don't mind a two for one," Erik teased knowing she wouldn't go for it. He liked to mess with her anyway.

"Not with my damn sister, I'm not that nasty. A white girl can have it,"

"Damn crush my dream."

"Anyway!"

"Aight, I'm a let you go." Hanging up, he sat up and went to his closet pulling a colorful glass bong he'd gotten from a nigga he once knew in the military. Bruce Everett, white boy. Cool nigga... Too bad he shot hisself with his own gun. Sighing, Erik shook his head and went to the bathroom to fill it with water and headed back to pull his chrome grinder from his drawer along with a screen, hempwick, and a nug of Dr. Greenthumb's Emdog OG, grinding it down to pack the bowl making it fluff up.

"Perfect," he whispered lighting the bong with the hempwick. He lit the edges of the weed going around in a circle for an even and smooth burn as he stood taking a good long hit. "Shit," he exhaled releasing the smoke. I love bongs.

He looked and the bowl was empty as he'd expected. One hit's all you need when you do it right.

"Tinder...," he played in his mind. He already had a fetlife which was how he'd found his subs. Tinder was something different though. He was curious.

Downloading the app on the phone used almost solely for contact with subs, he went through the process of setting up an account, hesitating to put his info. It was general enough and the shit that was too specific, he could just lie. Still, he wouldn't upload his face.

So all I gotta do is swipe and see everyone in the area, he mused looking at all the faces.

"No.. No.. Nope.. Facially challenged.. The fuck is that?.. Hell nah.. Yes.. Yes.. She cute.. Hell nah.. Yes... No..," he paused looking a little closer at the screen. "Hello... Damn."

Out of curiosity he clicked on the profile. "That ass tho!"

He smirked hitting his super like.

"Shid... You can get the blue like.. Whatever the fuck that mean.." He stared at the picture. She had a juicy looking aro with thick black curls, brown skin, bright almond eyes, and enough ass to feed the needy for months. "Shit, if I was on a deserted island with coconuts and that ass.. that's enough meat for a damn.. shidd.." He chuckled. "Fuck is a super like? I super like yo ass meat..," he chuckled again falling back on his bed. "It mean I'm a break yo shit in thirds and fuck the pieces," he coughed, over his own bullshit.

---

Jumping up, you speedwalk into your kitchen and quickly heat some water in a pot, pulling a red mug and a bag of chamomile and a bag of lemon balm to mix with sugar. Combining it all, you take a sip and stand there staring at the wall before taking it with you back to the couch. "Okay," you sigh picking up the phone to open the Tinder message thread.

Cum talk to me, he says. You stare at the words. Wow, this is so cringy you don't know how to respond. You sit the phone back down taking another sip. You think about ignoring him, but you keep touching the phone, coming back to the message and staring.

Hey, you finally type hesitating at the simplicity before sending.

How are you tonight ? Why you up ?

Bored, lonely, contemplating my existence over Glee and wondering why my high school years were never that damn musical. You sip your tea.

Having a tv party with just lil ol' me. Why are you up?

The fuck kinda life you living. You need me to cum spice shit up for you? 👀

You think you that spicy? 👀

You wanna taste me and see?

Jeez. You flip back to the faceless picture of his body. Lord have mercy.

Don't play with a real one I'll show the fuck up real shit, he writes.

Internally you're screaming. He really thinks you're about to have sex with him. "I can't, oh my god," you sigh bouncing your knee. You hesitate before responding.

You can come, but bring food.

Hell yeah. Then you can be dessert. 😈

What? You turn the screen off and grab your head, your elbows on your knees.

What am I doing. Y/N what are you doing.

No sex nigga, you type before taking it back and staring at the screen perplexed. If you say that, he won't message you back.. If you don't say it, he'll be expecting to get some! You still want him to come through though even if he leaves because you're bored. You just want a little company for a little bit.

Maybe you should get a cat..

Your leg shakes unsure of how to respond and you take another sip of the hot tea mix feeling anything but calm.

Without further delay you just drop your address and hope for the best, wondering if you just signed off on your own murder. Maybe I should've told him to meet me somewhere else in the daytime.

Washing your apple juice cup, you put it away and then throw on some black leggings and rainbow fuzzy socks not wanting to open the door in pink bootyshorts adding onto the wrong message you'd already sent him. You also put a kitchen knife under the sofa cushion for easy access just in case.

40 minutes. You like wings?

Parmesan

🤢 Love yourself, sis. I'm getting a mix.

Oh I see you Mr. Petty Labelle, you smile getting a taste of his personality.

Yep. Finna get some of Ms. Petty's pie

Uh uh, you smirk.

We nuh ave dat

That right? Guess I'll see for myself when I pull up 👅

He's a whole fool. You set the phone down smiling at the tv. Meanwhile you watch another episode.. actually watching it this time.

Knock knock, he messages and you see it having kept the thread up just in case he had an issue. Jumping up, you snatch your phone and take a deep breath to steady your nerves. This is the first time you've ever done something like this and you hope it doesn't go badly.

Who's there, you jest messaging back right before you unlock your multiple locks and crack the door. Peeping out, you shut the door automatically throwing your body against it, holding your breath. He's huge! You didn't even look up, you just saw all that muscle like Kangaroo Jack. And why was he all up on the door?!

"Word? You must not want these wings then," he says through the door. You hear plastic rattling dramatically. "That's aight I don't mind eating em by myself."

You crack the door again, peeping out. You hadn't even seen the plastic bag hanging from his hand, you'd shut him out so fast. You reach out to grab it and he pulls it back.

"Aht! This how you treat guests? Door in the face? Snatching bags?" Your eyes roam from his hard chest to the broadness of his shoulder, resting on the sleeve of his charcoal grey Chicago Bulls shirt. Those biceps.

"Look at you undressing me in your mind already. Go ahead, you can touch me," he adds holding his arm forward as if reading your mind. He talks a lot.

You snatch the bag and put it behind your back a bit, opening the door. Then you look up and your kitty jumps. It's the devil himself. You try to control your surprise but between his sharp narrow chestnut eyes that smirk down, his sculpted nose, and his full pouting lips, you don't know if you want to kiss him, bite him, or climb him. You wanna do all three and more right in the hall.. up against the wall. His hair too, it's a mess of semi-thick locks that point everywhere like Coolio. It's his everything really..

"Y/N.."

Omg. It sounds so good coming from him. This isn't fair.

"Aye..," he waves.

"Hm," you sigh staring at his face.

"You gone let me in?"

"Huh? Oh." You step back quickly and scan him from head to toe as he steps across the threshold. Bulls shirt, black track pants, black sneakers. His shoes are ugly though, the back heel juts out too far. Balenciaga is written in white. Oh.

You look up and see he's looking you up and down too. Oop. Leading the way you take him to the living room and he settles on the couch, his develish eyes on yours. His knees spread wide as he leans back, hips forward.

Silently screaming, you look away and sit the plastic food bag on the table.

You can feel him staring. The air is full of raunchy expectation and you can't say you blame him. You practically encouraged it on the phone.

"You want something to drink," you smile in friendly attempt, risking a glance and it's just as you thought.

"You know exactly what I want."

"To DRINK," you exphasize, ignoring the thump of your heart in your nana as his eyes roll over your hips.

"Mmm... You got Henny?"

"I have apple juice, tea, water.."

"Ciroc?"

Your face screws, Didnt I just-- "I don't drink.."

"Ever?"

You shake your head.

"Damn, Apple Juice."

Taking your sweet time to pour his juice and refill your tea, you re-enter the living room as the Glee cast kicks off another song that he mutes.

"Here ya go."

You give him his cup and feel the chill in your spine as his fingertips brush yours. Unmuting the tv, you sit on the opposite side of the couch, legs crossed, tense and unsure of what to say to him now that he's there.

"You look uncomfortable."

"Me? I'm fine. I was just marathoning Glee before you came," you say handing him the remote, "I've already seen it though."

He hands the remote back. "You seen Menace II Society?"

"I've heard the title!"

"Well pull it up, let's watch it."

Thank God. That's something easy. You fumble through buttons and he starts opening the food as you set up the movie.

---

"Ooh Laurenz Tate he so fine," she smiled sitting up as the movie started. She would be into his ass. Erik rolled his eyes. Wait for it.

"I hate when they do that," she mumbled in response to the Asian woman following them around the store.

"Yeah," he agreed with swig of the juice looking from the tv to her face, watching her reaction. Wait for it.

"Why don't you give my homeboy his change," O-Dog says before walking to the door. "I feel sorry for your mother," the store owner snubs.

Bitch, don't talk about my mama. That part always pissed Erik off.

"What you say about my mama? You feel sorry for who?!" O-Dog shouts. "I don't want any trouble, just get out," the shopowner shouts, backtracking like the bitch nigga he is.

Fuck that, shoot his bitchass, Erik barked in his head. POP. POP POP. POP. POP. There you go! He shot the wife too, meanwhile, the princess jumped in her seat, absorbed in the felony she just observed on screen. Double-homicide.

"He shouldn't have shot them.. Bruh, now the cops gone be looking for him and his friend wasn't even in it but now he's an accomplice."

"You telling me you wouldn't have shot a nigga talkin shit on your mama?" Erik leaned into her space, curious, but she ain't seem to notice.

"No, 'cause they're rude, ugly, and racist but still. You can't kill without consequences."

Erik steeled. She wasn't wrong.

"I'd have shot his ass too," he admitted watching her. She didn't seem to agree. "Should've kept his mouth off his family."

"You close to your family," she asked suddenly.

"Yeah," he lied knowing his people were dead. "...You mind if I get more juice," he pointed to his cup and she took it refilling it.

Fifteen minutes into the movie, she noticed her wing choice wasn't in the selection and Erik kept a poker face having wondered when she'd realize. He'd already started on the barbecue.

"Where's my parmesan," she frowned looking in the boxes.

"They ain't have it," he lied. "Ran out."

"You're such a liar. Now what am I gonna eat," she pouted to his humor.

"Eat the carribean jerk," he nudged the box to her. She eyed it and he felt like a wolf trapping a rabbit, the wings being the bait.

"I ask you for one thing."

"Yeah and? I wasn't finna buy that shit," he chuckled grabbing a jerk wing and biting it, closing his eyes and humming as he chewed to entice her. When he peeked, she was watching his mouth out the corner of her eye as he licked spicy sauce off his thumb. Sliding down in the cushion, she crossed her arms and raised a knee with her fuzzy foot on the couch. Such a damn brat. Ol' hungry ass.

He started to flex the length of his tongue since she was looking but decided against it. He couldn't be too aggressive or she'd spook and he wouldn't get no ass. Why he cared, he couldn't put a finger on other than the fact that she'd become a challenge. This girl would not let him anywhere near her. She was very shy considering she was down for a one night stand. I'm getting the draws, he promised himself right then. How? He just had to make her come to him.

Her nose wrinkled as she picked up a jerk wing, rotating it.

"Girl eat the wing, this ain't rocket science," he fussed watching her bite it.

"It's better than parmesan?" Lie, he dared watching her closely.

She took another bite.. then she attacked the wing and when she licked her fingers, he looked away grabbing another wing and swig of his juice.

"OKAY. SHUT UP." She grabbed another wing chewing through it as he coughed in his elbow hiding his laugh.

"I didn't say anything," he croaked shrugging her off.

"But you smiling and I can hear you thinking."

He couldn't hide the fat grin plastered on his face though he'd tried by looking away. "How you hear me thinking," he squinted watching her collect bones.

"Because I do, you're loud," she stressed.

"How I'm l-"

"SHH!! I'm tryna hear," she whispered. He shook his head watching the corner of her mouth lift and they watched the movie in silence until she reached for another wing and all the jerk were gone. He pushed her another box.

"You all the way over there. Come sit next to me."

"I'm not that far."

"You are. I promise I won't bite you.."

Her eyes rolled.

"Not unless you into that shit," he added patting the cushion beside him. She lifted, barely moving. "You scared?"

"What you mean?" She looked nervous all of a sudden looking anxiously in his eyes. This was gonna be a tough wall to break.

He patted the cushion again, waiting, and she finally moved in closer filling the empty seat beside him. He determined right then not to touch her but to get as close as possible maintaining proximity to get her used to his presence. Draping an arm over the couch behind her, he observed silently as she sat tense for the the next five minutes before relaxing. He had his work cutout.

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